He grins with an alluring smile and an air of forced charm, before pushing up his shirt sleeves. The movement brings my attention to his forearms, their flexing the only sign of his discomfort. The tan skin there makes my mouth go dry, and I hate the way I react to him. I scowl to hide the effect he has on me, which only makes him grin wider, accentuating the dimple on his right cheek. I stare at it for a beat too long, mesmerized, then chastise myself for studying him that closely. He takes a single step forward but stops when Lunaria bares her teeth in a hiss.

“Good girl,” I murmur to her, low enough so only she can hear. Inexplicably, the Prince must hear me, because his lips twitch with mischief.

The massive warrior from the court day stands behind him—Fionn—honey-blonde hair pulled into a bun at his nape. He wears the leathers of a soldier, the same he wore the day of the attack, and his bronze eyes are wide in fear that he doesn’t, or can’t, hide. Beside him is a fae female, who must be Prince Hawthorne’s betrothed. She’s short, with coiled black hair and intelligent eyes. I immediately identify her as the brain of their triad. She doesn’t look afraid, not in the way the warrior does, but her expression is wary and studious as she takes in the throne room, Lunaria, and finally, me.

Prince Hawthorne smiles again, then says, “It’s a delight to finally meet you, Your Majesty.”

Hawthorne

The Thayarian throne room is as dangerous as it is alluring. With windows open to the vines that cover the palace facade, monarchs have access to a deadly weapon. It is also rumored that the room itself is built atop a carefully maintained thayar greenhouse, providing an extra magical boost to those who sit on the throne of laurel.

A Brief History of Modern Thayaria