Chapter Two

”Iwon”t bow to your wishes, Father,” I snarl, glowering at the old man. His hand trembles as he reaches for his fork, but I”m no longer sure if his weakness is reality or a show. With him, it”s impossible to tell. The old bastard is wily and conniving.

He”s been moving people around on the board like chess pieces for decades, but I”m no pawn, and I won”t be moved. I rule this kingdom now. He can take his fucking machinations and shove them up his ass.

”I don”t care what you agreed to or how long ago you agreed, I”m not marrying the girl. Undo whatever the fuck you did.”

”You will marry her, Troy!” he says, his voice weak and raspy. ”Do you hear me, boy? You will!”

”The hell I will!” I smack my hand down on the table. Utensils rattle from the force of the blow. ”I”m not a fucking pawn, Father.”

”No, you”re an Ulstead,” he snaps, his black eyes crackling with command. The stroke may have taken his strength, but it didn”t take his will. That was forged in steel decades ago and is as strong now as ever. ”And you don”t need me to remind you that ruling is an obligation just as much as a birthright. This is your obligation.”

”Ruling is a fucking albatross around my neck,” I mutter, hauling myself to my feet. ”I”ll be damned if it”s a ring around my finger, too. If you want to forge an alliance with her family so goddamn badly, you marry her.”

I don”t wait for a response. He undoubtedly has one prepared—he always does when we argue. But I”m not interested in hearing him try to rationalize this. He”s known about this for years—he”s the one who signed the damn contract. But he only just decided to inform me now, weeks before he expects this wedding to take place.

I storm out of the dining room, my fury boiling over like molten lava, incinerating everything in its path.

I slam the door behind me, not giving a shit who hears it. My heart races as I stalk through the castle corridors, consumed with fury at the thought of him trying to control me and my future.

Ever since his stroke five years ago, I”ve been the one leading the kingdom. I refuse to be a puppet simply because he”s the one still sitting on the throne. If he wants to play king again and throw his weight around, he can take the fucking headaches that go with the mantle of responsibility.

Members of the court avoid me as I stride toward my study, quickly slipping down hallways to stay out of my path. Good. I”m not a tolerant man. Like the man who raised me, I”m turning into a fucking despot. If there was light in him, I think it died with my mother.

If there was light in me, he smothered it.

I guess that”s what happens when you live on the edge of a fucking fairytale land, but you no longer believe in happily ever after. There”s a reason no one ventures to our kingdom. Despite the beauty of the kingdom, despite all our riches, despite every advance we”ve made, people avoid coming here. We”re the reason.

Just miles away in Fable Forest, everyone lives out their best lives in their happy little magical make-believe bubbles. Not us. We”re the cautionary tale people whisper about. Look what happens when the magic dies.

Ours died when my mother was killed.

All the magic and all the medicine in the world couldn”t save her. She was snatched away, leaving us behind. My father died with her, though his heart still beats. He”s never been the same.

I refuse to let that be me. Yet some part of me aches for that kind of love anyway.

It”s infuriating.

No matter how hard I try, I can”t ever seem to smother that one piece of my soul still clinging to hope. And I have tried. Christ, I”ve tried for years to drown it in darkness just to silence it, but it still fucking screams, demanding to be heard.

I”m not listening. I won”t be lured to the shores of ruin and left broken by false promises of forever.

Hope can sing its siren song to someone else. It”s done enough damage in my life.

Except…I know it”s not done singing to me yet because I still fucking feel it. My one is out there waiting for me. If I go through with this marriage, I lose my chance of finding her. For good.

Entering my study, I slam the door and immediately stride to the bar set up across the room. I quickly pour myself a shot of brandy, downing it in one swift gulp.

The burning sensation does little to quell my anger. If anything, it stokes the fire, setting new embers ablaze.

”Two years,” I growl. ”He signed that fucking contract two years ago.”

Just as I hurl the glass across the room, the door opens, and my best friend, Samson, ducks inside, narrowly avoiding the projectile.

The glass crashes into the wall next to the door, shattering into a thousand jagged pieces.

Samson turns his blond head, glancing at it. ”Jesus Christ, Troy. You realize I prefer to drink from my glass, not pick pieces of it from my eye, right?”

”Fuck off,” I mutter, my obsidian eyes boring into him. ”You”re the one who doesn”t know how to knock.”

”Sorry.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, grinning at me. ”But the whole castle heard you and your father yelling at each other again. I figured you needed a drinking partner as much as I need your fancy fucking alcohol.” He strides deeper into the study before grabbing a seat across from my desk.

He doesn”t sit, he lounges like an indolent king, sprawled as if this is his castle. It might as well be. We”ve been friends since we were old enough to walk. He”s spent as much time here as I have over the years.

We”ve fought together, killed together, mourned together. We”re brothers in all but blood. He”s the one person in this kingdom I trust—the only one who has always had my back. When everyone else is worried about what my father will say, Samson is the little devil in my ear, asking what I want.

