by Vivian Wood
Now, at this moment, I must find the strength to endure the repercussions of my actions. If I don’t take control of my choices from the very beginning of my reign, the Royal Houses will forever have power over me. Pulling my gaze from Luther’s, I look out into the crowd, my stance unwavering.
“I choose Luther of House Cindora.”
Every attendee in the room even from the Houses of the suitors not chosen applaud and cheer. As their voices quiet and Luther steps forward his eyes bright with joy, I continue.
“As well as…Kellan of House Nevari.”
The room becomes fluid with hushed voices and low chatter, unsure of how to respond. Both men approach, joining each side of me.
“I hope you have a plan,” Kellan whispers.
“As your Queen, it is my duty to ensure I choose a King who will be as devoted to me as he is to Anauka. During my reign, I wish to be a loving and just Queen. To fulfill my ambition, I must be able to choose a match that is undeniably suited for me. Until my heart and mind align on who that man is, I propose an engagement phase. A six-week phase which will include an engagement tour. At the end, I shall choose the suitor who owns my heart.”
There’s a moment of pause, then the first clap begins, followed by a wave of applause. Sweeping my gaze to the left, I make eye contact with Matheas. A smile tilts the lips of his handsome face.
Luther’s fingers lace through mine, bringing my attention to him. With confusion in his eyes, he stares at me. Mixed with that confusion is longing.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t let them control me. All I’ve ever wanted is the freedom of choice.”
Squeezing my hand, he gives a half-smile, his eyes filling with affection.
“I know. Your fierce independence is one of many reasons I’m falling in love with you, and with your choice tonight, I now know you’re falling for me too.”
Unable to deny it, the corner of my mouth lifts as he leans down, kissing the soft spot behind my ear.
Around us, the altar is empty. The remaining suitors, the royal officiate, and my parents have joined the energetic crowd, moving around the room. The only area clear of people is the red carpet. To my left, Kellan stands, eager for an explanation.
“I’d like to speak with you both alone. Let’s leave the ballroom and find somewhere more private.”
With their agreement, I set the staff on the altar before descending the stairs. The three of us walk the carpet, giving pleasantries and accepting congratulations on our way. Repeatedly excusing myself, we finally make it to the back of the ballroom. Slipping out, I lead them to the second-floor veranda, passing many arms men on the way. Once on the other side of the door, Kellan releases a discontented sigh.
“Okay, explain your complete lapse of judgment.”
Luther’s expression morphs quickly, becoming irritated.
“You’re angry she chose you?”
Kellan steps forward, placing his arm around my waist.
“She and I,” he points his finger back and forth between us, “are not in love, you fool.”
Luther’s state of confusion escalates, his expression revealing a total loss of understanding.
“Do you truly not have any feelings for him?”
“Oh, I’m fond of him, even adore him, but no, there is no romantic relationship between us.”
Luther comes forward, wrapping his hands around my waist, pulling me to him. His mouth crashes into mine, devouring my lips with aggressive need. Kellan sighs loudly, and I giggle as our heated kiss ends.
“Just making sure.” Luther eyes me salaciously.
“Everyone can see the chemistry between you two. You’re like butter in a hot frying pan…sizzling. So, how is it we ended up in a trio engagement phase?”
“I needed a way to be out from under the control of the Royal Houses. This was the best way to protect everyone. I promise, you and I will work out an arrangement to ensure your happiness.”
With a wink in his direction, his shoulders lower, his stance becoming more relaxed.
“I’m accepting this insanity only because I know you’ll deliver on that promise.”
“You have my word.”
“Thank you.”
“Kellan, would you mind giving us a moment alone?” Luther asks politely.
“Yes, but don’t keep my fiancée long. She and I have plans to make.”
Winking, he turns, leaving us on the veranda. Once he’s gone, Luther wraps his arms back around my waist, bringing my body against his. Looking down at me, his grin is sexy, mischievous.
“You know what this means?”
“What?”
“Now, I know I’m the only suitor you truly have feelings for.”
Hand in my curls, he leans down, kissing me slowly, sensually, his lips a soft caress against my mouth. A boom echoes in the distance, and our kiss abruptly ends. Rushing to the railing, we look through the darkness in the direction of the sound. Lights of a large rover craft give away its location just before another shot blasts from the vessel. The blast hits the palace, the damage reverberating under our feet.
“The ballroom!”
Rushing from the veranda, we hurry down the staircase. Royals are rushing out, debris and paintings falling from the walls. My arm is grabbed swiftly, pulling me out of the way of a falling chunk of debris. Protectively, I’m held in Matheas’s arms.
“It’s Belore, has to be. Demerick never came back and isn’t answering his coms.”
