CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CLARK ENDLESS
Once I was out of the tent, I was aware of all eyes on me. A man that I could only presume to be the Lord of Summer stepped forward. He glowed like the sun, reminding me of beaches, islands, and long afternoons. Sparks danced on his light, brown skin, and jet-black hair. The smell of the ocean breeze came with him. “Well,” said Solis tersely, “it’s about time the bastard King greets us.”
“You would have the nerve to say that to his face,” an older gentleman, who reminded me of a regal, St. Nick, with a long, white beard, white hair, and a blue robe stepped forward. “If anyone is a bastard, Solis, it is you for impregnating my daughter out of wedlock.”
“I’m her mate,” Solis insisted, “simply because you do not choose to accept the union doesn’t mean
