Page 1 of Stolen

Chapter One

GIVEN

Laurent’s dark head moved between my spread thighs. His tongue stroked lazy circles around my clit, making me moan and toss my head on the pillow.

“Wider, princess,” he murmured against my slick folds. “Open for your king.”

I obeyed, but I was incapable of replying. His tongue was far too talented. I could only grip the sheets and bite my lip to keep from screaming loudly enough to alert the servants. He licked me relentlessly, working the bar in his tongue over my clit. Sliding his lips down to my opening. He kissed me there, sucking at my eager flesh before thrusting his tongue inside. The canopy around the bed was drawn, enclosing us in a darkened space. Still, I could see the glossy black waves of his hair and his leanly muscled shoulders.

And I could hear. My ears filled with his satisfied murmurs and the wet sounds of my desire. He kissed my pussy the way he kissed my mouth, by turns gentle and dominant. I never knew which to expect, which only added to my pleasure.

He lifted his head, and silver eyes captured mine. His glossy mouth turned down in mock disapproval. “I know you can spread wider than this, sweetheart. Whatever will I do with such a disobedient queen?”

I looked down my body, taking in my bare, trembling breasts and hard nipples. My heaving stomach and splayed thighs. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

The lust in his eyes dampened. He frowned. “No, you’re not.”

Disquiet struck, like someone plucking the wrong string on a harp. I started to sit up.

His hand landed on my thigh. We both looked at his bloodied fingers. Deep gouges split his skin to the bone. Smoke curled from the wounds.

My breath caught. The discordant notes clanged in my head.

“No,” he said, rising to his knees, and now he was clothed in his black mantle with the ruby-studded crown of Nor Doru atop his head.

And we were no longer in his bedchamber in the Midnight Palace.

Now, we stood in the center of the same open field I’d dreamed of since childhood. The clearing was surrounded by tall grasses that stirred in a warm breeze. White blossoms floated through the air and disappeared before reaching the ground. There were no trees, and no sun to burn my skin. Just pure, soft light. It was beautiful, except for my furious, powerful husband dripping blood all over the grass.

He cradled his wounded hand to his chest. As I watched, his flesh dissolved completely, leaving a skeletal hand drenched in blood.

I cried out and clutched at my heavy skirts. Because I was clothed now, too, my gown one of the dozens he’d gifted me when my brother Rolund sent me across the Rift to be Laurent’s blood slave. Only Laurent hadn’t enslaved me. He’d made me his queen, fucking me before his priests and gods. Binding me with blood rites I didn’t understand and he’d never bothered to explain.

My husband bared his fangs. “You’ve killed me. And Varick too.”

I shook my head. “N-No. I didn’t. I haven’t. I didn’t mean to.”

He turned away. In a blink, the tall, elven male took his place.

My heart pounded like a beat of a drum.

It’s the dream. I’d seen the man so many times, his face was as familiar to me as my own.

But as usual, he faced away. Long, pale hair cascaded down his back. His dark-blue mantle puddled on the grass. The rich fabric was trimmed in silver embroidery. I knew that if I got close enough, I’d see a pattern so intricate I’d marvel at the expert needlework required to create such beauty.

But I didn’t want to venture close. Because the last time I’d dreamed of him, he’d gushed blood from his mouth. Desperate to save him, I’d torn open my wrist in my sleep.

And then Varick had fed me while Laurent stroked my pussy until I came.

My heart hammered in my chest. I knew I was dreaming, but that didn’t stop tentacles of fear from slithering around me and squeezing tight.

The man turned his head. His face was beautiful in profile. Elegant nose. Thickly lashed blue eyes. Strong jaw and flawless skin. He was stunning. Otherworldly.

But the pointed ears that had once enthralled me now filled me with a deep foreboding.

Elven. Whoever he was, he was one of the creatures from the Thicket. Memories flashed through my head, images replaying in rapid succession. The crunch of leaves under my feet as I ran from mocking laughter that seemed to echo from nowhere and everywhere all at once. The swirl of eerie, green fog. The rasp of steel on steel and the screams of dying men. Laurent’s voice hissing words wrapped in dark blood magic. Varick’s body dragged backward by dark shadows.

I saw all these things even as I saw the tall, pale-haired elf turn all the way around. Blue eyes locked with mine. Sorrow filled his gaze. His deep voice rolled across the space between us, and this time I understood his words.

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