Chapter 7
If Nora hadn’t known better, she would have suspected the wine had been spiked with an aphrodisiac.
But she did know better. Not only would that be a personal affront to the gods, to take away their will, but Prince-Consort Roland had told her himself that his people scorned such foolish tricks.
“We are masters of the arts of love.” His confident voice echoed in her mind. “None of us need to stoop so low. Of course,” he had continued, slanting a teasing look at his wife, “Some of your people do have a small bit of native talent, which we do our best to nurture.”
Queen Laurelin, Eleanora remembered with a smile, had thrown a crocheted pillow at her husband following that remark.
So she spun, trying to preserve her dignity, though that was difficult to do when the only thing s
