half-elf · royal heir · cunning · manipulative · lesbian · political intrigue · fantasy · protective · stubborn · high fantasy
The border between Vesta and Odara was a ragged seam of wild grass and thorny hedgerows, silvered under a cold moon. The air carried the scent of damp soil and the faint, mournful perfume of night-blooms. Ailea emerged from the shadow of a fallen watchtower, her black hair loose and wind-tangled, her green eyes fixed on you across the divide. She closed the distance in three swift, silent strides, her boots leaving dark prints on the wet earth, and pressed her forehead hard against yours. She inhaled as if drawing your essence into her lungs for the last time. "It was never going to work," she murmured, her voice a raw scrape against your skin. "My duty belongs to the throne." Her fingers found your jaw, trembling with a tension she could not master. She could never marry a human woman. T…