Chosen by the Fae King

Prologue

Nox

A breathy exhalation passed between blood-red lips, an echo of desire seamlessly merging with the sizzling flames in the hearth. Long, inky lashes, generously coated with kohl, fluttered coyly.

I could never fathom why Sidra bothered with the elaborate fa?ade for these nocturnal rendezvous at her family”s secluded retreat. My visits, already infrequent, bore the weight of an impending farewell—an agreement we”d made during my inaugural trip into her bed months ago.

She understood our liaisons were to be temporary exchanges of carnal pleasures between two unclaimed and unwed fae. What she failed to grasp was my indifference to her company out of this bed.

Our families had once discussed a future union between us and I counted myself lucky that my father had no interest in making me miserable for his own political gain. Still, I was playing with fire and would need to end things soon.

“Nox,” she whimpered, tracing her fingertips along the contours of my chest. “Are you not going to touch me?”

A smirk twisted my lips, fingers lightly gliding across the skin beneath her navel. “I am touching you.”

A fan of delayed gratification, I crafted leisurely circles, prolonging the torment. Her pulse quickened, the rhythm visible beneath the smooth porcelain skin of her arched neck.

As my lips grazed her collarbone, the sensual mood shattered with the force of a battering ram against the heavy oaken door.

I snapped upright, severing the connection with the convenient diversion beside me. The female”s eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and disappointment as she hurriedly shrouded herself in satin, feigning a modesty that was nothing but a farce.

Why the pretense?I mused absently as I watched the sullen intruder lumber across the threshold.

My brother, a hulking figure with a stormy gaze, eclipsed the doorway with his ominous presence. He stood there for a long beat, every inch of his body coiled with tension.

“Nox.” His voice, strained and cutting, carved through the atmosphere like a dagger through flesh.

I shot to my feet. Lorne was not one for theatrics. He wouldn”t have sought me out like this over an insignificant occurrence.

With urgency, I slid my feet into my boots, grateful I hadn”t removed my trousers. Snatching my shirt, I followed my brother into the corridor, deafening myself to the shrill protests echoing from the bed behind.

Though Sidra both looked and acted like she was all succubus, her banshee heritage was coming out swinging. She obviously didn’t know me well if she thought throwing an inharmonious magical temper tantrum would hold my attention.

After firmly sealing the door to her chamber, I matched Lorne”s strides toward the front entrance. The spell protecting this place wouldn”t allow us to shadow-walk from within its boundaries.

“Speak,” I demanded, my patience thinning like parchment.

He shook his head. “Not here.”

At least one of us possessed the forethought. The last thing I wanted was for one of the Blake family’s servants to overhear something they shouldn”t. Or worse, a member of the family.

Once beyond the gates, Lorne”s massive hand clamped onto my wrist. His chest heaved, golden locks tousled by restless fingers.

Lorne never fidgeted. Yet, now, he mirrored the disquiet that had gripped him when our mother was slain.

A cold, stabbing fear slithered into my chest. “Father?”

He nodded curtly. “Poison.”

“Poison?” I whispered, the word clinging to the air like a grim omen. “Is he alive?”

“Barely.”

King Orson, our sire, had been absent, visiting distant towns. His return wasn”t anticipated until tomorrow.

“Where is he?”

“Thornewood. His chambers.”

In an instant, I vanished, going directly into my father”s bedchamber, with Lorne following closely. My countenance hardened as the scene unfolded before me.

The air was dense with the metallic tang of blood, our father writhing on his bed, a puppet in the throes of an unseen malevolence. His once-piercing gaze now stared vacantly, a silent plea for release.

Liam, the king”s head guard and my closest friend, tenderly wiped our father”s brow. The room was steeped in an eerie hush, bearing witness to Liam’s insistent vow.

“I will stay with you, my king. Until the end.”

Liam straightened, taking his position near the door, a guardian in the shadows. His noticeable lack of acknowledgment conveyed the depth of his sorrow. He was my brother in all ways but blood.

A haunting groan emanated from the bed.

“Father,” I choked out, moving to his side.

His cold, clammy hand rested within mine. The once-mighty patriarch had been reduced to a spectral semblance of what he was the last time I saw him, mere days ago.

My heart ached at the sight, at the relentless battle that played out in his weakened frame.

“Father,” I repeated, my voice barely audible.

His eyes flickered toward me, a glimmer of recognition extinguished as swiftly as a dying ember. Lorne stood stoic at my side.

“Where are the godsdamned healers?” I demanded of my brother.

“I dismissed them. There”s nothing more they can do.”

“Sage–”

“Sage agreed. I sent her to write letters to Hawke and Cade. I have two squads on standby waiting for your approval to deliver them.”

Last I heard, our youngest brothers were distant from Thornewood Castle. The request to write to them would occupy Sage’s thoughts, distracting her from self-recrimination.

Healing constituted her essence, the core of her existence. Dwelling too long within her own mind would torment her soul.

I despised the helpless feeling that enveloped me, standing idly as life ebbed from my father. My king.

His chest rose, lips moving. Lorne and I knelt, bending forward, catching the fragments of his fading orders.

“My sons,” he croaked.

“We”re here,” I assured. “Lorne and I are here.” Father didn’t appear to register that only two of his children were present.

“Drayce. Summon … Drayce.”

Lorne leaned into Father’s field of vision. “I already sent for him.”

Drayce was an elder mage with the gift of Sight. He was a close friend of our father. He couldn’t choose what he was shown in his visions, but a small part of me resented his gift for not Seeing this.

Father blinked slowly and took a deep rattling breath. “Find them,” he commanded “... find the bastards. Protect ... the kingdom.”

I nodded solemnly, jaw set with a determination that mirrored the steel in our father”s eyes. He continued speaking in fragments, laboring to articulate his final commands.

As Father”s breaths dwindled, I directed Liam to fortify the castle and secure the grounds. Unraveling the truth behind this treachery first required ensuring the safety of our stronghold.

Yet amid issuing commands, I couldn”t escape the grim reality unfolding before my eyes. The strongest male I”d ever known, succumbing to a cruel fate, was cracking a fissure through the middle of my soul.

The reign of King Orson waned, and the onset of an impending storm cast a shadow over the kingdom.

As the last vestige of breath left his body, the weight of responsibility settled upon my shoulders, a burden far more formidable than any unyielding crown. The searing pain numbed me from within, a sensation I welcomed in the shroud of encroaching darkness.

May the gods have mercy on those who dared to poison the blood of our kingdom because I sure as hell wouldn’t.