Аннотация
Her father had been dead merely a month, yet this usurper had moved in as if he had every right to do so. As if her father had never been lord here.
“You think not, my lady?” Mathieu Fitz Autier took hold of her arm and led her roughly to the window. “Observe. All that you see is mine. You are vanquished, Saxon.”
Aelia turned to slap his arrogant face, but he caught her hand and pressed it against the cool metal hauberk covering his chest. ’Twas a place where no normal heart pulsed, but a cold and cruel one.
Yet he did not strike back. He lowered his head, his face, his lips coming but a breath away from hers.
And then he kissed her. He slid his hands around her waist as he lowered his mouth to her jaw, then her ear and her throat, sipping, tasting Aelia.
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