No king without a queen.
So that was the other thing forcing me to be here. I had a kingdom under my control, and I still needed to act the part — even if most of my subjects were more than aware of the state of their regent. At some point, I needed a queen in order to properly lead.
…Even if she was just there to act the part. After all, besides me not being interested in women, I couldn’t imagine a woman being interested in the brooding, dark, prone to anger, prone to heated temper man I’d become.
The truth was, I was barely hanging on. It still didn’t mean I wanted to be there that night though.
“It won’t be a problem, Cade,” I said, calmer now, more me. I glanced around the circle of my three friends — the only three really that had stuck with me since that night four years before. “Let’s go in there and get you three laid.”
Caspian rolled his eyes.“It’s not like that, man.”
Caspian and Cade Charming, ever the two good little prince charmings with their pretty-boy smiles, those blue eyes, and those perfect flops of blond hair. It was like being friends with two Ken dolls sometimes, I fucking swear. It didn’t help that that was literally their fucking last name: Charming.
“It’s supposed to be—”
“Right, a suitors ball,” I said with a small chuckle, frowning as I used my boot to push the pieces of my scotch glass to the side of the walkway. I shook my head, spitting. “Gonna find your fucking soulmates tonight, right boys?”
The three of them grinned warily, clearly not so sure I was in control, and not sure if I was being funny or glib.
“I’m joking, guys.”
Magnus grinned. “Well in that case, let’s head in there and find some soulmates.”
He punctuated his words by thrusting his hips lewdly, before Cade and Caspian both punched him in the arm and started off for the main castle entrance.
A soulmate. Right.
I’d buried the possibility of that deep inside a long time ago. That wasn’t in the cards for me, not anymore. Love was a fucking sinking ship — a sunset being swallowed by the sea over the horizon.
…I just had no idea how fucking wrong I was yet.
Chapter 3
Isla
I saw him the moment he stepped in.
It was impossible not to, of course, since he was enormous, but still, it was like a magnetic force.
Huge.
He was huge. Like, too big to be a real human huge. Dark, brooding, and kind of scary looking to be honest. Dark eyes, furrowed brow, strong, clenched jaw, broad shoulders, and a barrel of a chest.
And yet, as scary and dark and storm-cloudy as he was, there was something that just drew me to him. I couldn’t look away. He was gorgeous, in this broken, tragic way, even if the longer I looked the more I knew how much I should look away.
“And what’s got your eyes?”
I started, quickly looking away. “Nothing.”
Ilana smirked and glanced at Imogen and our friend Adele — Princess White, and vaguely a cousin by marriage from the neighboring kingdom of Berne, who did the same.
“Right,” my sister said thinly. She snickered at Imogen and Adele again before she glanced over my shoulder. Her eyes suddenly wide.
“Oh my God, Isla! No.” She shook her head, her face white. “Were you seriously looking at Prince Logan Anders?”
Imogen’s jaw dropped, and Adele’s hands flew to her mouth as they both craned their necks to stare. I swallowed the heat from my face, as my eyes went as wide as theirs.
“That’s Prince Logan?!” I hissed.
They all three nodded, eyes wide and fearful.
Logan Anders, the dark prince of Torsund. The cursed one. They say magic isn’t real, but the rumors said differently. And if you believed them, Prince Logan had been cursed years back by some sort of witch or something. Four years ago, the man had been infamous in the kingdoms. Handsome, athletic, and a laundry list of bedroom scandals following him. But then something had happened, and he’d changed.
He’d grown darker, and pulled away from all social and public functions, retreating to his castle for the most part. No more golden smiles for the press, no more newspaper shots of him strutting across some tropical beach looking gorgeous. No more tabloid scandals involving some movie star or socialite.
The devastatingly handsome, beautiful prince had disappeared four years ago. But here he was standing in my father’s ballroom.
Darker.
Somewhat broken looking.
Fiercer.
I shivered as I thought of what the tabloids called him now. “The Beast.” Prone to rage and anger — prone to not controlling himself on the rare chances he was seen outside his castle.
I shivered again.
“Isla, seriously, why is he even here?” Adele asked, her face still whiter than usual, her teeth gnawing at her lip.
Slowly shaking my head, I turned back to look at him again, as if to solidify that he was actually here. I turned my head over my shoulder, my eyes moving through the crowed…