I was born of two worlds.

My mother was not a queen. Not a noble. Not even human. The court whispered of her origins, of the magic in her veins, of the unnatural beauty that made a king forsake his crown’s traditions. But she was gone now, and all that remained of her was me—her daughter, his daughter.

The king’s beloved.

From the moment I could walk, I belonged to him. He kept me close, closer than any father should. My place was not in the nursery with governesses, but in his chambers, curled against him as he read by firelight. My place was not in the gardens with other children, but at his side in court, where his hand rested always, always upon me.

Whispers followed me through the gilded halls. The unnatural child. The little queen. His obsession.

But I was blind to it all.

For to me, he was simply Father.

And I was his most beloved treasure.

Tonight The grand halls of Versailles glowed in the candlelight, the night air thick with the scent of roses. The ball was in my honor, yet I had no interest in dancing. I had eyes only for him.

And he—he had eyes only for me.

Seated on his gilded throne, the king watched me. Unmoving. Unblinking.

I approached, silken skirts whispering against marble. When I reached him, I curtsied low, as all must before a king. But before I could rise, his hand caught my chin, tilting my face up.

“My darling,” he murmured.

I shivered. “Father.”

He lifted me effortlessly, settling me upon his lap as if I were still a child. I felt the court’s gaze, the nobles’ stifled gasps. But none would dare speak.

Not when he looked at me like that.

His fingers brushed my cheek, tracing the sharpness of my features—the proof of my mother’s blood. “You are exquisite,” he whispered, his lips at my ear. “You grow lovelier by the day.”