I, Eris Vanserra wasn’t taken off guard very often. But I admit, when I was dancing with Nesta Archeron I was taken off guard. Not by the female herself, but by the most beautiful female in all of Prythian.

Her hair was pulled back in some intricate twist, illuminating her sleek collarbones, smooth milky skin, and subtle cleavage. She wore a dress of rusty orange - autumn colours - but this lovely creature hadn’t come from Autumn. I would’ve stolen her had I seen her.

I flirted, meaninglessly, with Nesta - mostly to irritate the Illyrian brute who was pouting like a child and huffing like an animal. But as soon as I left her, I glided across the room to her, my body being tugged by an alien force. As soon as she turned, my body felt warm, like a warm fire blew inside a cool conservatory.

I’d been a fool. Flirted. Whispered against her ear, and almost moaned at her scent. Slid my greedy hands across her silk covered flesh. Convinced her to spend the night with me.

I’d fallen irrevocably in love.

It didn’t take me long. A few weeks in her vicinity and I was a changed male. I’d wake earlier, watching her sprawled out across my bed, crimson sheets sprawled low over her breasts, which I’d lavish with attention whenever I could. I’d make her favourite tea before bed every night: vanilla, ginger and cinnamon.

I’d sigh, or roll my eyes when she’d compliment me, feigning irritation or lack of patience, but inside I felt my heart ache - in the best possible way.

It was a late evening, and I’d been hauled up in my fathers old office - the one she’d insisted on redecorating to make it feel more comfortable for me - and I’d been rereading over treaties and war maps, studying our trade routes and how much compensation we received for our trading.

I glanced out of the window noncommittally, as I leaned to grab a new quill and dropped the delicate feather, standing abruptly behind my desk. I hurried throughout the palace, undoing the buttons of my shirt, and as I entered my chambers, well ours as of late, I see her curled up before the fire, a novel in her elegant hands.

“I’m sorry, my darling. Work ran over,” I murmured roughly, doing my best to avoid sounding like a lovestruck fool. I kissed her cheek, but she tilted up her head and stole my lips in a true kiss. The furrow in my brow, the tense pursing of my lips, the wrinkles on my forehead, all smoothed away, as I cupped her neck, my lips moulding to hers and coaxing her open for more.

“It’s alright. I know you’re busy.” She hummed, light and understanding.

I don’t deserve you, I thought, and kissed her again, gentler. But I’m keeping you, I thought again, selfishly.