2. Vaughn
Vaughn
Words. Dates.
I couldn’t think of a time my life hadn’t revolved around four questions. Who. What. When. Where.
Who would bend or break first?
What were they hiding?
When did their claims take place?
Where did I go from there?
Most would call it torture. I called it survival.
The Crown was all I had left. How I got answers to get it back didn’t matter. There were days I questioned whether my duty was worth the blood it demanded. Those thoughts never lasted long.
Flashes of my uncle with his throat slit.
My father bleeding out as I tried to help him.
My mother and sister….
No. I didn’t have a choice but to continue. I was the last in my line. There was no successor. Not yet. And I needed one.
“LaRoe remains the strongest choice. Marian LaRoe has the right blood, she’s engaged, and her parents say no. Not that any of that will stand in my way if Marian’s the one. I just—”
Names blurred together. I couldn’t remember the last time I got more than a few hours of sleep at a time.
I blinked hard, seeing the names clear. “LaRoe is ideal. Her temperament is not. Leslie Jones could prove a good match if her lineage was stronger. It doesn’t hold the impact.”
“Davies might be strategic?”
My hand waved, dismissing Charles Redmond, the High Master of The Order.
He paced as I sat in my black, iron throne, studying the papers.
As I scanned the list of names again, my free hand trailed over the arm’s pitted surface.
I moved through the carved valleys that symbolized the decades of hell my former ancestors faced in this underground kingdom.
Every scar held a betrayal—the weight of a decision.
And when I finally took over for Redmond, the throne, The Order, the power, would be mine to step into.
“Davies—”
My gaze cut up. “She’d never survive. If a queen is ever going to rule a country, she must first rule the devils below it. The Order would eat Gianna Davies alive.”
Redmond tapped his finger. “So… Marian LaRoe, then? She has a bad temper, but that can be easily broken.”
“At what cost?”
Redmond paused and something flashed across his face. “I’ve been thinking… What about Taylor?”
“Taylor?” One of my eyebrows lifted, and I looked back to the list. The name wasn’t there. I paused. “Surely you’re not referring to the Taylors who betrayed my family, only to shortly lose their own title over treason to the same king they chose to follow?”
Redmond’s cheek ticked as distaste took over. “Everyone knows the evidence was lacking. It was more of a safety measure than anything. Besides, they have a daughter who is the right age. One, I hear, is quite beautiful.”
I threw him a hard look. “This isn’t about beauty, it’s about blood.”
“And they have it. She’d be a duchess. She’d probably be queen right now if what I hear is correct.
I mean, my birds tell me King Lawrence gave her serious thought.
Perhaps he still is. You know he’s looking for his own queen, and something very odd happened with Lord Shorelam.
Over whisky the other night, he told Lord Summerlyn he’s to have her.
The next, something scared him away. He won’t talk about it anymore. Tell me who has the power to do that?”
Silence rested between us as I licked my lips.
My lids narrowed. “It is interesting. …Taylor.”
Paper crinkled as I felt my fist draw in the slightest amount. The king wanted her? Wanted. Her. Wanted.
“Taylor,” Redmond repeated. “It would be unwise not to consider her. I hear her parents are especially eager to marry her off. To a title, of course.”
“Which isn’t me.” Paper crumbled under my grip.
“No, but the father has quite the reputation, and it’s not good—hence their rush. Perhaps you could convince them to reconsider?”
I didn’t miss the evil that flooded into stark features. Redmond’s dark eyes narrowed, and white teeth became exposed through the tight smile.
“He betrayed my family once. I won’t give him the opportunity to do it again. If I want her, she’ll be mine.”
“I like the sound of that even better.” He took a step and his lids dropped even more.
“The damn man deserves to pay in the worst ways. The reputation around the father… I’ve been giving this some thought.
The stories I hear—the horrible abuse she’s suffered her entire life.
” He stopped, seeming to be careful of what he said.
“I know you don’t care about any of that but think it through.
She could be perfect for us. It wouldn’t take much to force her into our ways.
She’d adapt better than any of the others.
Hell,” he shrugged, “she’s kept so guarded, she’d probably worship you for rescuing her.
Her parents just tried to marry her off to an old man.
She’d be grateful for you. And she’d be loyal, Vaughn. That’s the most important thing.”
“How are you so sure about this?”
His face twisted. “The stories are plentiful. The woman has endured the worst. But that’s not a bad thing.
She’ll be stronger because of it. She’ll live.
” My eyes locked on his as he continued.
“With her mind so fragile, you’d be able to make her into anything you want.
Stronger. A weapon. You need someone like her.
And… she needs you, too. She needs away from that man.
Allen Taylor is going to kill her. It’s only a matter of time. ”
For moments I couldn’t speak.
“I’ll give it thought. I have to go.”
I turned, and both guards lowered their heads as I passed and left the Throne Room. Voices echoed against stone as I turned, heading past Masters as I entered the main hall. The walk to The Order’s exit faded as I went in and out of thought.
