He wanted a child conceived with passion, not permission. Born out of love, not obligation.
Seliora, however, was not naive.
She sensed the hesitation in the way he shifted his weight, the way his jaw clenched just a little too tightly. "Shall I expect you tomorrow night then?" she asked.
Damien nodded slowly. "Of course."
She bowed, then turned and left the room.
Damien stood still for a moment, the silence pressing in.
On one hand, there was tradition. Bloodline. Expectations. A rapidly closing window of time, with less than a year left to sire an heir before death came knocking, as Morvakar had predicted. On the other hand, there was Luna—the woman who had turned his carefully calculated world into a mess of desire, loyalty, and sleepless nights.
