The War of Six Crowns: The Vanished Knight

Preview from The Heir's Choice

The screams reverberating in James's head faded one by one, leaving a terrible silence. Black dominated his sight, pressing against the inside of his head like the inky black water that had stolen his last breaths.

So this was what it was like to be dead.

Cool fingers touched his cheek. Stroked over his skin to his chin. He blinked a few times. Waited. Air filled his lungs. The cool touch was dry. Water didn't try to invade every part of him. Still the darkness threatened to pull him in again. He closed his eyes.

"No," a clear female voice said. "Don't go again."

His mattress dented under someone else's weight. Mattress? How did he get into a bed?

"Where am I?" Shudders shot through his body.

"Safe," the clear voice answered, closer this time.

Safe from what? James swallowed, trying to think straight. Last he remembered, he was being drowned by a group of thugs. Ah. Safe was a euphemism for dead, then.

The woman picked up one of his hands and rubbed it. Her touch was soft and gentle. Wait. Why was a woman rubbing his hands in the afterlife? Sensation returned to his hand.

She laid it down on his chest and picked up the other. "Will you open your eyes?"

He pried them open and the darkness closed in. His breath hitched, but she drew his head to the side and light blurred his vision. He blinked until the blur faded, then blinked again when he found himself facing an angel. Bright violet eyes smiled at him from an ethereally fair face. It glowed in the brightness around her. Her straight white hair caressed her shoulders, even though she couldn't have been much older than his sixteen years. Strange. From the way she spoke he'd expected her to be older.

"That's it," he muttered, "I must be dead."

"No, you never died." She turned her head to stare at the ceiling, cutting off his inspection.

He let his gaze follow hers. Above him stretched a wide expanse of the deepest darkness he'd ever experienced. It crowded against his fragile peace.

It's just a ceiling, he told himself, but his rationale failed to explain how the darkness grew deeper every time he looked at it. He dragged in a breath to calm himself and went back to watching her. Her neck's graceful arch ended in diamonds glistening at her throat. They cascaded down her chest and ended at the top of her breasts, only barely touching the edge of her white dress.

"I thought it's rude to stare in your culture," she said without looking his way.

"Sorry." Heat burned his cheeks.

He focused his attention on the other side of the room, letting it settle on a white loveseat against the wall. What a stupid design. The legs barely looked thick enough to take anyone's weight. Scatter cushions of various shades of blue were arranged on it, completely matching the turquoise ripples reflecting on the off-white floor. It resembled sand, making the room seem like it was underwater.

His mother would have freaked for the décor. She always adored splurging on decorating their cold-ass house. So much so, the money she'd spent on 'improving' their new house could have bought back the old one.

James frowned, yanking his thoughts back before they went too far down that road. "Who are you?"

"Rhea," she said, smiling.

"Who?"

"Rhea. Don't you remember me?"

What the hell? "Uh...no?"