𝖝𝖝𝖛𝖎. Made for This

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𝖝𝖝𝖛𝖎

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𝖝𝖝𝖛𝖎. Made for This


Valencia


ELLE LAUGHS against Valencia's neck, her touch a brush of lips and cold steel. The Vesper's crown perches precariously on her blonde curls, steel and diamond glinting. With her ability, she makes the diamonds wink like luminous stars.

Reluctant, Valencia sits up and leaves her bed, the silky sheets, and Elle behind. The Clair yelps when the Valencia throws open the curtains, letting the sunlight stream in. With a flick of her hand, Elle makes the window shadow, blooming with shade until the light reduces to her liking.

Valencia changes from her silk pajamas to a proper outfit in the dimness. Today is special, and she takes her time molding an outfit to her form from the metal sheets in her closet. Titanium and darkened steel ripple across her limbs. Black and silver, it reflects in an array of brilliant colors. She doesn't need a maid to complete her appearance, nor does she want one floating around her room. She does it herself, contrasting a dark pink lipstick with coal-black eyeliner dotted with specially made crystals. Elle dozes through it all, until Valencia pulls the crown from her head. It fits the Vesper girl perfectly, as it's meant to.

"Mine," she tells Elle, leaning down to kiss her once more. The Clair smiles lazily, her lips curving up. "Don't forget, you're supposed to be present today."

Elle bows playfully. "As Your Highness commands."

The title is so perfect and makes Valencia feel so joyous she wants to kiss the girl before her again. But at the risk of ruining her makeup, she refrains. And she doesn't look back, lest she lose her grip on whatever self-control she has left these days.

Ridge House has belonged to her family for generations, sprawling across the cresting edge of the many rigs that give the region its name. All steel and glass, it's easily Valencia's favorite of the family estates. Her personal chambers face east, toward the dawn. She likes rising with the sun, as much as Elle disagrees. The passage connecting her rooms to the main halls of the estate are magnetron designed, made of steel walkways with open sides. Some run along the ground, but many arch over leafy treetops, jagged rocks, and springs dotting the property. Should battle ever come to their door, an invading force would have a difficult time fighting their way through a structure set against them.

Despite the manicured forest and luxurious grounds of the Ridge, few birds come here. They know better. As children, Valencia and Damon used many for target practice. The rest fell to their mother's whims.

More than three hundred years ago, before the Sturniolo kings rose, the Ridge did not exist, and neither did Norta. This corner of land was ruled by a Vesper warlord, Valencia's direct ancestor. Her family line is the blood of conquerors, and their fortunes have risen again. Chris is not the only king in Norta anymore.

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