Mira is a fae princess, and newly 18. In the eyes of her stepmom, she's old enough to find a mate, never mind that she has hundreds of years ahead of her. One unlikely suitor steps up, and so begins the story of Mira. Tialha somehow managed to get her face closer. They were an inch apart at this point. Mira could smell the sweet scent of the wine from the party still on Tialha's breath. "You," she growled, "are mine. No one else's. No one else's to look at, talk to, or touch." Her hand tightened, and Mira struggled to breathe. And unfamiliar, but not entirely bad feeling started welling in the pit of her stomach. "Because I swear to the gods, Princess, the next time something like what happened tonight happens, I'll slowly and painfully kill whoever it is. And then I'll punish you." Her eyes darkened.