Page 1 of Chosen By the Fae King

Prologue

Nox

A breathy exhalation passed between blood-red lips, an echo of desire seamlessly merging with the sizzling flames in the hearth. Long, inky lashes, generously coated with kohl, fluttered coyly.

I could never fathom why Sidra bothered with the elaborate façade for these nocturnal rendezvous at her family's secluded retreat. My visits, already infrequent, bore the weight of an impending farewell—an agreement we'd made during my inaugural trip into her bed months ago.

She understood our liaisons were to be temporary exchanges of carnal pleasures between two unclaimed and unwed fae. What she failed to grasp was my indifference to her company out of this bed.

Our families had once discussed a future union between us and I counted myself lucky that my father had no interest in making me miserable for his own political gain. Still, I was playing with fire and would need to end things soon.

“Nox,” she whimpered, tracing her fingertips along the contours of my chest. “Are you not going to touch me?”

A smirk twisted my lips, fingers lightly gliding across the skin beneath her navel. “I am touching you.”

A fan of delayed gratification, I crafted leisurely circles, prolonging the torment. Her pulse quickened, the rhythm visible beneath the smooth porcelain skin of her arched neck.

As my lips grazed her collarbone, the sensual mood shattered with the force of a battering ram against the heavy oaken door.

I snapped upright, severing the connection with the convenient diversion beside me. The female's eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and disappointment as she hurriedly shrouded herself in satin, feigning a modesty that was nothing but a farce.

Why the pretense? I mused absently as I watched the sullen intruder lumber across the threshold.

My brother, a hulking figure with a stormy gaze, eclipsed the doorway with his ominous presence. He stood there for a long beat, every inch of his body coiled with tension.

“Nox.” His voice, strained and cutting, carved through the atmosphere like a dagger through flesh.

I shot to my feet. Lorne was not one for theatrics. He wouldn't have sought me out like this over an insignificant occurrence.

With urgency, I slid my feet into my boots, grateful I hadn't removed my trousers. Snatching my shirt, I followed my brother into the corridor, deafening myself to the shrill protests echoing from the bed behind.

Though Sidra both looked and acted like she was all succubus, her banshee heritage was coming out swinging. She obviously didn’t know me well if she thought throwing an inharmonious magical temper tantrum would hold my attention.

After firmly sealing the door to her chamber, I matched Lorne's strides toward the front entrance. The spell protecting this place wouldn't allow us to shadow-walk from within its boundaries.

“Speak,” I demanded, my patience thinning like parchment.

He shook his head. “Not here.”

At least one of us possessed the forethought. The last thing I wanted was for one of the Blake family’s servants to overhear something they shouldn't. Or worse, a member of the family.

Once beyond the gates, Lorne's massive hand clamped onto my wrist. His chest heaved, golden locks tousled by restless fingers.

Lorne never fidgeted. Yet, now, he mirrored the disquiet that had gripped him when our mother was slain.

A cold, stabbing fear slithered into my chest. “Father?”

He nodded curtly. “Poison.”

“Poison?” I whispered, the word clinging to the air like a grim omen. “Is he alive?”

“Barely.”

King Orson, our sire, had been absent, visiting distant towns. His return wasn't anticipated until tomorrow.

“Where is he?”

“Thornewood. His chambers.”

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