Cassarae crossed her arms, looking the Duchess up and down.
"You sure know how to pick 'em, huh?"
Cassarae shook her head. She really couldn't find a single thing wrong with the Duchess' appearance. She was the perfect woman.
That pale, silky caramel skin, those naturally pink-red lips, the way she wafted a scent that was almost seductive. And that was just her face.
Her breasts stood tall and proud even without a hint of support, her hips were wide, her waist so delicate it looked as wispy and fragile as the thin silk robes she wore.
Even in a situation where she wasn't prepared and had to fight just to get this much on, she somehow still seemed regal and untouchable, untainted by the tar of life and hardship.
The Duchess frowned. Recognition flashed in her eyes when she saw Sylas, but then her gaze shifted and landed on Cassarae.
"This is your wife?" the Duchess asked coldly.
"That's right, bitch," Cassarae replied in Sylas' stead.
"She is crude and undignified."