Worry tightens my chest he’s right, and if he is, Demerick is dead. Grief consumes me, tears stinging my eyes. Another blast hits the front doors of the palace, jolting me in Matheas’s arms. Ahead of us, several Anaukin Royals collapse under fallen debris or from the damage of the weapon’s ammunition. Around us, it’s chaos—crying, screaming, the entrance of the palace ceiling falling in pieces.
“My family!”
Tugging from Matheas’s hold, I break free toward the ballroom doors, my fear and adrenaline rushing through me. Luther comes to my side, grabbing me. Instantly, Matheas’s arms are reaching for me.
“Get her somewhere safe,” Luther orders. “I’ll find our families.” Luther leans forward, touching his lips to mine.
“Please, be careful,” I beg him.
With an arm around me, Matheas forces me into a run, away from the danger. The crown drops from my head, the gold metal a loud clink against the broken floor. As we flee, I give it a fleeting glance, my attention on Luther’s back as he runs into the ballroom, risking his life.
“As soon as you can, Matheas, find out if they’re okay.”
“I will. I promise you. Right now, I need to get you out of the palace.”
Rushing us down the hall toward the kitchens, he stops us abruptly, raising his soul band up to the wall. A green light flickers in the panel, and I hear a click. Pushing on the wall, it releases to his pressure, revealing a hidden passage. Ducking me into it, he closes it behind us, locking it again. We both ignite light from our soul bands, using it to see our way down the tunnel. Behind us, from the direction we came, I hear more screaming, and I turn back, desperate to know if my family is safe. Matheas turns me to face him, placing his hands on my face. Staring up at his resolute gaze, I see the determination and love in his eyes.
“We can’t go back. I can’t lose you, Fi. Belore is coming. We don’t have much time.”
Taking my hand, he forces me into a run. Coms come through Matheas’s soul band, Pollo’s broken voice barely understandable.
“Matheas… get ’er…out of… ’nauka… ’ake our ’ueen to… the Free ’erritory.”
Nothing else comes through, static noise is all we hear until Matheas turns off his coms. Through the dark tunnel, we run for several minutes until reaching another wall. Placing his soul band to it, another green light flickers on the panel, giving him the ability to press against it, opening it to the farthest side of the gardens, away from the palace. Quickly putting us into another run, he leads me through a trail cov
ered by vegetation and trees. At the end of the trail, we break through to a clear opening where a rover craft is waiting for us. Clicking his soul band, the doors lift open for us.
Rushing into it, the doors auto close. Securing my belt, I stare out the window as the rover craft takes us into the air. With our view from above, I’m able to see the damage and ongoing destruction of my home. Tears spill from my eyes when I see the bodies scattered across the courtyard. My heart is swollen with fear.
“We need to go back for them! Our brothers.” Looking over at him, I plead with him.
Tears well in his own eyes. Taking my hand, he squeezes it.
“I’m so sorry, Fi, my duty is to you.”
The rover craft flies through the air, its speed rapidly taking us out of Anauka. Agonizingly, I watch out the window, witnessing another explosion. Tears fall heavily, my heart shattering into a million tiny fragments.
To Be Continued...
Thank you for reading Claimed Royalty! I hope you enjoyed Fiora’s journey so far and the incredible love that she and Matheas share.
The next book in the Crowned and Claimed Series is Twice Claimed.
As a newly crowned Queen, I've been chased from my home, forced to turn to an unfamiliar man for protection. In my world, we thrive on what you have to offer, and in order to save my home, I must give myself to a King in exchange for victory.
I promised I would make the necessary sacrifices to end the tyranny forced on my territory, but to give my heart, and lose the man who owns it, is the one thing capable of breaking me. When the choice is stolen from me, my only option is to follow through with a marriage alliance or lose the ones I love.
With tragedy striking from every attempt to win the war, I turn to the one who swore to protect me. With his love, I find a new source of freedom and tip the scales in my favor. So I believed...
“I love this story and this author’s writing style; she is definitely a one-click for me! Betty Shreffler practically set my Kindle on Fire (pun intended) with this one and as usual got all my girly parts a-tingling. This is a continuation of the first book (Claimed Royalty) and don’t fret, there is a third one. The strong male and female characters, the intricate story line, and the snappy dialogue are sophisticated perfection. I could not, would not put it down!” ~ Amazon Reviewer
Begin Twice Claimed now!
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Betty Shreffler is a USA Today and International Bestselling Romance Author. She writes sexy and suspenseful stories with hot alphas and kickass heroines with twists you don’t expect. She also writes beautiful and sexy romances with tough women and their journeys at finding love. Betty is a mix of country, nerdy, sassy, sweet and a whole lot of sense of humor. If she’s not writing or doing book events, you can find her snuggling with her pups watching a movie, enjoying wildlife behind the lens of a camera, hiking in the woods, or sipping wine behind a deliciously steamy book.
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King of Shadows
Amelia Wilde
Chapter One
Persephone
She won’t let me go.
