Chapter 1
Chapter
One
Selene
One thousand years later.
Hands grasp my hips, guiding them up and down with more force than I could have thrust them. “Gods, yes, Selene,” Galen, my husband, groans as a sheen of sweat drips down his temple.
Even from this angle, with me on top and him lying flat on the bed, he looks like a king, taking what he wants with pride and confidence as he guides my hips.
The man doesn’t fight on the battlefield; his face is too pretty. Seriously, it’s stunning. Square jaw, clean-shaven, shiny brown hair cut to the perfect manly length. Not too long or short. His body—well, shit—look at it thrusting into me. Abs, biceps, those thighs. He’s not an old, ugly toad.
Silver linings, right?
He’s bred for this. Claiming a body.
I admit it’s attractive to watch him like this.
Just like my husband, I prefer to take what I want. Just because I have the absence of a cock between my legs doesn’t mean I don’t want to enjoy life.
Stop lying; you’re numbing yourself.
Trust me, the world would rather I be indifferent than emotional. The last time I looked deep inside my mind, I saw nothing but vengeance. It’s still there, coating my tongue, tainting everything I swallow.
Seconds, minutes, and hours I have tolerated. I will continue to play this role until retribution arrives. I’ll be the good, dutiful wife who flirts with her husband.
“There’s that look of wildness in your eyes.” Galen cups my cheeks. “It only comes out for me,” he boasts.
He’s right. Princesses are slightly off; we’re taught to be persuasive, to disregard normalcy, to seek out rarities, to have our ears always listening but our smiles smooth and welcoming.
But then again, we are also taught to bend a knee.
Why should my knees bend? I have royal blood, just like my husband. He can press his knees into the soil and kiss my shoes! Shoes that have stepped on more battlefields than his!
That will never happen.
I know. Women have dreams. Men have crowns and freedom.
I can’t help but wonder which reality is more forgiving?
“Selene,” Galen grunts as his eyes roll back, his clean-shaven chin tipping up. If we were sweet and loving, I’d bend down and kiss his jawline. “If your muscles clench any tighter, my dick is going to snap in half,” he chuckles deliriously.
Relax. Your pain is giving your prick of a husband more pleasure.
Am I scorned? Yes, you would be if you were in my shoes.
And my shoes? They are so tight that they only cause pain. Each step I take is meant to involve some form of suffering.
A lady’s plight, that’s what they call it.
Women are taught to endure pain; men are taught to hunt it down and end it.
They raised me to be like this, absolutely mad, seething with anger, yet that emotional instability makes me feel. That will be my undoing.
“Learn how to handle me, husband. Otherwise, I’ll find a replacement.” I roll my hips.
Oh, sex with him is good, I admit it.
Smack! His palm stings my ass. “I would love nothing more than to see you try.” His grin’s as wicked as a snake reeling back before it bites. Mesmerizing.
Did I mention my husband is off-kilter as well? Our poor children have no chance.
Let’s just say our marriage is unconventional, but somehow it works. Usually, that’s only when his cock is inside of me. It’s a rare time Galen stops talking and just takes what I give him.
I’m going to win this round. Yes, round, because everything—every smile, frown, banter, kiss, hookup—is a game.
In the end, it’s me versus him.
“I’m close,” I purr as I press my palms on his hard chest. His muscles flex under my touch. He’s on the edge.
Yes, right there. That’s it! My head tips back as my climax hits me. My long black hair brushes against my ass as Galen joins me, grunting and cursing like the brute he is but often hides.
My body begs me to fall limp, exhausted from the pleasure. Okay, he can leave now. Finally, I collapse against him. We only talk if we bicker; it’s fuel for our sexual banter. It’s what got us into bed in the first place.
This is a marriage of arrangement, not of partnership. I have to guard my heart.
If I show it to Galen, he’ll destroy it.
Do I hate my husband? Yes.
Do I hate him all the time? Debatable.
Do I want to fall in love with him and have a happy marriage? I don’t know. Only one person ever hugged me, and he’s dead.
Yes, Galen is trying much harder than I thought he would. I mean, the things he can do with his mouth are pleasantly surprising. But no matter how hot the sex is, we’re enemies. He’s a vampire, and I’m a fae.
Winning my heart is just another weapon he wants to use against my people. ‘Look, I stole your princess’s heart. I plundered something else from you.’ That’s what his kind gestures truly say.
The first two months of my arranged marriage were absolute anarchy; then, I thought, why can’t I have sex as I suffer? Galen was sleeping around, after all.
So we sleep together.
