Rae Foster

  • MARIGOLD AND TEETH OF IVORY

    Princess Claude’s scream could chill the blood. Like the November wind that raged beyond the castle windows, Claude’s voice whipped the flesh and assaulted the ears. Not Marigold’s ears, however. Marigold had grown accustomed to it in her ten years as a lady’s maid. The princess’s volatile moods made her so bored she yawned, showing…