Bred By The King (Bred By The Royals #1)

1. SOREN

One

SOREN

It’s late here in Vinterfjord when my phone vibrates on the heavy desk of my study. The screen shows an encrypted incoming call from MeliTar. I lean back in my chair, rubbing the back of my neck. I already know who it is, and King Tariq doesn’t call for idle chat.

I accept the video call, and the old man’s face fills the screen. He looks exhausted, with deep lines around his eyes, but his posture is still straight, like the warrior he used to be.

“Soren,” he says in a rough, direct voice. No titles, no bullshit.

“Tariq.” I nod. “You look like shit.”

He lets out a short laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t look much better, kid. How many more funerals are you planning to attend this year?”

I don’t answer that. We both know the numbers. I lost three men last month in a scuffle near their border. And two of them had kids…

Tariq leans forward. “I’m tired, Soren. My people are tired, and yours are too.

Widows, orphans, boys coming home with missing legs and dead eyes, towns that look like they’ve been bombed back to the Stone Age.

” He lets out a deep sigh. “We run tiny kingdoms. The big players don’t even bother about us killing each other.

” He holds my gaze for a few seconds, letting me wonder where the fuck he’s going with this.

“This war has been going on longer than either of us has been alive, son.” I stay quiet, staring back, my jaw tight.

“Your ancestors came down south like fucking wolves,” he continues bluntly.

“Every other land they invaded took their freedom back. But we’ve been kicking each other’s teeth in for fucking generations.

We send rebels north. You send back spies.

Fucking pointless blood spilling. The reason all this started doesn’t even make sense anymore.

” He pauses, studying me for a beat. “We need to end this shit, my boy. For good.”

Fuck, he’s right. I’ve known it for fucking years, but saying it out loud still tastes like a goddamn surrender. “And what do you propose?”

Tariq doesn’t even blink when he says, “A marriage. Your blood and mine. You and my Layla. You marry, have an heir, and our bloodlines become one. Your child will be the living proof that this mess is over. We sign a full peace treaty, throw you the biggest fucking wedding anyone has ever seen, issue joint statements. The fucking works.”

Princess Layla of MeliTar. I’ve seen her pictures.

Fuck, the whole world has. The curvy warrior princess with sharp eyes, a body built for fucking worshiping, and…

enemy blood. I’ve spent years actively not thinking about her more than was absolutely necessary.

My cock twitches anyway. Fucking traitor.

I rub a hand over my mouth, thinking. “Your people won’t like it.”

He lets out a tired chuckle. “They’ll fucking hate it.

Yours too. The old guard on both sides will be at our throats.

But the ones who’ve buried husbands, wives, children, brothers and sisters are ready for this whole mess to fucking stop.

Son, you and I can make this happen and give them a future that isn’t just more graves. ”

I stare at the screen for a long moment. This fucking war has bled Vinterfjord dry. Of resources, men… fucking hope. I’m thirty-four years old and goddamn sick of sending kids to die for a grudge older than any of us.

“Alright,” I say, nodding. “Let’s do it. Send a draft contract. We’ll make the announcement after I come down to finalize in person.”

Tariq nods slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Good.” He sighs. “Layla won’t like it either.” A pause. “At first.” His gaze returns to mine through the screen. “She’s fierce. But she loves her people. Same as you.”

When the call ends, I sit in my quiet study, staring through the dark floor-to-ceiling window.

Shit, I’m going to marry the enemy princess. Put a fucking baby in her. Bind our kingdoms with blood and flesh.

The thought should worry me, but instead, heat grows in my body, heavy and insistent. I picture her curves, the fire in her eyes… and my hand tightens into a fist on the desk.

This is going to be complicated as hell. But it ends the war.

I push up from my chair and head for the shower. Need a cold one. I got a flight to MeliTar to prepare for.