Page 22

ISABELLA.

This needs to be done , I tell myself as we ride the royal carriage to my father’s castle, the inside of it comfortably fitting four people.

Jacob sits next to me, glaring at Yanuk every so often. I don’t think they found common ground yet, but I like Yanuk. There’s something charming about him. Even though he has a boyish look, he also has a sense of loyalty and determination. Jorgan is across from me, his leg crossed as he rests his ankle on his other knee.

A large stack of books is between Jorgan and Yanuk, making the inside of the carriage appear even smaller. Most are war strategies and manipulation tactics. I scowl at the sight of them. Reading is a lovely way to pass time, but not when it comes to war and politics.

I grew up at the castle. The way royals work makes sense to me. Fake customs and insincere smiles are simple enough to decipher. The problem lies with me being able to control men who ruthlessly kill. I don’t know if I can be strong enough to stand up to them when they won’t bow down to me or when they demand that Nickolas, my father’s cousin, take the throne instead.

Sighing, I have my nose in one of the books Jorgan insisted I read. Tactics of Manipulation is the name of the thick text. I am on thechapter labeled ‘Soldiers’ when I turn my head to look at Jacob, who is throwing daggers with his eyes at Yanuk.

Yanuk has been eyeing me a lot, but his stares seem very concentrated and intentional – as if he is studying me. Jorgan doesn’t say anything. Instead, he observes us casually with a small smile on his face; he appears privy to something but does not want to get involved.

“You have been looking at me a little strangely,” I say to Yanuk, and his lips move up slowly.

“I am observing your body language. When we get to the castle, you will need a bodyguard who is unsuspecting. That will be me. Because I will be watching from a distance, I need to be able to tell when you are in distress based on the smallest change in your body language,” he explains calmly, his body relaxed as he gives Jacob a smug side glance.

Yanuk is a smart choice. He is a little bit older than me, but he has an unexpectedly disarming appearance with his light brown hair that hangs messily low on his head. His face is light and smooth with a dimple on his left cheek. The only thing that worries me is the ladies flocking at him from every direction. I don’t know him well enough to trust that it will not distract him.

“Oh, that is a good idea,” I comment and look over at Jorgan, who has a pleased smirk on his face.

“Thank you. It was mine. I happen to think that you will be good for the vampire kingdom. It is best to keep you alive,” Yanuk says and narrows his eyes at Jacob. “No need to be jealous of my gazes. I am only doing my job.”

The amount of male hormones in his carriage is becoming comical.

“Thank you for the faith,” I say, feeling the weight of the job I have ahead of me.

They seem to believe in my ability, but I struggle to see the difference I would be able to make. My father ruled the land of Sarkup for forty years. His people are loyal to him. Will they accept someone who was always in the shadows?

“Of course, your majesty.” He nods with a playful grin.

Rolling my eyes, I chuckle. From the corner of my eye, I see Jacob slump back and look out of the window. There has been a lot of commotion over the last few days. Getting everything ready for me to take over my father’s throne and scheming ways to get Sofia's followers out has taken a lot of resources and time.

Jacob was always there, supporting me. He is my rock. Without him by my side, I would crumble. My body aches to reach out and take his hand, but with everyone else around, I keep them to myself. He seems to be at ease knowing Yanuk is there to keep me safe, but behind his well-composed demeanor, there is something weighing him down. He is quieter than usual.

I want to make it better for him. For that, I need power and resources. He needs a library with great records to find his lineage. Sarkup may not have one, but I know for a fact, my father was obsessed with everyone who had power. If I gain power and ask around, I can help him.

“Keep reading. Solidify your knowledge.” Jorgan gives me a firm look. “Your father’s men will try to push you out, but you know that the people will not want another tyrant. The throne is rightfully yours. Do not forget that.” His stormy eyes bare deep into mine.

This is for the people. Nodding, I take in his confidence.

