Aurelius had always been caught between admiration and disdain.
The public marveled at his good looks, his fame blooming among the Alliance's citizens. But his mother's origins cast a shadow that he couldn't shake, leaving him stuck in an awkward, isolated corner.
Desperate to jump from the sinking ship of the royal family's reputation, he'd clung to a new one—a disastrous alliance with the Calvin family.
Caspian snickered, "Yeah, just rotten luck."
That afternoon, Lyra met the "unlucky" man himself.
Aurelius, once proud and composed, now looked intense and dark. He wore a black tank top, baring skin that had missed the sun for years, stretched thin over muscles scarred by lashes and burns—a canvas of pain and survival.
One brutal scar carved its way down his forehead, across his left eye, and slashed through his jaw, adding a fierce edge to a face that had once been adored.
