The Duke didn't flinch at my bluntness. In fact, he looked down at me with a terrifying sort of pride.
"Lyssa, my sons have been coddled by their mothers and smothered by their titles. They needed a reminder that the world doesn't belong to them just because they share my name. I don't want a 'Genteel Lady.' I want a Valerius. And if that means you break my sons to make them stronger... then so be it."
He began to walk, and I fell into step beside him, sliding my hand into the crook of his arm. It was a bold move—way too intimate for a ward, just right for a woman starting a social forest fire.
"You have a mind that works like a serrated blade," the Duke continued. "My wives—Elara with her cold venom, Selene with her blunt force, and even Vivienne—they all play for the same boring stakes: jewelry and status. But you? You play for the sheer, wicked thrill of the game."
