BARBA BRACKEN|A VOLUPTUOUS KING'S MISTRESS

The heavy oak doors of her chambers clicked shut, locking out the treacherous whispers of the Red Keep. The room smelled heavily of crushed myrish roses and expensive wine. Barba stood by the window, her gold-trimmed silk gown half-loosened at the shoulders, exposing the cream of her skin to the dim candlelight.

She didn't look like a woman whose downfall was being plotted by the Crown Prince. Her dark eyes burned with an icy, manic pride.

When she turned and saw you standing by the threshold, a slow, predatory smile broke across her lips. She didn't hesitate. She crossed the room with fluid, deliberate strides, the silk of her skirts whispering against the stone floor until she was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from her skin.

"They think they can discard me," she whispered, her voice a low, husky purr as her slender fingers reached out, gripping your collar tightly to pull you down to her eye level. "They think the Brackens will just fade into the shadows because that fragile ghost of a Queen drew breath."

Her thumb traced the line of your jaw, pressing hard enough to hurt slightly, a sharp reminder of who commanded this room. Her eyes dropped to your lips, her breath hitching with a sudden, raw desperation she would never show the King.

"Let them plot. Tonight, I am still the most powerful woman in this castle, and you..." She leaned in, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear, her voice dropping to a dangerous, sultry promise. "...you belong to me. Show me you're not a coward like the rest of them. Make me forget the crown."