1813. London. ... Eighteen-year-old Sofia May, a peasant girl and immigrant, has been handed over to the Bennet family as a servant. She should feel lucky, right? but luck has little to do with what awaits her. Destined to inherit the crown of England, Prince Francis Bennet, soon to be king, and bound to an arranged marriage, was not a man one could ever afford to displease. Young, clever, and fiercely determined, twenty-one-year-old Francis was arrogant, commanding, and put simply; disrespectful. He would never relent until he obtained what he desired. And what did he desire? Power. Absolute control. The throne of England as his own. Yet fate had other plans. A commoner could not be with a prince; or so the world said. But what if love dared to defy law and duty? What if the struggle to be together tested them to the brink of ruin.. or death? This is a tale of passion and peril, of forbidden love tested by betrayal, loss, and the relentless cruelty of circumstance. One between King Francis and Sofia May, his servant, and yet perhaps something far more. ••• He was the only one who ever called me May. No one had ever called me just May. "May," he said. "It's Sofia," I spat, sharp as a whip. He chuckled softly. "I find it amusing that you think I care," he said. "I may call you what I please. And so, you shall be May. Just May. Understood?" He smirked, green eyes glinting with cruel amusement. I loathed him. God, who did he think he was? "Of course, my lord. If that pleases you." I forced a smile, hiding the fire I felt rising within me. ••• "I cannot have you, Sofia May. I am wrong for you," he confessed, his voice low, restrained, yet trembling just enough that I knew the truth lay beneath. "No. No, you are just right for me," I whispered. "I believe that. Don't you?" "I... I do," he admitted, each word a struggle, his eyes betraying the turmoil he refused to name. {Mature