A prince in hiding.

A pretty, amateur sleuth.

And a kingdom under an unbreakable curse.

Searching for a stolen owl sculpture wasn’t exactly what fresh-out-of-school Anna envisioned her first job would be. But the client insisted that it was an easy task, for the sculpture would find her, not the other way around. That, and the hefty pay, were enough for her to take on the challenge.

Imagine her shock when the sculpture, when touched by sea water, turned out to be the long-lost Prince of Qwajo! Prince Liam claimed he was the rightful heir to the throne, and the key to the mystery of why Anna—and all Qwajonians—didn’t have a memory of anything prior to two weeks ago.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg. As Anna increasingly fell for the charms of the strikingly handsome Prince, whose long, white hair matched his pale skin and whose platinum-colored eyes held a promise of a burning passion, she was also starting to remember everything—who she was, what they were to each other, and what they had to do to defeat the evil Warlock and free the kingdom from the Omni curse.



HIS LIPS TASTE SLIGHTLY SWEET WITH A MILD EARTHY flavor. Much like the water from a natural spring near a river.
I savor the freshness of summer blooms, the splendor of the cold breeze.
I am both lost, and found, in the passion of his kiss.
When our lips part, I sigh, at once longing for more.
We are lying side by side on a majestic bed, limbs tangled in silk sheets, a testimony to a night of unbridled desire.
My hands splay over his broad, chiseled chest. I stare in awe at this beautiful man.
My beautiful man.
His smooth, pale, sparkling skin glitters like crystals touched by the sun. His long, silver white hair is tied in a messy man bun, a few wisps framing his youthful square face.
And his eyes. His eyes. Shaped by thick, long lashes, they are orbs of liquid platinum, bright and mesmerizing.
Eyes that are already hungrily raking all over my body again, drinking in my bare skin.
“Anna. . . you’re mine, and I am yours,” he murmurs, his breath hot and urgent.
My fingers dance over his racing heart in anticipation. I smile as I close my eyes, waiting for his imminent kiss.
But no kiss came.
Frowning, I open my eyes and gasp out loud.
Where is my beautiful man?
The man before me is not the man I’ve spent the night with.
His eyes are white, without color. Unseeing.
His skin is ashen and rough. Cold and hard to my touch.
He is unmoving. Lifeless.
Like a statue.
And then, I watch in horror as suddenly, the statue crumples into dust, leaving no trace of the beautiful man that it was.
I scream, and scream, and scream.


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