My mother digs her fingers into the flesh of my upper arm, her grip so hard I’m certain it’s gone down to the bone. A dishcloth dangles from her other hand. She wouldn’t dare crush the dishcloth like this—not something embroidered with a blood-orange poppy. I stitched it when I was six years old. The fact that I made it gives it none of its value. The flower is everything. Flowers are always everything.
“The city? Again?” The quiet words are a perfect match for the buttery sunlight coming in through the double panes over the sink and splashing against the heavy wooden table that takes up most of the kitchen. Early summer, and everything outside blooms lush and green. From here, I can’t see the fence that surrounds the house and my mother’s fields. I can’t see much of anything with her standing so close. “I already told you it’s too dangerous. Besides, you have the spring planting to do.”
I plant my feet on the floor and try to visualize being a tree. This is the yoga move I’m shittiest at in general. I’d rather be moving, but if I move at all, she’ll only hold tighter. Pain throbs through my arm. I want her to let go, but I want her lightning-bolt attention too. I want her to love me enough to let me go.
She’ll leave marks if this goes on much longer.
Then why do other girls get to live in the city? I want to ask. She let me go to school for three years. I only saw the city once. Once, and I paid for it dearly. One time, I went with two friends to an antique bookstore in a snug alley that sells first editions and rare prints, owned by three women whose long dresses reminded me of uniforms, only they had subtle differences. An asymmetrical hem. A bright red scarf. A gold headband twining into chestnut hair. You’re hurting me, I want to say. What comes out instead is “You don’t need me to do the spring planting. There are employees for that.”
Her grip tightens, a bruising cymbal crash of pain, and then she releases me. Steps back. Takes a long breath in. A pang of disappointment vibrates through the center of me like a strike on a tuning fork. Why am I possibly disappointed by the release? Probably because nobody looks at me the way my mother looks at me. With... intensity.
Not until recently, anyway.
A match strikes, hidden beneath flesh and bone, but I don’t let her see the warm glow of hope. She’s not the only one anymore. His existence is what gave me the courage to bring up the possibility of leaving one last time. “You think my precious flowers should be planted by employees?”
My hand goes to my arm in spite of myself, and I rub at the tender heat, craning my neck to see if she left a mark. Red fingerprints—that’s all I can see. It’s anyone’s guess whether they’ll darken into shadowy bruises or fade away in the sunlight. “No, of course not.” I cover them with my hand. “It was only an idea I had, the city. You’re right. It’s too dangerous.”
She whips the dishcloth onto a hook below the sink, the set of her jaw apocalyptic. Once, she let slip that men in the city knew her for her beauty, and I believe it. If she went there now, they’d still talk about her. Her hair, even at forty, is gloriously bronze, curls springy and full. She gathers that hair at the nape of her neck and glares out the window while she pushes it into an elastic. My heart flutters beneath the skin of my neck. She could be a figure in a painting, standing tall and proud at the window, the sun kissing her face.
But a painting would only capture the fine burgundy of her outfit and the way her tunic pinches in at the waist, and her pants fall in a graceful line over shapely legs. She has the tunics specially made to match her image as an earth-mother, a lady of the dirt and plants. The opposite of all the businesswomen in the city, with their pantsuits and silk shells. I would kill for a silk shell, honestly. I’m tired of linen, linen, linen, linen for miles. My mot
her’s legs, in linen like everything else she wears, are a direct result of all the work she does, also part of her image. There are some farms where people hire out all the work, but she gets her hands dirty. I’ve seen the brochures she keeps in the tiny room she calls an office—thick, white paper, a photo of her on the front. In the photo, she’s grinning in a wash of golden-hour sunset and literally holding a handful of dirt. That could be me. So, so easily. Wouldn’t she love that, if I stepped up and took her place?
A painting of my mother in this moment would never capture that latent electricity in the air. A storm coming in. All the softness of the kitchen—the cheery checked tablecloth, the matching curtain at the window—is an illusion. There is nothing soft here.
Her thunder-dark gaze snaps to mine, and I almost—almost—take a step backward. “I didn’t raise you to be a sheep, Sepphie.” The sharpness of her voice is as loving as I’ve ever heard it. “What does the city have for you? Glass and concrete. Dangerous men who’ll rape you as soon as they’ll look at you.”
“No, they—”
“The city has violence.” She sweeps across the kitchen, and this time, I do turn. I can’t help myself. This time, her hand on my arm is a featherlight touch. She skims me across the kitchen floor and opens the door with a graceful tug. My mother takes us several paces out into the yard, my bare feet sinking into the loamy dirt and the flawless carpet of grass and arrests my momentum with a yank on my shoulder. “What do you see, Sepphie?” Her breath on my ear is hot, her hand soft on my shoulder but no less terrifying.