PREVIEW

... t I’m tired of having sex.

Not in the "oh, I’ve had too much pleasure" kind of way. No. More like the "if I see another lace nightgown, I’m going to jump out the window" kind of way.

It’s every day now—except one.

The concubines rotate like it’s a shift schedule at a factory. Different perfume. Same dead eyes.

They’re all trying to get pregnant, of course. An heir for House Callum. A legacy. Whatever.

But people are starting to look at me funny.

Th ...

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