The Fallen Kings of Eden

I knew him only as Van Gogh. A tortured artist who owned the night as he moved through the shadows, cloaked in hate and madness. He was a vicious vigilante—a serial arsonist who thrived on the fear he triggered with a single match between his tattooed knuckles. We were told to lock our doors and stay inside. I wanted to. I really did. But then I saw his eyes, burning like embers as he watched me through the smoke. And like the flames at his feet, I delighted in his attention. I became his muse. His passion. His obsession. His perfectly flawed flower. But that was years ago.

Tobias Hale is surrounded by rumors, most of which are true. Underneath that three-piece suit is a cold, callous man who rules the courtroom with an iron tongue. Judges hate him with the same passion he hates me. He hasn't always been that way, though. We were once star-crossed lovers who sat by the water's edge, me wearing his jacket and him dreaming about a future far away from my family—a place where I wasn't American royalty, only his queen. I never thought I would see him again. Years later, a chance encounter brings us face to face.