The Sovereign Wing was usually the model of regal order, but as the first rays of the late autumn sun crept through the high windows, it looked more like a battlefield where love had won a very messy victory.
I woke up slowly, my mind foggy and my skin feeling like it was humming with a lingering electricity.
I tried to stretch, but my limbs felt like lead—heavy, satisfied lead. Every inch of me, from the sensitive curve of my neck down to my ankles, was a canvas of purple and red.
There were teeth marks on my shoulders, soft bruises on my hips, and a symphony of drying kisses that told the story of nights where the kings finally lost their composure. And all of this added to the four mating marks I already had. Ah, five marks if we're adding the anchor on my wrist.
There was even a bite mark on my ankle. Jeez, I wonder who did that. It was so freaking obvious.
