The room was dim and cold, lit only by the soft glow of a desk lamp. Shadows clung to the corners like cobwebs. Prince Nicolas sat alone in a high-backed, carved chair, his massive frame wrapped in a dark blue robe trimmed with silver thread. The silk hugged him like a lover, outlining his broad chest, part of which was exposed through an unfastened button.He sighed and shut his eyes. A headache throbbed just behind his forehead, dull and persistent. Silence wrapped around him, until a soft knock broke it apart.“Come in,” he said, even though he wasn’t in the mood for company. But the scent had already reached him—floral, musky, familiar.Mira.She stepped in, moving with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who knew she was being watched. Her black dress was tight, short, and unapologetically revealing. Her breasts nearly spilt from the top, and her long blonde hair, usually tied back, now cascaded down her back in waves. Her hips swayed with every step.“Good evening, Your Grace,
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