“Don’t you want to get married someday?” I ask him, still wondering about his odd tone when he mentioned marriage.
His full lips slope into a frown. “What do you know about marriage? You’re just a child.” He gestures at my chest. “You don’t even have a real set of tits yet.”
Mortification heats my cheeks. “What an inappropriate thing to say!”
“The truth is rarely appropriate, princess.”
“I’ll kindly remind you I’m a queen, and you’ll address me as such.”
His snicker crawls down my spine with dark intent. “A queen on her knees. How…appropriate.”
“Just go away,” I snap, hating the petulance in my tone but helpless to mask it. He makes me want to grind my teeth, especially since I can’t confront his rudeness with both feet planted firmly under me.
“Leave the sweet girl alone, Sebastian.”
I startle at the presence of another boy. He halts in front of me, having come in from the gardens, same as the boy he called Sebastian. Through the open door, a breeze carries in the music of songbirds and the sweet aroma of plumeria, and once again, I wish to escape outside into the humid heat.
“I don’t take orders from you,” my tormentor fires back with that same irritated attitude I detected a few minutes ago.
“Someday, you will.” The boy’s coppery hair gives away his parentage, as does the authority in his tone. He seems older than his rude friend with the aqua gaze that makes my body warm and tingly in strange ways.
I avert my attention to the rug, assuming the older boy is the son of the man talking to my uncle in the other room.
Someone of great importance.
A leader.
Of course, I’ve heard whispers about the island up north where a group of powerful men reign in a circular tower twelve stories above the ground floor. I don’t know the reason for their visit, but their presence scares me.
One by one, the sitting room fills with the opposite sex, ages ranging from early teens to adulthood. They surround me, eyes alight with curiosity.
“So this is her?” a dark-haired teenager asks.
“I expected her to be younger,” someone else says.
Laughter flits through the room, the deep gruff too mature to belong to a boy. “And I expected her to be older.” I catch the emerald gaze of the boy…man…who laughed at my age. He must be a decade older than me.
And now I’m fidgeting, twirling two tiny blond braids around my finger as I try not to squirm under their stares.
“By the time the queen turns eighteen,” the boy with the copper hair says, “the age difference won’t matter.” He closes the distance between us and covers my hand, putting a stop to my nervous braid-twirling. Returning my hands to my lap, I nibble my bottom lip as he pets the top of my head.
“What happens when I turn eighteen?”
He takes me by the chin, fingers warm and gentle. “Upon your eighteenth birthday, my queen, you’ll belong to us.”
Chapter One
Present-day, March 21st
The road is smooth under the wheels of the limousine, unhindered by bumps or potholes. Not that I’d know much about either. I’ve been surrounded by the absolute best from the moment I came out of the womb. Artisan furniture made of quality wood and fine leather. Enough jewelry to match every hue of nail polish in existence. Collections of the latest couture—a wardrobe large enough to need its own wing.
It took several chests to contain even a tenth of my clothing. Uncle Rowan said he’d send the rest at a later date. In the meantime, he promised a shopping spree with my ladies after we settle on Zodiac Island. Maybe if I weren’t visiting the small nation in metaphorical chains, the prospect of new clothing and jewels would excite me.
“It’s so beautiful,” Elise says, awe dripping from her tone as we pull between the iron gates of the estate that houses all twelve members of the Brotherhood. Eyes widening with excitement, she pushes her wispy blond bangs to the side to get a better look.
The castle-like structure sits atop a hillside. Arched mullion windows line the floors in neat, perfect rows, charming those who gaze upon the estate. It really is a gorgeous place, down to the ivory stonework. I can’t help but turn away from the sight with a sickness in the pit of my gut.
“It looks like a prison,” Faye gripes, her fuchsia-hued lips forming a scowl. Her words echo my thoughts.
Elise glances my way, rose coloring her cheeks, baby blues deepening with an apology. “I’m sorry. That was an insensitive thing to say.”
“Don’t apologize for appreciating beautiful architecture.” I cross my right ankle over my left. “All we can do is make the best of the situation.”
“It’s so unfair,” Faye complains in a harsh whisper. “You shouldn’t have to go through this.”
None of us should.