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    Summary

    One's other half. Inherent destiny fulfilled. Mate. Vienna didn't quite know what to make of the word - and trust she didn't know what to make of the dark haired Illyrian towering over her, eyes ablaze, expression frozen, like he was . . . disgusted.

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    Prythian is a wretched place, no matter the court you reside in; Vienna is the living epitome of the fact. As the unpalatable offspring of Beron Vanserra and a winter court emissary, there's no position in any court, or any land for that matter, where Vienna is considered an asset. A problem, is much closer to what the High Lord of autumn deems his bastard daughter to be.

    It doesn't take a scholar to recognize that things are a bit messy as is in Vienna's silly excuse of a life, hence why the last thing she's prepared for is to have her shit rocked by the night court's resident shadowsinger.

     

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    Language:
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