The Fate Of My Heart
Are there worse things than death?
The flickering flames were dimmed behind the glass of the lamps, softening the cold, stone walls of my bedchamber. Heavy velvet drapes framed the bed. Frankincense burned. It was a sanctuary, undisturbed by the bustle of the palace beyond my door. We spoke in hushed whispers. “Mistress, are you not concerned with the frequency of his visits?” “I am not.” “But the king–” “Father is my concern, not yours, Prima. I’m the onl...
