Venus prepared herself to spend memorable time with her mate. The demon had a point, and she won't give up on her mate. With her spell, as if it had mind, the comb was combing her hair until it became smooth and silken. She used charmed bath soap used for wedding nights, and she wore flimsy lingerie that leaves nothing to the imagination.
Her heart swelled when she appeared in his bedchamber—bigger than hers and reserved for the king himself, he was sitting on his bed with his hands on his head as if he were in pain. Then he sensed her; he smelled her scent.
Damoen heard everything. His guilt was eating up his whole being again. He did it to his mate, causing her trauma. He combed his hair with frustration and placed it on his eyes as he sat on his bed. He had just finished his bath when he smelled something—flowery and fruity scents.
