NoPantsNick

Synopsis
A modern woman. A tainted reputation. A crown she never wanted.

Lynn Carter, a sharp-tongued gamer girl, never expected to wake up as Eleanor Sterling—the infamous “Scarlet Rose” of the Visterian Empire. Known for her beauty, cunning, and ahem, scandalous escapades, Eleanor is the last woman King Sebastian Leohart would ever choose as queen. Too bad her father, the prime minister, forced the marriage to consolidate power.

Now, trapped in a body with a wicked past, Lynn must navigate a court full of vipers, a husband who despises her, and a swarm of suitors who think “notorious” means “available.” But this modern girl has a few tricks up her sleeve.

Dare to underestimate her? She’ll outmaneuver you with wit sharper than a dagger.
Dare to scorn her? Watch the empire’s “first harlot” become its most brilliant strategist.
Dare to ignore her? Pray you never see her smile—especially while she’s burning your armies to ash over tea.

And then there are the men—so many infuriatingly gorgeous men—who can’t seem to decide whether to ruin her or worship her:

The King: Sebastian Leohart, the frosty monarch with blood-red eyes and snow-white hair. He married her for politics, but he can’t seem to stay away.

The Scholar-Saint: A genius as pure as untouched snow, who loves her despite her body’s sins.

The Warlord: A conqueror who would raze kingdoms for her smile, even as she drives a dagger into his back.

The Shadow: Her most loyal knight, guarding her by day, and burning for her by night.

But beneath all the glitter and games, something darker stirs.
Eleanor’s soul wasn’t the first to inhabit this body.
And someone wants the new queen dead...

Crimson Rose Queen

Sebastian's fingers were vise-locks around my wrist. "Unhand him." His voice scraped like gravel over marble.

I clung tighter to Damien's arm, pressing closer until the prince's breath hitched. "Or what? You'll drag me through the palace like a sack of grain? How very imperial."

A snarl twisted his lips. Then—rrriiiip.

The sound echoed like shattered glass. Silk slithered down my torso, pooling at my waist like liquid moonlight. Cold air kissed my exposed skin, leaving only the scarlet under-robe clinging precariously to my curves.

Damien spun away, his knuckles white against the piano's ebony edge. Sebastian's crimson eyes raked over me—not with lust, but with a predator's cold assessment. "You chose this... scrap of fabric?" He flicked a torn shred dangling from his fingers.

I lifted my chin, deliberately adjusting the remnant over my breast. The pearl-stitched edge of my jade-green dudou gleamed under candlelight. "Blame your barbarian reflexes, Your Majesty. Though I must say," I let my gaze drift pointedly downward, "you seem rather... invested in its removal."

(The Walk of Flames)

He threw his cloak over me—heavy velvet reeking of sandalwood and fury—and dragged me past gilded columns. Servants melted into shadows like frightened mice, but I felt their stares like branding irons: through the cloak, through my skin, searing bone.

"—preserving what's left of your dignity?" His whisper was a dagger at my ear. "You calculated this. Humiliation as theater. Did Damien's blush satisfy you?"

I laughed, sharp and brittle. "Did yours?"

At the moonlit colonnade, he shoved me against a pillar wreathed in night-blooming jasmine. Petals rained around us. "Tomorrow. You return to Sterling Manor. Stay there until this farce fades from memory."

Freedom. The word tasted sweeter than victory.

(Echoes in the Dark)

Later, in Silvermoon Palace, a flute's lament coiled through my window—the same haunting melody that had cradled my nightmares.

I crept to the casement. Moonlight silvered the magnolia grove. There—a silhouette leaned against the largest tree, long fingers caressing a flute's slender spine.

Then—vanished. Like smoke on water.

Only the silver locket at my throat pulsed with lingering warmth.

Chapter 16: The Fabric of Scandal