Two star crossed lovers.
Nations divided by blood and power.
A war to end all others.
She is heir to the brutal Darkling kingdom and daughter to the most vicious king ever known, Vlad the impaler.
He's the Demon prince ru...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I see the floor first. Dark polished rock stone, it's white veins illuminated as the opaque wooden doors groan shut. Chandeliers and torches hang all around. My eyes dart from one side of the large, crowded chamber to the next. Endless rows of windows go down the room, nothing but darkened sky outside.
To my left, an opulent fireplace occupies most of the wall, and as I stride further into the room, I try not to stare at the thing. It's monstrous, shaped like a roaring, fanged mouth, with a blazing fire burning within.
I pull my gaze forward, taking in the crowd that fills the room. Stiffly, knowing that many eyes are upon me, I step to the Alpha King, my skirts murmuring as I move.
It is easy enough to tell the alphas from their respective betas. Each pack leader wears fine clothes and armory, glorious in every way. Most of them male, finely crafted from blood and iron, save for one. My eyes hinge on a figure seated a few seats down from Tala Lycanous, a wild looking beauty with dark crimsoned hair. She holds my stare, and I will my face into neutrality as her piercing grey eyes take me in... A female alpha.
I look away. Beside each of the leaders stands a man, a beta —some tall and slender, some bulky, some older yet sturdy-looking, but all sired for war. A few of them meet my stare, and I look at them right back, wondering if or how they see fit to judge me.
But then my eyes betray my careful scrutiny and slither over to the male that sits at the head of the gathering.
Fenrys Ulrykson. Alpha King of the North.
His arms seem capable of crushing a bison's skull. It isn't that he's ugly—in fact, his tanned face, a rugged beard adorning it, is rather pleasant; but there is something nasty about his demeanor, about his azure eyes as they shift and meet my own. His large, white teeth gleam with the firelight. His head is shaven, save for the patch of long blonde hair braided back at the center of his head. Interlacing tattoos decorate the sides of his head all the way down his scar-peppered neck. Those scars serve are reminders to all that he has fought for this throne, killed to keep it. Atop his head sits no crown. For a god among his people does not need a marker of his rule.
The king finally speaks. "Welcome, Princess Viktorya - fierce ally in a world brimming with enemies."
A flicker of shame sparks within me. What was ally but a dressed-up title for chess piece, bargaining chip or leverage? Could I actually stomach working for his agenda?
I swallow. I had to. I had no other choice.
"It is the highest of-" I start; but as I dive for a bow, the king stirs and I rise to meet his eyes.
