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    Summary

    “Is this supposed to frighten me, half-sister?” Her usurper half-brother smirked, sitting up groggily—the effects of the milk of the poppy still present. He was bound by chains at the wrists that were attached to her bed posts—which were once his.

    For as disheveled as he looked, and how much she despised him, his body was still pretty to ogle, his lips red and plump, and his hair was longer than the last time she'd seen him, the night before their father died—falling in strands of silver waves past his shoulders. It would be perfect to weave her hands into and pull taut, rough and hard.

    “I think it should, half-brother,” she bit back, refusing to let his collective coolness get to her. “I think I should frighten you.” She kept her cold lilac eyes stationed on his and he laughed, the sound echoing in the room.

    Series
    Language:
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