Taylor.
Taylor.
I’d never considered the traitorous lines.
I shouldn’t have. The fact that my enemy did…
changed everything. If King Lawrence thought her worthy, maybe there was something there.
There was no room for error. Or pity. I had to make the right decision.
I had to choose the right queen, and this woman’s blood did hold a lure I couldn’t deny.
Where Marian LaRoe’s bloodline was old and powerful, it wasn’t up to par with what I wanted.
She was a founder, but in America, not here.
She lived in London, but she wasn’t part of our world.
She wouldn’t understand her role like someone who’d grown up under the monarchy.
A woman under the Taylor line would be prepared.
Groomed. She would understand expectation, especially marrying for a title.
She would not break under pressure. Not if Redmond was right.
The maze of halls and stairs led me out of the underground and into a parking garage. I headed for the elevator, hitting the button and riding it up to the top floor. The city lights of London shone brightly through the floor-length windows as I headed to the bar and made me a drink.
Taylor.
Again, the name repeated, and with it, the information from what I knew of the present family.
Allen and Henrietta Taylor.
Allen. Mid-fifties. Short and round. More silver than dark hair. Known for his angry outbursts and shady money deals.
Henrietta. Forties. Black hair. Beautiful. As cold as she was frugal. She loved to spend money, just not on anyone but herself. Gossip-queen. Viper.
They only had one daughter. If I recalled correctly, around twenty years old. Solid name. Older. … Penelope. Yes, that was it. Her description didn’t come. I’d never looked into her. There’d been no reason to. Now there was.
I refilled my glass, sitting at my desk.
It didn’t take long to dig up information on the family.
I went through Allen’s lineage first, moving to Henrietta faster than I should have.
My pulse was increasing through my surprise.
My interest was piqued. It only grew as I took in their pedigrees.
It was more than I could have hoped for.
Even with the two dozen dukedoms already titled, they didn’t have the heritage I wanted.
Most were new, replacing older families they didn’t trust during the transition.
So much had been lost in our fall, but I was going to fix that.
I’d bring the old titles back and reinstate them.
This wasn’t just about me—it was about the legacy—about memorializing the past while I repaired the future.
I typed in Penelope’s name in the search bar, clicking the link for the images. My breath caught at the big, blue eyes that stared back at me. The unexpected reaction had me shifting in my chair as I hit the image to enlarge it.
Long, black hair was offset by pale skin.
Her cheekbones were high, and her lips were a dark pink and full.
The woman was in a black dress, poised, with no smile.
There was a seriousness about her that had my brow creasing in curiosity.
Clicking the button, I went to the next image. And the next. And the next.
Barely any smiles.
Big, expressive eyes.
Abuse.
Abuse.
Abuse.
Anger formed at imagining her being beaten. Hate blossomed and grew, as well as an odd sense of protectiveness.
An hour passed.
Before I knew it, the sun was rising.
Site after site. Lead after lead. I read everything I could.
Penelope was a goddess. Beautiful didn’t begin to describe her.
From her achievements to a scandal. It was one that was increasingly common, but one I didn’t like being that it went public.
That nude body in the arms of another man, it didn’t just irritate me, it provoked something territorial.
It infuriated me for reasons I couldn’t understand.
The reaction gave me pause as I weighed what I had learned about her. Of how she’d appear as my queen.
Where I should have let her reputation deter me, all I wanted to do was erase everything associated with it.
To protect her in all ways, even if I knew I could teach her to protect herself.
Those fucking eyes. In the nude picture, I could see the anger mixed with surprise.
Fear. Fury. It existed beneath. I could see a part of her she was hiding, and I wanted to prove to myself that I was right.
One article on her father mentioned that she was quiet and shy, but I knew better than that.
Underneath the abused shell was rebellion.
Rage. It was lurking below. And I could build on that.
She could be strong. She could be my queen, so long as I made her fight to become one.
I wanted to—I wanted her. That wasn’t a good thing.
Instinct told me to choose someone else.
Someone plain. Someone strong and cold without so much baggage.
Again, I stared hard into her blue depths.
Want and duty battled.
My body reacted.
I shut my laptop, going through the motions during my shower, but I was far from in my penthouse.
Penelope ruled my mind—my motives. I wanted her just as much as I wanted my rightful throne, and it didn’t help that I knew King Lawrence wanted her too.
By the time I hit the bed, I didn’t focus on trying to sleep like I usually did.
Dreams sucked me down, gifting me the one thing I suddenly couldn’t be without.
It wasn’t even her. It was… hope. It was a lifelong mission that seemed to finally be falling into place.
No one had been good enough. No one was the right fit.
There was a true chance with Penelope. She was old blood in a new world.
She had a title I didn’t need to fight to replace.
I could mold her due to her lifelong abuse, and she’d caught the king’s attention.
That was everything. That would make this worth it.
I could have her before he changed his mind.
Penelope could be mine.
If I took her, those that mattered wouldn’t see their mistake until it was too late.