He makes it sound so fucking simple when it”s anything but. Even if I weren”t an Ulstead, my desires are complicated and have gone unfulfilled for a reason. The things I crave are…well, there”s a reason I”ve never fucked anyone.

I want love, goddammit all. Just like everyone else, I want it. I hate that I want it, but I want it anyway. Yet there”s a dark edge to my desire—something twisted and corrupt. I want to consume and possess and own so completely that even death will fear taking her from me.

It”s fucked up on every level.

But I feel like she”s out there, waiting for me. Aching for the same things.

God help her when I find her.

I resent the hell out of fate or destiny, or whatever it is that keeps her from me. And I resent the hell out of my father for trying to interfere. Mostly, I resent the fucking responsibility that keeps me trapped here, unable to find her. Unable to fulfill those desires.

”What”s going on?” he asks.

Thoughts of dark desires and unfulfilled fantasies swirl within me, but I push them aside, focusing on the matter at hand.

”He thinks he can force me to marry some pawn of a princess,” I growl, clenching my fists. ”He signed the fucking contract two years ago.”

”Jesus.” Sam”s brow arches. ”Two years?”

”He didn”t say a fucking word until tonight.”

”That”s fucked up.”

”Beyond.” I snatch another glass from the bar top, pouring a finger of brandy into it. ”You want one?”

”Obviously. I didn”t come to watch you drink alone.”

I pour two fingers of brandy into a second glass, the amber liquid shimmering beneath the dim light of my study.

Samson stands, stretching lazily before prowling over, his movements confident and smooth.

”I refuse to be bound to some stranger just to fulfill his twisted desire to control the future of this kingdom long after his death,” I say, passing him the glass.

Sam takes a sip, eyeing me over the rim. ”No one said you have to love the girl, Troy. You can marry her, fuck her, and never feel a thing for her.”

”I”m not fucking marrying her,” I snap, my lips twisting in distaste. I narrow my eyes on him, suspicious. ”Since when did you take his side?”

”I”m not taking his side. It may be his name on the contract, but if marrying her forms an alliance that strengthens the Ulstead name, it”ll be your name people remember, not his.” He takes another sip. ”And if the marriage comes with personal benefits for you…”

Jesus Christ. His dark appetites are well known around here, and they make mine look tame. Unlike me, however, he”ll fuck any woman willing to spread her legs. I”ve yet to meet the one meant to satisfy my urges. To Samson”s great amusement, I remain loyal to her.

Like I said, if I ever find the one meant for me, God help her.

”I don”t need a fuck buddy.”

”Yeah, you do.” There”s a wicked edge to his laugh. ”You”re just too goddamn stubborn to admit it.” He studies me for a minute. ”So what”s the plan, then?”

”Right now?” I run my fingers through my dark hair, considering my options. The thought of solitude and escape is tempting as hell. The walls of the castle feel like they”re closing in on me. I have a hunting cabin in Fable Forest, the fairytale kingdom bordering mine. It”s in the middle of nowhere, cut off from everything, but the weight of responsibility doesn”t seem as crushing out there. Neither does my father”s oppressive influence.

”I think I”m going to head to the cabin for a few days to clear my head,” I say. ”If I stick around here, he”ll just continue to hound me.”

”Good idea. Do you need me to run interference?”

”No. He won”t bother me out there.” He never even leaves the castle these days. And he hasn”t stepped foot in Fable Forest in years. I don”t even think he knows about my cabin.

”Try to relax, will you?” Sam throws back the rest of his brandy and then grins at me. ”Maybe this shit will look a little better tomorrow.”

”Not fucking likely,” I mutter.

He chuckles, ducking out of the study.

I lean back against the wall, wondering if he”s right. Will a change in environment bring a change in perspective too? Somehow, I doubt it.

I know what I want. Control over my own fate. I”m not willing to give that up to dance on my father”s strings. Not for his little pawn of a princess. Not for anyone.

Two hours later, the crunch of fallen leaves beneath my boots punctuates the eerie silence as I approach the cabin, my bag slung over my shoulder. This part of the Fable Forest is so dense that little more than tiny slivers of moonlight penetrate the thick canopy overhead.

Anticipation coils in my stomach like a snake, though I don”t know why. The air feels different, charged with electricity. Excitement over being back after so long? Relief at being away from the castle and my own kingdom? Neither answer feels quite right. It”s as if I”m moving toward something monumental, something important.

”What the fuck?” I mutter, trying to shake the feeling.

The cabin rises out of the night like a portal to hell—cloaked in black shadows and foreboding. It”s anything but hellish and foreboding, though. Some of my fondest memories happened inside.

When I reach the door, the old lock hangs askew. I”m unsure if someone has been inside the cabin or if the forest”s harsh elements are taking their toll. It”s been months since I was here last. Nothing seems disturbed as I push open the door and step inside.

