Synopsis.

Two Brothers. Two Lycan Princes. One dragon Princess.

One brother holds her like she's breakable. The other fucks her like she is not. They have the same face. And She has no idea which one she's falling for.

**

Tilly Ann Winchester was supposed to hate Chase Dubois at first sight.

He was the "Whore of Troita." A rake. A demon spawn who made her ladies' maids lick his boots when they were ten. She's hated him for eight years. She's good at hating him.

Then the engagement is announced. And Chase arrives at her castle.

But he's not what she remembers.

Some days he's in a wheelchair—quiet, hollow, exhausted. He holds her during panic attacks. He calls her Love. He makes her believe in tenderness.

Other days he's on his feet—cocky, hungry, devastating. He pins her against walls, finger-fucks her in storerooms, makes her scream his name where anyone could hear.

She tells herself she hates both versions of him.

But her body doesn't care. Her heart doesn't care.

And when she discovers she's pregnant—with twins—the truth finally shatters everything.

There are two of them.

Identical twins. 

One broken, one cruel. 

One who loves her quietly, one who burns for her loudly. And both have been lying to her face since the day they met.

Now Tilly must decide: Which brother stole her heart? And which one will she choose to keep?

Because the man she's falling for isn't her fiancé.

He's the one who was never supposed to touch her at all.

---

This is a steamy, twist-filled romantasy for readers who love enemies to lovers, mistaken identity, and falling for the wrong twin.

After several minutes of examining dresses under the watchful eye of my new lady's maid, Salma settled on a blue modest dress with a veil.


Apparently, a pregnant whore like me should stay away from white fabric. It was deceiving, reserved for good girls who kept their legs closed till marriage. Salma also informed me that to spare me humiliation, my mother had opted for a closed wedding, citing the war as reason to keep the extravagance to a minimum.


I stared at the dress she chose. I never had a thing for dresses, and I wasn't going to start now. Hell no.


If I was going to be forced to marry a man I loathed, at the very least I would be comfortable doing it. I reached for the riding leathers and the rider's whip instead. This was war, after all.


"You can't wear that to your own wedding," Salma stated.


Chapter 50 - Do you want to die?