Prologue
SYBILLA
A chill ran over my body as I started walking faster toward my apartment. I usually avoid this route home. It’s riddled with vivid memories. None of them good. All of them about my ex. It’s a drizzling, dreary day, not that it’s different from any other day of the year. Portland isn’t really known for its bright sunshine days, anyway.
Licking my lips, I reach for the handle of my building and slip inside. My phone rings in my pocket as I approach my door and I quickly take it out, glancing at the name on my caller ID. I shouldn’t be surprised to see that it’s Drusilla, my youngest sister.
“Hello?” I greet, sliding my key into the lock and opening the door.
“You sound funny,” she announces.
Closing and locking the door behind me, I grunt. “I just got home from work. It’s cold and raining.”
She snorts. “You just described every day in that city. Why don’t you move to Florida with me? A condo just went up for sale two doors down from mine. We could be neighbors,” she squeals.
My little sister is the epitome of a happy blonde cheerleader. I don’t know how we’re even related. I have dark blonde hair, really, it’s more brown than anything, but I’m living in denial. Even when I’m happy, I don’t bounce around as much as she does. She’s got to be the happiest person I know.
“I’ll think about it,” I lie.
“He’s not coming back, please, move here and start over. You need a change,” she says.
Her voice is less excited and oddly serious. It’s not like her, and I narrow my eyes as I sink down on my sofa. Pressing my lips together, I wonder exactly what is up with her. I don’t ask, she wouldn’t tell me.
Dru may be a happy cheerleader, but she’s also a closed book. She keeps her personal life extremely closed off to the rest of us. I’m one of four girls, I have two older sisters, then Dru is the baby. We’re all close, but we’ve all chosen jobs that have us spread out across the states.
“I don’t want him back,” I lie again.
There’s a moment of silence before I hear Dru release a heavy sigh. “Think about it. Seriously, think about it. He’s a loser and you deserve someone magical.”
Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. “Magic doesn’t exist, Dru. Sometimes we have to settle for adequate.”
“You should never have to settle, and not for adequate. Ever.”
We talk for a few more minutes, then I come up with an excuse to hang up. Even if Dru doesn’t buy it, she allows it, with a promise to call her in a few days. I agree before I lie down on my sofa and curl up into a ball.
Staring at my powered off television, I wonder if she could be right?
Could there be something magical out there?
For me?
ELIAS
I stare at my father lying in his coffin, in the middle of his self-built tomb. Apparently being buried with the rest of the kings and queens of our country wasn’t good enough for the traitorous bastard.
He was just that too. A traitor. Not only to his crown, but to his country and to me. Licking my lips, I wonder if anyone is going to visit him or can I just have him buried beneath the stone and be done with it?
“Elias, Your Majesty,” a voice calls out.
Turning my head, I look to see my father’s head of counsel standing at the mouth of the tomb entrance. He has his hands folded in front of himself, his head tipped, but his eyes are on me.
“We must plan the coronation, Your Highness,” he calls out softly.
I grunt in annoyance. “Would this land truly accept a traitor’s son on the throne?” I ask.
His body jerks back from my words and he takes a step toward me, but moves no farther. “It is your duty, Your Majesty.”
“Duty.” I snort as my gaze drifts back to my father. “Duty is the only reason I do not ride with my soldiers and leave this hell.”
Turning my back on my father, I lift my hand, my eyes focused on the counsel. “Bury him.”
Without another word, I leave the tomb. It’s time to take my rightful place on the throne. The son of a traitor, a tarnished reputation before I’ve even begun. It is time for me to rule people who hate my family’s legacy.
It is time for me to be swallowed by the depths of hell in the name of duty.
Chapter One
ONE MONRTH LATER
ELIAS
“You must choose a bride,” Cornwall, my head of counsel, demands.
I hear Merek chuckle deeply behind me. He is my closest friend, my cousin by blood, my brother in battle. He can also sard off. With a growl, I push the sheaf of papers away from me.
Tilting my head to the side, I press my lips together. “I mustn’t. I’m the King, focusing on my country, which already doesn’t trust a single bone in my body. I do not have time to take a wife.”
“You must produce an heir, and quickly. It is essential to your position.”
“By gods bones, Cornwall. I do not want a wife,” I snap.
Merek takes a step closer to my side. He’s looking at me, but I know that he will not utter a single word in front of Cornwall, for I know that he does not trust the man. How can he be trusted? He was counsel to my father, a traitor to his crown and country. A traitor to me, to my men and their families.
“That is all Cornwall,” I say, lifting my hand, dismissing the man.
He opens his mouth to speak, but my gaze is trained on his and I hope it is clear that this conversation is over.
“Think on it, Your Highness. Think on a wife, on creating an heir.”
Without saying anything else, he stands and leaves the room. Rowan and Henry open then close the doors behind him, moving to set the wooden lock in place so that nobody can bother us. I am now surrounded by my men, men that I trust wholeheartedly.
“Speak freely, Merek, I know that you have been patiently waiting to insert your opinion on the matters at hand.”
There’s a moment of silence, but I wait because I know that Merek has something to say. As my first cousin and my highest-ranking officer, he has my ear. I trust him more than I trust anybody else in this world.
“As much as I detest agreeing with Cornwall,” he spits. “You need to take a wife, even if you only lay with her to produce an heir and then send her away. Your throne must be secured.”
Rowan and Henry both cough and avoid my gaze. I know that Merek is right. I know what I need to do, but I am loathe to actually go through with it. As King, I cannot just marry whomever I wish. The marriage must be political, and gods bones, but I despise politics.
“There are several prospects. What about Lady Rose of Kelna?”
Henry makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds much like a horse’s neigh. “Speak freely, Rowan and Henry, it’s just the brotherhood right now,” I grunt.
“I’m sorry to tell you, but Lady Rose’s face resembles that of your stallion, Storm,” Henry says, his voice even and calm, his eyes focused on my own.
Lifting my hand to my eyes, I drag it down the rest of my face with a groan. “I have a feeling most of the Ladies will have similar attributes,” I mumble.