Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
"Fuck off," I mutter, my obsidian eyes boring into him. "You're the one who doesn't know how to knock."
"Sorry." He raises his hands in mock surrender, grinning at me. "But the whole castle heard you and your father yelling at each other again. I figured you needed a drinking partner as much as I need your fancy fucking alcohol." He strides deeper into the study before grabbing a seat across from my desk.
He doesn't sit, he lounges like an indolent king, sprawled as if this is his castle. It might as well be. We've been friends since we were old enough to walk. He's spent as much time here as I have over the years.
We've fought together, killed together, mourned together. We're brothers in all but blood. He's the one person in this kingdom I trust—the only one who has always had my back. When everyone else is worried about what my father will say, Samson is the little devil in my ear, asking what I want.
He makes it sound so fucking simple when it's anything but. Even if I weren't an Ulstead, my desires are complicated and have gone unfulfilled for a reason. The things I crave are…well, there's a reason I've never fucked anyone.
I want love, goddammit all. Just like everyone else, I want it. I hate that I want it, but I want it anyway. Yet there's a dark edge to my desire—something twisted and corrupt. I want to consume and possess and own so completely that even death will fear taking her from me.
It's fucked up on every level.
But I feel like she's out there, waiting for me. Aching for the same things.
God help her when I find her.
I resent the hell out of fate or destiny, or whatever it is that keeps her from me. And I resent the hell out of my father for trying to interfere. Mostly, I resent the fucking responsibility that keeps me trapped here, unable to find her. Unable to fulfill those desires.
"What's going on?" he asks.
Thoughts of dark desires and unfulfilled fantasies swirl within me, but I push them aside, focusing on the matter at hand.
"He thinks he can force me to marry some pawn of a princess," I growl, clenching my fists. "He signed the fucking contract two years ago."
"Jesus." Sam's brow arches. "Two years?"
"He didn't say a fucking word until tonight."
"That's fucked up."
"Beyond." I snatch another glass from the bar top, pouring a finger of brandy into it. "You want one?"
"Obviously. I didn't come to watch you drink alone."
I pour two fingers of brandy into a second glass, the amber liquid shimmering beneath the dim light of my study.
Samson stands, stretching lazily before prowling over, his movements confident and smooth.
"I refuse to be bound to some stranger just to fulfill his twisted desire to control the future of this kingdom long after his death," I say, passing him the glass.
Sam takes a sip, eyeing me over the rim. "No one said you have to love the girl, Troy. You can marry her, fuck her, and never feel a thing for her."
"I'm not fucking marrying her," I snap, my lips twisting in distaste. I narrow my eyes on him, suspicious. "Since when did you take his side?"
"I'm not taking his side. It may be his name on the contract, but if marrying her forms an alliance that strengthens the Ulstead name, it'll be your name people remember, not his." He takes another sip. "And if the marriage comes with personal benefits for you…"
Jesus Christ. His dark appetites are well known around here, and they make mine look tame. Unlike me, however, he'll fuck any woman willing to spread her legs. I've yet to meet the one meant to satisfy my urges. To Samson's great amusement, I remain loyal to her.
Like I said, if I ever find the one meant for me, God help her.
"I don't need a fuck buddy."
"Yeah, you do." There's a wicked edge to his laugh. "You're just too goddamn stubborn to admit it." He studies me for a minute. "So what's the plan, then?"
"Right now?" I run my fingers through my dark hair, considering my options. The thought of solitude and escape is tempting as hell. The walls of the castle feel like they're closing in on me. I have a hunting cabin in Fable Forest, the fairytale kingdom bordering mine. It's in the middle of nowhere, cut off from everything, but the weight of responsibility doesn't seem as crushing out there. Neither does my father's oppressive influence.
"I think I'm going to head to the cabin for a few days to clear my head," I say. "If I stick around here, he'll just continue to hound me."
"Good idea. Do you need me to run interference?"
"No. He won't bother me out there." He never even leaves the castle these days. And he hasn't stepped foot in Fable Forest in years. I don't even think he knows about my cabin.