His Uncrowned Queen

Prologue

VAUGHN

No one understood what it took to be king.

The people of the world saw a crown. They saw power—the authority to command and destroy. They did not see the cost.

They did not see me.

A crown was not just worn, it was forged. Seeded, over centuries of time. It took a lot of blood to earn one, and it did not rest on one head alone.

I used to think that I didn’t need a queen.

I thought I was strong enough to carry the kingdom by myself.

It took years of training and lessons to see that I was wrong.

A king was nothing without his queen. Not because he was weak alone…

but because the ultimate power to rule demanded balance.

Power was steadiness. It was the calm amid the responsibilities that had the strength to drown you.

What it came down to was control and chaos.

Mercy and massacre.

Love… and the willingness to sacrifice for it.

Most thought finding a queen was a matter of choice. They were wrong. Finding a queen was a necessity. But a queen was not chosen, she was broken. She was stripped of everything that gave her identity. And if she was lucky enough to survive the trials she faced, she was reborn. Or… buried.

I did not understand that at first. Not when I found her. Not when I loved her. Not even when I brought her into my world. But I understood it now.

To be king, I would have to lose her.

History remembers the crowns and who wears them. It keeps records of war. It recalls the victors who rewrite the truth to suit their reign.

History does not remember us.

I may be banished royalty—The Black Line cast into the shadows of society—but I still carry the blood of the rightful king.

Blood always remembers.

History has seen how far a bloodline will go to reclaim a title.

It has never seen how far an Order will go to restore one.