The castle is the same as I remember it. The gloomy gray stones are as they were when I left, yet somehow, it feels different – I feel different. I’m not that scared, clueless little girl anymore. The grand statues of naked gods and water fountains stand tall as we make our way to the entrance. Jacob walks next to me, his shoulders square and eyes always scanning. Jorgan and Yanuk are behind me, but I can feel their tension. Just like me, they don’t trust anyone.

The two guards wearing decorative red uniforms eye us and open the doors without waiting for us to pause, swinging them open effortlessly. My heart speeds up, but I do not falter.

Never let them see your fear. Those were the words Jorgan has been drilling into my brain for the last few days. They will feed on it . Holding my head high and keeping my steps even, I move along the wide hallway, which is filled with paintings I remember well.

Inhaling, I steady my breathing. The hall opens to a spacious room that is occasionally used for balls and smaller parties. It is empty, and the floor is shined and cleaned to perfection. Memories of my childhood come back. When my father was not around, and Alexander threw parties, it was fun – those were happy times.

Now, there’s a group of twenty men standing on the other side of it –waiting for me. They turn to us when my shoes click against the wood, and I suddenly feel sick. How am I supposed to stand up to them? I am just a twenty-year-old girl who wants to study plants.

Never underestimate the power of lineage. No matter what, the throne is rightfully yours. Jorgan said those words so firmly that I had no choice but to believe him.

“Good evening,” I state as I make my way closer, my voice confident and head held high. Assert your dominance first . Another rule Jorgan made sure I repeated every few minutes during the ride here. “Most of you know me, but just in case, I am Isabella Vitorovna Bolkov, Queen of Sarkup.”

“Not queen yet,” someone says and my head snaps towards the sound.

They will try to get under your skin . Jorgan’s voice echoes in my head. I was getting a little annoyed at how repetitive Jorgan was, but right now, I could not be more grateful. Palms sweating, I keep my composure.

“Are you planning my death?” I ask, my gaze cold and calculated.

I have not met the older man before, but his brown eyes widen and his lips twitch into a barely noticeable scowl.

“Of course not.” He finally responds, his pale face contorting with displeasure.

“I am the queen. Coronations are just formalities. We all know that.” I speak and run my eyes through my group, committing them all to memory. “I expect full cooperation. There will be meetings held in the next few days. I want everyone to have their reports ready and written out in detail,” I state, my voice carrying confidence I do not feel.

My eyes land on Nickolas, my father’s cousin. He has not changed much in the last year. Like always, his black hair is closely cut, and his red jacket is perfectly tailored to his slim form. His glare and precise appearance are meant to intimidate, but I am tired of fearing men.

“What happened to Alexander?” Nickolas asks, his face void of emotion. He was always good at that, though –being distant and hiding his true feelings, whatever they may be.

My heart cracks a bit, and I almost break. Alexander was good to me. He may have been ruthless in business, but he protected and treated me like his daughter. He was the reason I once had a good life.

“Victor killed him,” I state, staring directly into his hazel eyes.

“To save your life, I heard.” He tilts his head to the side slightly.

“No, to use me.” I glare at him.

“You ran away. Why come back for the throne?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

My jaw clenches and my chest burns.

“Yes, I did run. I did not have to tolerate my father’s abuse to be worthy of my place,” I respond. The men’s eyes go wide, aghast at my honest response. How dare I call the deceased king an abuser? I scoff. “Let’s not pretend that my father was a kind man.”

“Welcome back then, princess,” Nickolas says and bows at the waist, his face blank and voice monotone.

“Queen,” I grit out.

There is utter silence in the room. It feels like they can hear my heart hammering and my head spinning. My face set sternly, I look around again. These are the men I will be seeing a lot, I need to remember them.

Among the group, my eyes stop on a tall figure, his jaw square and sharp. Everything fades away as I focus on the scar on the right side of his face, just above his lip. Flashes of memories come back to me. That scar . I remember barely seeing in the dark when I scraped at his face to get away.

“Name.” I stare at him, unwavering.

“Albert.” He smirks arrogantly, his well-kept black hair playing on his shoulders, and continues, “Prince of –”

His voice. I remember it when he told me to keep running so he could catch and pin me down. My blood feels cold, but I will not crumble. He is a distant memory. I will not let him break me again.

