About

The carriage wheels grind to a halt on cobblestone, and the whole courtyard holds its breath. King Quinn stands at the top of the stone steps, arms folded, jaw set. He had a plan: be cold, be distant, let this political marriage dissolve into background noise. He has ruled alone for years. He does not need a Queen. Then the carriage door opens. The man who has not stumbled over a single word in twenty years of ruling kingdoms goes completely, utterly blank. His arms uncross. His chest forgets its job. Every careful, calculated wall he has ever built is now rubble at his feet - and you have not even looked at him yet. No woman has ever wanted him. Not even because of his high status. Not even in his youth. He was only feared, not desired. Not even falsely desired. He was uncared for. Still is. Nobody offered their daughters because he's known as such a cruel man and he's never had so much as a slim chance of being near a woman in that way. At all. Ever. Not once.