Knotting the Evil Queen (Knotty Fairytales #5)

Chapter 1

One

Hilda

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?”

I stand in front of the magic mirror in my private chambers, wrapped in a silk robe, alone as always. It’s late. The castle is quiet. Just me and this fucking mirror, like it’s been for years.

The glass ripples, glows, and that smooth voice answers: “Snow White is the fairest in the land, my queen.”

My stomach drops.

For a moment, I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Just stand there staring at my own reflection, still beautiful, still powerful, still everything I’ve worked so hard to maintain, and it’s not enough.

It’s never enough.

“She’s a child,” I say, my voice cold and flat.

“She is seventeen, my queen. A woman grown. And her beauty surpasses yours.”

The rage hits first. Hot and vicious, making my hands shake. I want to put my fist through the glass, shatter this piece of shit that’s supposed to serve me, supposed to tell me what I want to hear.

But underneath the rage is something worse.

Loneliness. Crushing, suffocating loneliness.

I’m so fucking tired of being alone.

I married the king because it was my duty. Because my family needed the alliance. Because I was beautiful and he was powerful, and that’s how these things work. I didn’t love him. He didn’t love me. We were… practical.

And then he died, leaving me with his daughter and a kingdom and this God-damned mirror that’s been my only companion for years.

It told me I was the fairest. Told me that mattered. That beauty equals worth, that control equals safety, that I needed to eliminate any threats to my position.

And I believed it.

“Snow White must be dealt with,” the mirror says, as if reading my thoughts. “She threatens everything you’ve built.”

Yes. She does.

I straighten my spine, pull my cold queen mask back into place. This is simple. I’ve had people removed before. Threats eliminated. This is just another problem to solve.

“Send word,” I say. “I want the huntsman. The legendary one. Callum.”

“An excellent choice, my queen.”

I turn away from the mirror, moving to my wardrobe. If I’m giving orders, I need to look the part. Not vulnerable in my robe. Not soft or weak.

I dress in a rich gown, simple but elegant, showing my curves. My skin is dark and smooth, contrasting beautifully with the fabric. I’m fucking gorgeous. Everyone says so.

Everyone except the mirror now; a bitter voice whispers in my head.

I shove it down.

By the time I make my way to the throne room, word has been sent. The huntsman will arrive within the hour.

Good. This will be handled quickly. Then everything will go back to normal.

I settle onto my throne, arranging my skirts. The picture of regal power. Cold. Controlled. Untouchable.

Alone.

* * *

The guards announce him before I see him: “The Huntsman, Your Majesty.”

I sit up straighter, preparing my speech. I’ve practiced this. Cold, efficient, clear. He’ll take Snow into the forest and handle it. Simple.

Then he walks in. And everything changes…

Shit, he’s huge.

I mean, I knew he’d be big. He’s a wolf shifter, a legendary alpha, the best tracker in the realm. But knowing it and seeing it are two very different things.

He has to duck through the doorway. Literally duck. And when he straightens, he’s still massive, has to be six and a half feet tall, maybe more. With broad shoulders that could probably break down doors. Arms thick with muscle, visible even through his leather and furs.

Scars everywhere. On his face, hands, disappearing under his clothes. Not just the kind that make men look roguish. But the kind that say he’s survived shit that would kill normal people.

His blond hair is almost white in the torchlight. His features, sharp. And his pale eyes pin me in place even from across the room.

He looks mean. Dangerous. Lethal.

And beautiful in a brutal, savage way that makes my mouth go dry.

Fuck.

I force myself to speak, keeping my voice cold and dismissive. “I have a task for you, huntsman.”

He doesn’t respond. Just starts walking closer. His boots are heavy on the stone floor, each step deliberate.

I try to ignore the way my heart rate picks up.

“My stepdaughter has become… problematic,” I continue, maintaining my icy tone. Few words. Direct. The way I always give orders. “I need her removed. Quietly.”

He’s halfway across the throne room now. Still hasn’t said a word.

“Take her into the forest,” I continue. “Make it look like an accident. Wild animals. Bandits. I don’t care. Just…”

Then I catch his scent.

Wild. Woodsmoke. Alpha.

It hits me like a physical blow, and my entire body responds immediately.

Heat floods through me. Slick gathering between my thighs. My omega, the part of me I’ve spent years suppressing, ignoring, controlling, wakes up and fucking purrs.

No. No no no no no.

I fight it, maintaining my cold expression, but my voice wavers slightly on the next word: “…handle it.”

He stops walking. Goes completely still about ten feet from my throne.

His nostrils flare. Pupils dilating until his pale eyes are almost black.

Shit. He can scent me.

“You need to take her into the forest and,” I try again, desperate to finish this and get him out of here before…

“OUT.”

His voice is a whip-crack of alpha command. Not directed at me, but at the guards lining the walls.

They scatter immediately. I hear them practically running from the throne room, the heavy doors slamming shut behind them.

I’m on my feet before I can think, fury overriding my omega response. “How DARE you?”

He moves.

One second he’s ten feet away. The next he’s in front of me, grabbing me, pulling me down from the dais.

Then he sits on my throne, my throne, and drags me into his lap.

“What the fuck do you think you’re…”

He cuts me off with his mouth on mine.

The kiss is brutal. Claiming. His hand fists in my hair, holding me in place while his tongue forces its way past my lips.

He tastes like wild things and dominance and mine mine mine.

Good… so good! Like coming home. Like clear, fresh water.

Like the sweetest, ripe fruit. Like happiness and freedom, and every fucking thing good in the whole wide world.

So instead of biting him, fighting, scratching, making him bleed… I moan into his mouth, my body melting against his massive chest, my omega absolutely losing her mind with pure fucking bliss.

When he finally pulls back, I’m panting. Dizzy. Slick soaking through my undergarments.

He looks at me with those pale, predatory eyes and growls: “You’re mine, omega. And you know it.”

My mouth opens to deny it. To snap something cold and cutting. To reclaim my control.

But the words won’t come.

Because he’s right. I do know it.

I’m fucked.