“I don’t care who you are. I only asked for your name.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Albert glares at me, baffled. His mouth opens to say something, but he will not get the chance to defend himself or offend me any further.

“Tengu,” I call for the demon, my voice soft.

Tengu has become a friend. He shared the things he is capable of doing; ugly things. Jacob did not want me to know how much Tengu enjoys torture, but Tengu and I spent enough time together training for the subject to come up.

His black shape appears in front of everyone, and the men scowl with disgust. None of them are shocked by his existence. A few take careful steps back, aware of his skills.

“Yes, my queen.” Tengu smiles at me, most of his white teeth showing.

“He hurt me,” I tell Tengu and turn my gaze back at Albert, my chest filling with a burning desire for revenge. Tengu’s form changes to that of a panther, making everyone back away from Albert. “I suggest that you run.” My lips curve up when Albert’s eyes go wide.

Coming to his senses, Albert bolts for the doors. I did not think I would find satisfaction in seeing the man who hurt me so afraid. It feels good knowing he will run and never be able to escape. Something peaceful settles in my chest. He will scream in agony for hours, begging, but there will be no mercy.

Tengu and Albert vanish, and no one says a word.

“I am not my father, I will not accept abuse in this castle or the land. Those who choose to cause pain will suffer.” My voice sounds harsh. I want the meeting to be over so I can breathe. “In three days, I will be accepting your reports.”

Turning as gracefully as I can, I glance at Jacob and exit the room. Jorgan and Yanuk follow until I make it to the queen's chambers. When we get to my room, they won't let me go inside until they check it for assassins, so I stand outside the cherry-colored, wooden doors, my foot tapping against the gray marble.

“It looks good, but be vigilant,” Jorgan says and looks at Jacob.

“Of course,” Jacob responds, his voice full of confidence I wish I had.

As soon as the doors close behind Jacob and me, I lean against the wood and slump to the ground with along exhale. My emotions are running wild, fear and thrill mixing, but most of all, I feel powerful. I did not waver. They did not win.

“Are you okay?” Jacob kneels across from me, his voice tender.

“Yes. It felt strangely exhilarating.” I laugh with shaky hands. “To take control of a place that caused me so much pain.” I look up at him.

His brows are brought together, concern written in his eyes, and realization dawns on me. As terrible as it sounds, coming here gave me closure. They can no longer hurt me. I am evil for feeling freedom knowing that the man who hurt me is suffering, but I don’t care. All of the dark parts of my past are gone.

“I’m so proud of you.” He reaches his hand behind my head and runs his fingers through my hair.

Bringing his face closer, he presses his lips against mine. It is soft and quick, but my body catches flames. He has been there for me through so much, never giving up, even when I felt like I was nothing. Because of him, my soul is whole. It feels incredible to come this far and have him by my side.

He is my strength. I wish I could be that for him as well. One day, I will be.

The day was long. After a warm bath, I am glad it is over. Wearing a thin white nightgown that goes just above my knees, I make my way to bed. Jacob is sitting on the long chaise, his eyes running through my body before a small, tired smile forms on his face.

My skin goes hot at his gaze. He always looks at me with such desire, it makes me feel alive.

Wincing, his lips twist, and he shuts his eyes. His chest expands as he takes a breath in; he looks like he is in pain. My heart pinches at his suffering.

“Are you okay?” I make my way towards him.

“Yeah.” His tone is too worn out for that to be the truth.

“No, you’re not.” I watch him rest his head on the back of the chaise.

“It’s the headaches. They are persistent,” he mumbles reluctantly.

“Is it getting worse?” I make my way to stand behind him.

“I usually have one once a year.” He sighs, keeping his eyes closed. “Lately, I’ve been getting them more frequently.”

My first instinct is to panic, but I am growing stronger. He doesn’t need to see me falling apart out of fear, he needs my strength.

“Here, let me help.” I place my fingers on his scalp and apply some pressure. A satisfactory groan leaves his mouth, and I smile a little. At least I can do something to help him. “My father might have records somewhere. It’s a matter of looking through the things he stole,” I say, watching his face.

