**THE PRINCESS SERIES is part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE, and considered a sequel to THE GOLDEN QUEEN/A BRAZEN LOVE**
♦YOU MUST HAVE READ THE GOLDEN UNIVERSE NOVELS AND THE BRAZEN NOVELS TO READ THIS SERIES! AS WELL AS BOOK ONE, PRINCESS OF CANDOR, AND...
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♪ I get so lost inside your eyes Would you believe it? ♪ {Harry Styles—Adore you}
Cordelia wasn't sure how many sunsets and sunrises she experienced while lounging in the narrow bed she shared with Helen. How many times she watched the light play over Helen's delicate skin, how it flickered into her green-apple eyes and brought them to life. How many times her hair glowed chestnut, then tinted with a fiery red, then was nearly dark as night as they held on to one another under the sheets, under the pale moonlight.
The sea breezes came and went, filling the stale room with the scent of the outdoors, as if they were sitting on a beach watching the waves crash over their feet. The aroma of fishy foods—delivered by their captors—sometimes charged through the space, too, animating their bellies and pausing their lovemaking long enough to replenish their strength.
Lovemaking. That was what it was. Those naked trysts under the covers. The cautious, then bold caresses, the letting loose of their hands, the fingers wandering over each other's bodies. The kisses exchanged before, during, and after, heated and subtle and soft, gentle and soothing whenever their fears resurfaced.
It was that lovemaking, those tender gestures behind closed doors, that kept them both sane, Cordelia knew. If they didn't have each other, if they didn't have those simple moments together, they'd have both sought to jump out the window and smack into the sand below. Death was better than what they were facing, they had no doubt.
They were captives again. Belonging to the Baroness, again. But Cordelia would be damned if she let the sour mood, the dreadful reminder of her situation, catch up to her and ruin her newfound discoveries of Helen.
When Helen smiled, the world stopped. The heaviness of their predicament—soon to be handed over to Napoléon—no longer existed. Any noise from outside—seagulls, men working in the yard, the Baroness' target practice somewhere off to the side—ceased, fading into nothingness. All their fears, their woes, melted into the floor-boards.
But they returned at night, when Cordelia tried to sleep. Helen fell into slumber like a prisoner being shoved out of a window, collapsing into her dream-world so quickly Cordelia often frowned as she admired her chest rising and falling, listening to her steady breaths. How could she disconnect from the real world with such ease and plunge into sleep as if nothing was wrong?
Everything was wrong. Cordelia was a prize to be claimed by Napoléon, to be used against her brother, to be turned against her country. She'd almost married a scoundrel of an American, who'd almost brought her to meet her worst enemy face-to-face for the first time in years. And now, she was physically and emotionally involved with a woman. A woman who eased her sorrow and took away her panic, it was true; but one who might be her demise if their proximity was to be revealed to the world.
Three times a day, platters of food were brought to them. Mostly fresh-caught fish and smashed-up potatoes, sometimes a green vegetable of some sort, once or twice a flaky pastry that shockingly didn't taste like it'd been sitting out on a counter for a few days. Breakfasts were porridge or eggs with toasted bread. Dinners were hearty and quite delicious.
