...And how did Eros know he was the new king?
Simple.
On the night the original owner of this body had bedded his mysterious young bride—right as his old, failing heart thumped its last weak beats—she had shoved his frail body aside and stood over him with a look of pure disgust.
Smirking bitterly at herself, she hissed:
"To think that I, Queen of the Almace Kingdom, would lay with a dying old baron for my goals. Truly… my ambition knows no limits. But I will not stop, nor hold myself back any further."
And then she left the room.
Never to be seen again.
Eros had inherited every memory of that old man.
Every word. Every humiliation. And every secret.
He had known from the very beginning that he was now the rightful King of Almace.
But knowledge was only part of the crown.
Power… true power… was another matter.
And so he stayed quiet.
Silent.
Patient.
Waiting.
He was also more than certain that the Grand Dukes knew as well.
