Page 1 of Brutal Birthright

Chapter 1

“Don’t be an asshole.”

Rowan gritted his teeth. Tightening his grip on the smooth handle of the blade, he allowed himself to imagine it was his brother’s neck for a fraction of a second.

“Fuck off, princess.” He glared at Niall, keeping the weapon firmly in his grasp while folding both arms across his chest. “I’m not fucking doing it.”

They could take their pathetic requests for his help and shove them. Since when had he become some kind of servant, seemingly at the endless beck and call of the fae?

Battle and warfare were his domain. Not babysitting a bunch of feeble royal guards who could barely bring themselves to stick a pig with a knife. Let alone defend themselves, or this gaudy godsdamned palace, from an attack.

“Do you need me to beg? Is that what you want to hear, you sick fuck?” Niall looked ruffled. Good. “Your brother isn’t asking this favour. Ruby is. Remember her? Last I checked, the two of you were friends, no? If you even know what that concept means.”

This prick—his blond-haired prissy little shithead of a brother wouldn’t stop running his mouth. If he wasn’t careful, Rowan would have to shut it for him.

He shoved his sword back into its holster. Clearly, he wouldn’t be left alone to continue training or be given a single moment of peace around here.

Ever since arriving at the fae court, it had been one thing after a-fucking-nother.

But he had reluctantly accepted Ruby, queen of the fae, into their life. Niall’s fated mate as it transpired.

A member of their growing Nocturne family of witches, if you could call their giant mess that.

Fated. Fucking. Mates.

He rolled his eyes internally.

It wasn’t long ago that the only time he saw his brothers was to pummel the shit out of them while sparring together before leaving them in the dirt. Gifting Niall and Lachie a busted lip or shattered nose as a reminder to always train harder.

Those sorts of trivial injuries would heal quickly enough for witches as powerful as he and his siblings. But it didn’t stop them from hurting like a bitch. A timely reminder that you never knew when your head might be severed from your shoulders.

If three hundred years of fighting and fucking and surviving had taught Rowan anything, it was to expect the unexpected.

He and his brothers had shouldered the responsibility of safeguarding their realm for centuries. Yet, they had been enlisted to protect other supernaturals from the dark forces of the House of Elharean, time and time again. A role he’d filled without question for so long that he couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t drenched in blood.

Waging an ongoing war against an enemy that seemed more like smoke than anything substantial. Always liable to shift and change and evade in the most unpredictable of ways. Yet, Rowan and whoever he wound up shoulder-to-shoulder alongside on the battlefield had come out on top more often than not.

But now, his two brother’s lives revolved around something much more dangerous.

Love.

His eldest brother, Lachie, spent his time drooling after the Guardian of the Realm. Niall now occupied his days acting as round-the-clock protector to his own mate, the fae queen.

One thing was abundantly clear… Rowan was the only one who didn’t have a head filled with nonsense. He wasn’t thinking with his dick, either.

He didn’t put it past Niall to be doing exactly that right now.

“Ruby put you up to this?” With a scowl fixed in place, Rowan dragged a tattooed hand through his hair. He’d allowed it to grow longer since he’d been here at the fae court. A reminder of just how much time had passed since he’d last been able to return home.

Home.

The only place he truly felt at peace.

The only place he could block out the rest of the world and all the fucking assholes in it.

“No, actually. She didn’t want to bother you knowing you were nearly finished with your agreed time here.” Niall shifted his weight, leaning up against the stone archway. They stood in the giant training hall, newly built alongside the fae palace—now transformed into Astracadia Academy—where Rowan had been temporarily assigned for the past year.

Twelve moons. That was how long it had been. On secondment, living out of rooms he’d barely spent any time within, with the mind-numbing task of attempting to train the fae royal guards to protect their own bloody palace. But now his duty was over, and he was ready to get the fuck out of there, finally.

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