In a world where the rich and poor are separated, King Elon rules with an iron fist. Ever since the death of Queen Seraphina, he has realized there has always been something missing.
Aurora Banks has lived her entire life with less than a dollar in...
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You can read all of Forgetting Arlo and Liberty. You can also read ahead of my new stories Destined and The King's Lost Queen plus many more stories. You will always be supporting me. To find out more, please click on this link: patreon.com/littletroublemaker_
"It doesn't matter if the guy is perfect or the girl is perfect, as long as they are perfect for each other."— Good Will Hunting, 1998
Word count: 1763
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PROGRESS. I had pushed a boundary with Aurora which had made her unconsciously open up to me a little bit. It was the first time she had voluntarily voiced her deep opinions to me. Sure, it was about politics but it showed that she wasn't afraid to tell me things I needed to hear.
The South had always been a problem. And maybe she was right. The reason we were destined for each other was that she would help me make a change to Zora.
I had fallen for her at that moment. One look into her brown orbs which were full of passion, surprise, and warmth sent a rush of electricity throughout my body. My heart yearned to connect with hers.
That night, I lay in bed for hours, thinking of her and imagining her in my bed beside me. She was in the same corridor as me—so close yet so far. I wondered, not for the first time if she was thinking of me. Imagining me in her bed too.
The bond worked both ways. It was pushing us closer—wanting us to be united.
My dreams were infiltrated by her too. I saw her standing beside me in the throne room—wearing my mother's crown. She would look beautiful and powerful beside me. No matter what she decided, she would be my Queen. Not an advisor or a member of my personal council but my Queen. I wouldn't settle for anything else.
I couldn't change Zora without her as my Queen.
My mind pictured her in the gardens with me, her head lying on my chest. My fingers itched to brush her short brown hair. She would be humming a song softly, her voice nearly a perfect pitch.