“We’ll look then.” He exhales. “It’s a good start.”

Silence fills the room as I massage his scalp. I wish he would share more with me, but I don’t want to push too hard.

“Talk to me about something,” he says, his voice soft.

“What would you like me to talk about?” I ask as I move my fingers.

“Anything. Tell me something about plants or bugs. Just keep talking.”

I look down at his face. He is calm with hiseyes closed and chest rising and falling steadily. My mind is full of silly little facts, but when placed on the spot, it’s hard to think of something.

“Well, did you know that saffron is harvested from the stigmas of a type offlower-blooming crocus, Crocus sativus ,” I start, and his lips curve up lazily, making my chest swell with something warm and beautiful. “They like to grow in dry and hot climates during the summer and cold temperatures during winter.”

I keep talking about the random things that come to mind, and frankly, I know a lot of useless facts. I don’t think they are useless, but most people do. His breathing evens out, and his expression softens. Watching him, I wonder how he is doing with his mother’s death. She was not a woman with good intentions, but it must’ve been hard having to kill her on top of learning that she murdered so many just for power.

What if he doesn’t know how to ask for my help?

With my father and this new role, he threw himself into supporting me. I appreciate it, but I can’t be the only one talking.

Stepping around him, I move to face him and sit on his lap. Caging his hips with my knees, I proceed to massage his temples. He responds by placing his hands on my hips but keeps his head tilted back.

“Jacob?” I ask, my voice soft.

“Hm,” he mumbles.

“How are you?” I ask. “Truly and honestly,” I add before he gives me the same answer I have been getting over the last few days.

He can’t be okay. He’s been through a lot.

With an inhale, his chest expands. “Frustrated.” Holding me steady, he sits up. My hands fall on his shoulders, but I continue to gently scratch at the back of his head, the softness of his hair tickling my skin. “I want to be angry, but there is no one to direct it to. Sofia is dead and I can’t be mad at my father – he only did what was best for me.” He looks away. “I’m frustrated because I don’t know how to feel about her, and I don’t know howto deal with it.” He winces.

My heart aches for him. My pain is awful, but it is black and white. My father died, and the man who hurt me is suffering. It doesn’t make what happened okay, but it helps. His pain is grey, and there is no one to give him answers or pay for the hurt. Sofia is dead, but his disappointment in her probably hurts more. He may never say it out loud, but he had hope for her until the end.

He needs an outlet. Something to help him let go – free his mind.

“Then take it out on me,” I whisper before I even understand the words coming out of my mouth.

My knowledge of intimacy is limited, but I remember a few of the things Clara showed me. With the right person, sex can be a powerful tool , she told me.

He snaps his head to look at me, his eyes wide. Suddenly feeling foolish, I stare into his greens. Desire flashes in them before he masks it with a tender gaze. He is afraid to hurt me, but I want this – to be used for his release. The realization makes my heart beat faster, filling my core with heat.

“Izzy, I’m not sure that’s wise.” His voice is strained.

“I want you to,” I whisper and move closer, my chest pressing against his. His hands dig into my hips, and the pain sends ajolt of pleasure into my groin. Peering at him from under my lashes, I breathe out, “I offer myself to you.”

I swallow and wait for him to move. For a long moment, he stares at me intensely. Sliding his hand to my head, he rakes his fingers through my hair, gripping it. Every cell in my body becomes excited, preparing for this new experience.

“If you don’t like something, you have to tell me.” He pulls my head back and I gasp at how the slight burn of my scalp melts my insides. “I need to know that you will do that, baby,” he whispers into my neck, causing heat to travel on every part of my skin.

“I will,” I barely manage to get the words out.

“Promise me.” His voice lowers, making my core tighten.

“I promise.” The words come out desperate.

The grasp on my head intensifies, jerking me back. His other hand digs into my hip, pulling me close. His actions are firm when he kisses my neck, the desire evident in the way his chest moves against mine.