We continue to. Each time I come moaning Galen’s name, he thinks he’s breaking me down. Slowly, he hopes and prays I’ll love and worship him as everyone else does.
But marriage shouldn’t prioritize one person’s satisfaction over another's. There are two people, and Galen fails to see what would have truly satisfied my soul. He thinks his cock can bring world peace. Men forget it’s their cocks that cause wars. Egos are the downfall of kingdoms.
“You know,” Galen swings his hand under his head, “if you kill me, there will be another war.”
“Kill you?” I roll off of him, allowing myself one minute to rest on the mattress.
“Yes.” He turns toward me, eyes aimed at my bare chest, at the faint red marks where his lips sucked. “I thought I might die from how tight your sweet body was squeezing me, begging me for more, harder. You fuck me so good, Selene.”
Yes, it does seem like I do all the work. “You’re not just a king but a poet, I see.” I roll my eyes. Gods, help me.
“There’s that mouth. I missed it,” he quips.
“It was wrapped around you only minutes ago.”
He smirks. “Where it should always be.”
“I don’t know why I sleep with you,” I grunt. I’m a failure as a woman. I should have been born a man.
“Because the sex is the best you’ve had.” His lips meet mine, but the kiss is fast; he got what he wanted, and he’s ready to go on his merry way.
As am I.
“How many women has that line worked on?”
He rolls off the bed with newfound energy. That’s a fine-sculpted ass; a shame it’s attached to a prick who wears a crown. I watch as he bends down and starts to collect his clothing.
“None as smart as you, wife.” He winks at me over his broad shoulders.
“Are you still sleeping with others?”
He doesn’t miss a beat, answering right away. “You keep me very occupied.” He flashes me his famous smirk.
That’s not a yes or no answer.
I stand and grab a sheet to cover myself.
“Where are you off to?” Galen asks, pulling up his pants and shoving his now soft cock inside.
I’m sure your spies will tell you.
“I have things to do,” I mock. He refuses to include me in his schedule. I’m a trophy, not a wife.
I drop the sheet. His eyes lock onto my ass now.
Good. Suffer.
His footsteps close the distance, and then warmth covers my back. I have always been attracted to heat. Hot baths are a godsend; so is a man’s hard chest.
His exhale presses into my spine as he hugs me from behind. “Is this your kingdom or mine?” he purrs in my ear. I can feel him growing hard again as his hands cup my breasts.
Hmm, I suppose I can fit in one more session. I tip my head back, resting it on his shoulder.
“Ours?” I challenge. That shut you up fast, Galen. Is a crowned woman too frightening? I wiggle my ass against him, testing him. “Scared?”
Cold air replaces the space where his hands were; my next breath is half as large as his fingers grip my neck. Is that meant to scare me?
He twists my neck like a doll, turning it so he can kiss me.
I go limp as I’m trapped between his hard muscles and flesh, not a bad place to be when I’m in the mood for it. His tongue is hot and angry, king-like, as it slips into my mouth, seizing my lips and then fighting my angry tongue back.
This kiss is a battle of willpower.
What will I do? I’ll let him win; he can take over control now, but little does he know I won because I allowed him.
This is about survival. I will not be a mindless queen who eats cake, sits on a throne, zones out as she drinks her troubles away, and spreads her legs for her king to plant his seed, only to watch him leave to bed another.
If we want change, who do we expect will grant it to us? The men certainly won’t. No one hands over power; it’s too addictive.
Unlike the men surrounding this castle, I don’t want more power. I just want one thing.
One tiny, insignificant life.
I want revenge, but not against an entire kingdom.
See? I can be agreeable.
I just want one life. One heart that doesn’t deserve to produce another breath.
Not Galen. Not a king’s head, nor a nobleman’s neck. One tiny soldier is all I ask.
I need to wrap Galen around my finger. Then I’ll ask him.
“You are the Queen of Blackthorn.” His left hand slides down my stomach, teasing my hip bone before he inches it lower. “You can rule with me in front of my kingdom.”
Your kingdom? Galen, hubby, you might want to revisit your understanding of possessive pronouns.
“But in this room,”—he pushes three fingers inside of me as he kisses and sucks my neck—“I rule; you will bend and bow down to me.”
“What if I don’t?” I start to move my hips, craving friction.
You see why I hate this man? He uses sex as a tool to torment me, but I learn fast. I can do the same to him.
Iron sharpens iron, right?
I’m giving Galen a taste of his own medicine. Using my body as a weapon.
“Then I’ll keep giving you lessons until you learn.”
We gave each other lessons all week long.