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304 pages, Kindle Edition
First published December 16, 2020
“But I’m only a bastard,” Oliver said, weakly.
“You are mine. And I will not have it said that you are anything less than the highly-esteemed, brilliant, beautiful object of my deepest affection.”








But Oliver had loved books more than swords. His mother hadn’t been literate, what little of her he remembered, but she’d loved stories; would spin him yarns while she worked.
“You are mine. And I will not have it said that you are anything less than the highly-esteemed, brilliant, beautiful object of my deepest affection.”
Oliver swallowed. “They changed the banners and shields.”
“And the history texts. Everything you ever read was crown-approved.” He dragged a fingertip around the edges of an illustration, a harnessed, saddled dragon with its head butted affectionately against its rider’s shoulder.





He said, ‘Knowing that you are to inherit is not a blessing or a thrill. It’s a weight that you carry with you always. To know that the safety and happiness of an entire people rests on your shoulders is a heavy thing.’”
“But I’m only a bastard,” Oliver said, weakly.
Erik gave his belt a tug, expression firming. “You are mine. And I will not have it said that you are anything less than the highly-esteemed, brilliant, beautiful object of my deepest affection.”

He was gorgeous, and Oliver wanted to climb him.
And he was a mortal man, and he’d been hurt before, and Oliver wanted to hold him, too.

“I want your hair through my fingers,” he whispered. His lips trailed down to Oliver’s ear. “I want it on my pillow. I want to wake up with my face buried in it.”
His hand slid down to cup the side of Oliver’s neck. And he kept whispering. “I want to see the marks of my teeth in your throat.” Callused fingertips strummed over his pulse, across his collarbone. “I want to drape you in gemstones and fine furs. I want you in my bed.” His hand opened against Oliver’s chest, over his galloping heart, and Oliver was helpless but to press into the touch, whimpering. He was melting against him.
Lower, throatier, while he crowded in closer: “I want to know what you taste like. I want to get on my knees for you.” The tip of his nose traced the edge of Oliver’s ear. “I want to be inside you. I want to keep you.”
“Oh.” Oliver moaned and swayed forward against him, his imagination vivid and wild, his blood deliciously overheated. “That – that, all of that – you can have it. You can have everything. Please–”
Then Erik kissed him.



5 'winter' stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
4,5 'I needed more Erik & Oliver' stars ⭐⭐⭐⭐/⭐
What’s the best definition for the fantasy fiction genre? Fantasy genre stories revolve around magic or supernatural forces, rather than technology. Stories from the fantasy genre are set in fanciful, invented worlds or in a legendary, mythic past that rely on the outright invention of magic. Knights, wizards, kings, and dragons are all common in fantasy, but aren’t always required. Swordplay, archery, horseback riding, and spell-casting are also staples of the fantasy genre.





Oliver Meacham, bastard nephew of the Duke of Drakewell