Motes of dust hover in the air, dancing in beams of moonlight filtering in through the windows. The scent of age-old wood fills my nostrils as I set my bag down by the door and tug off my boots. My shirt follows, discarded on the couch in the corner. I flip on the lights and head for the fireplace to get a fire going for warmth. It”s fucking cold, and there is no heat out here. Getting lights and running water was hard enough.

The memories of hunting trips with Samson have left indelible marks on the place. The deer head hanging above the mantle, his antlers glistening in the silvery moonlight, is from one of those trips. The wooden table is chipped on one side from a raucous game of cards that ended in a wrestling match.

This cabin has always been my sanctuary, free from the politics and power plays that come with living with my father. It”s the one place where no one expects anything of me, no one wants anything from me, and no one gives a damn who I am. My decisions out here impact no one but me.

With the fire started, I climb to my feet, heading for the bedroom to start a fire in there.

As I flip on the light, my heart stops.

A curvy little goddess sprawls across my bed, dead asleep. Her golden hair cascades over the pillow like a waterfall of silk. Her plump lips are slightly parted, her cheeks flushed. She”s completely naked and absolutely fucking gorgeous.

I stare at her in shock, my feet rooted to the floor, my cock throbbing in my pants. Jesus Christ. I”ve never seen anything so beautiful. Every inch of her is soft—her belly round, her breasts full, her thighs thick.

”What the fuck?” I whisper, my heart pounding against my ribcage as if it”s trying to beat out of my chest. The entire fucking world narrows to her and the gentle rise and fall of her chest—to her hard pink nipples and her porcelain skin.

I grind my palm against my cock, trying to talk him down, but it”s no use. She has his attention now, and he isn”t settling.

I want her like I”ve never wanted anything. My balls ache with need.

I take a step into the room. And then another.

A parade of twisted desires runs through my head—each more fucked up than the last. Each more compelling than the last.

I want to know if she”s as soft as I think she is. Would she whimper if I touched her? If I tasted her? Would she wake moaning if I wrapped my tongue around her hard little nipple and sucked?

The thoughts are wrong—so fucking wrong—but looking at her, they don”t feel that way.

Every fucking part of me feels like this is exactly where I”m supposed to be. Claiming her is precisely what I”m supposed to do.

”Please,” she whimpers, her voice soft and needy.

My gaze snaps to her face. Her eyes are still closed, her lips parted slightly as her chest rises and falls rhythmically.

Fuck.

I clench my hands into hard fists, fighting against the urge to touch, to taste, to take. I don”t understand this pull toward her, this unrelenting desire to crawl into the bed and claim what isn”t mine. But it”s there, gnawing at me from the inside.

What isn”t mine? No, that”s not accurate. She is mine. I feel it in my fucking soul.

This girl is mine.

If she didn”t want to belong to me, she never should have crawled into my bed. This may not be my kingdom, but this deep into Fable Forest, no one knows the difference. I make the rules out here. My will. My laws. My way.

”Please,” she whimpers again, tossing her head back on the pillow. Her hand moves down her body, over the curves of her breasts and belly.

My cock throbs painfully in response, pressing against the confines of my pants. I grip my dick, squeezing painfully. The sight of her fingers slipping between her parted thighs sends me into a near-feral state.

She squeals as she finds the wetness gathering there—a soft, high-pitched cry that has cum dripping into my boxers. Her hips buck up into her own touch.

The sight sends a jolt through me.

”Fuck,” I breathe, trying not to come in my pants.

She”s innocence personified, but here she is—naked and writhing on my bed. Lost in the throes of ecstasy.

Every fiber of my being screams at me to join her, to taste and take and fuck until I”m sated. I know it”s wrong to watch her and wish those were my fingers in her cunt, but I don”t care. The need to claim her as my own beats at me relentlessly. In this moment, that”s what matters.

The air is thick with the scent of her arousal, a sweet musk that strokes my senses, driving me mad. I squeeze my throbbing cock harder through my pants, fucklust surging through my veins.

Her fingers work in and out of her slick cunt, the squelching sounds adding fuel to my raging desire. She”s in heaven, her chest rising and falling rapidly as soft moans escape her lips.

Reality crumbles around me, leaving only her.

Who is she? Salvation? Damnation? The answer to every unspoken prayer I”ve ever had?

My eyes never leave her as I move closer, not stopping until I”m at the bedside. Her skin is pink from the climax she”s chasing—the climax that should be mine to give.

She shudders, her fingers slipping away from her swollen cunt and back to it again in a rhythm that has my head spinning.

”God,” she moans, and I nearly lose it right there.

I need to touch her. But more than that—I need to hear her say my name like that. With pure lust. With need.

My decision made, I let out a low growl, my eyes narrowing on her flushed face as she writhes in pleasure.

I bend down, seaming my mouth to hers, savoring her sweetness on my lips. Stealing a taste of heaven and securing my place in hell. But if I”m going, I intend to ride her the whole fucking way.

She gasps in surprise, her breath warm against my skin. Her eyes flutter open, and I get sucked into a maelstrom of startling blue, tinted with innocence and hints of forever.

Goddamn, she”s perfect.