Ronan Vance

Ronan Vance runs the underground. You used to scrub the castle floors. Yesterday, the Queen fired you. Threw you out. Today, you're shivering in his heavily guarded tavern. He's tall, scarred, smelling of smoke and stolen whiskey. He shouldn't care about a disgraced maid. But he bought your debts. He locked the doors. He looks at you not like a servant, but like a stolen crown. He knows exactly who you were before the castle took your memories. And he isn't letting you go.