With a loud thud, the room door closed, blocking down the loud noise from the tavern downstairs. Inside the room the only sounds were the crackle of the low fire and their soft breaths. Godric didn’t give her a moment to speak. He backed the lady, Rosa, she’d said her name when they met at the tavern. Against the wall, Godric body was caging hers as his mouth claimed hers again. The kiss wasn't gentle, infact it was all heated as the clash of their tongues and teeth were the only sound heard. Godric’s hands, which were hard gripped the lady’s framed face, his thumbs rough against the soft skin of her cheeks. She melted into him with a soft, moan sound, her own hands sliding up his chest, tangling in the fine linen of his shirt. By the saint! She tasted different. she tasted of cheap wine and berries. Godric groaned into her mouth, his kiss softening for a brief moment, before becoming more deeper and more exploring. Her fingers moved to the leather ties at the throat of his

Godric’s mouth was hung open as he was still utterly speechless. The sharp crack of the slap was still hurting Rolf. He held a hand to his cheek, his eyes wide with pure confusion. What in the bloody hells just happened? Before Godric could find his voice, Lysander, gave a stiff, formal bow to Arthur again. “Please, Arthur,” Lysander rumbled, his voice carrying a low authority vibe that commanded silence. “Do not be offended by my cousin’s lack of sense and his… ill manner. He speaks without thinking.” Godric finally found his tongue, as he yelled with rage. “Lysander! What in the Saint’s name are you doing? This… this Arthur is nothing but a common scoundrel! My cousin’s worthless ex-husband! A bloody nobody!” Lysander head turned slowly, his eyes shifting from Arthur to Godric. The change in his expression was quick and ugly. The high-born look he’d given Arthur vanished and was replaced by a cold, hard seriousness. His eyes, pale and flinty, locked onto Godric. Godric’s

The first thing that hit Lady Philippa nose when pushed the door opened was thr scent of jasmine and dried spicier. Elara stood up seeing the door pushed open as her her wool skirt drab against the tapestries sweeping the stone walls. Air left her lungs in when she saw it Lady Philippa. She wanted cuss Philippa out right now but the thoughts only lasted for seconds. She needs to get this project finalised today. Her throat felt tight for second before she cleared it. She swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet room. "Hello, Lady Philippa." Before, those words would have been paired with a bow. Elara used to see Lady Philippa as a big genius and a woman of grace and strength who commanded a merchant guild in a world of men but that was before. Before Lord Gideon’s force take, "Bloody hell. Lady Philippa is developing feelings for that scoundrel of Arthur!" he had told the Peckham family. "I saw it with my own eyes. She was even showing him around the guild." And also before

Slap! Slap! The sound of her palm against his cheek was shockingly loud. His head snapped to the side. By the saints! He stumbled back a step, his ears ringing, his open arms falling uselessly to his sides. He brought a hand up to his face, his fingers pressing against the cheek. He’d been slapped too often of late, and this one was no less shocking. He looked at Isabella, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What in the bloody hell was that for?” he hissed. “What did I do?” Her answer was another sharp, open handed blow from the other side. This one was harder, snapping his head back the other way. The world stopped for a while as the focus was the hurt look in Isabella's eyes. “Why?” Godric finally managed to asked, the word scraping out of his throat.“Isabella, for God’s sake, why would you do that?” Isabella's brows deepened. “You dare ask me that?” Her voice was low as she was trying hard not to breakdown in front of Godric. “I own this house, Godric. This brothel is my hous

When Arthur left Elara in the meeting room, he walked back to his personal chamber only to see his steward waiting for him at the door. Arthur raised an eyebrow. “My lord,” the steward murmured, bowing his head slightly. Arthur pushed off the door entering inside as the steward followed. “Everything alright?” “Aye, my lord.” The steward said as he extended a hand, showing a single, folded page. “A rider just delivered this, said it was for your eyes only.” Arthur nodded as he took it and then the steward left. Arthur turn the other side of the page and seeing the familiar, unique seal pressed into the wax, his brows deepened. Only one household uses a rampant bear to carved deep into red wax.His father’s seal. He walked strode back to the chamber door, slid the heavy bolt to lock the door shut, and then tore the page, cracking the seal. The page was from his father. The message was brief and to the point. Bjorn was back, the letter stated, specifically to keep an eye on