Groaning, he leaves hungry kisses along my jaw. Our lips meet, and the kiss becomes bruising as he slides his tongue into my mouth. Without pausing, he reaches under my nightgown and pulls it off my body, leaving me bare. My nipples harden, thrill rushing through my veins.

Grabbing my breast and squeezing it hard, he mumbles into my ear, his voice low and husky, “I’m going to use you and devour you.”

The words slam into my brain like a massive rock. My chest feels heavy, and heat travels into my core. When he says things like that, it feels safe and exciting. The idea of my body being at his disposal makes my vagina clench. My eyes flutter at the roughness of his kneading against my sensitive mound, and I gasp, my lips parting.

Stopping, he grabs my waist and twists me around. It is fast and rough. Scrambling to stay on the velvety chaise, I drop on all fours, my knees and hands supporting me. My ass is in the air, my entrance is exposed. Through the fogginess of anticipation and pleasure, I hear the soft drop of fabric.

His fingers burry into the skin of my butt, his thumbs caressing around the tight opening. The pain and soft touch create a frenzy of emotions that make my clit throb and the need to have him intensify.

At the smoothness of his tip against the entrance of my vagina, I shut my eyes, the burn of his grasp against my skin causing something new to come alive in me. I jerk my hips into him, and he rams inside of me, filling and stretching me. It is hard, aggressive – violent almost. I savor it, my mind going fuzzy from the growing euphoria.

He continues with his thrusts – fast and deep. Jolts shoot through my body. The tension in my groin builds, desperate to explode. One hand moves to my waist to keep my body from falling off the chair, and the other massages around my other hole. His thumb presses on top of the rim, making me want more. The small pressure forces a satisfied whimper out of me, and my walls clench around his thickness.

The slapping of his skin against mine fills the room, pleasure saturating the air. His fingers wrap around my neck, lifting my upper body to press against his chest. The pressure around my throat increases, making everything blissfully spin.

It should feel wrong to be used and treated so roughly, but I am lost in beautiful bliss.

My breathing labored, I can barely contain the explosion. His hand moves higher to my mouth, clamping it shut. My eyes snap open from the shock, and my heart rate picks up.

“Scream for me, doll,” he growls, his hot breath huffing against my ear lobe.

Something in my mind cracks, flooding me with elating sensations. Every cell of my body vibrates and buzzes, pushing me to the verge of the orgasm. Following his command, I scream at the top of my lungs as I thrash. Legs shutting, my walls clench around him. He holds me steady, giving me another hard thrust. My sensitive nub throbs, letting the pleasure rush through me.

He notices my weakening muscles because he bends me over again, holding me like a rag doll, and keeps pumping. The friction of him inside of me prolongs the beautiful feeling.

His thumb is at my other hole again, pushing past the rim, creating new foreign pressure. I moan, balling my hands into fists. I am still throbbing, but this sensation builds another intense need.

My body shakes as he explores the rim of my asshole. The motion of him inside, his finger there, and the jostling of my body make it unbearable. I am ready to burst again. He grunts and slows. His cock spasms inside of me, the spilled cum tipping me over the edge. I drop my face on the cushion, letting the orgasm take over.

Barely catching my breath, with my eyes closed, I feel as if I am flying. Strong arms wrap around me, and I am pressed against Jacob’s firm and quickly moving chest. I am alive, my mind and heart flooding with safety and comfort.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asks, his voice soft.

Weakly, I peel my eyes open to look at him and nod with a small smile.

“How do you feel?” I ask, observing the way his lips soften.

His eyes lazily move to mine. Like always, he makes me feel wonderful things. I want to do the same for him.

“Like I am the luckiest man alive.” He smiles and presses a tender kiss on my lips. My heart blooms with something magnificently warm. Resting against the back of the chaise, he pulls me into himself. “You know something strange?” He runs a finger along my arm.

“What?” I whisper.

“When I am with you, the sound of your voice, your touch… it eases whatever this power-draining ailment is. It doesn’t make it go away, but it does dull it,” he says, his tone thoughtful.

Tilting my head, I look up at him. His gaze is tender and genuine. First the first time in a few days, he looks content.