Zafron Lionides.
Sunday, 9th November.
Next day.
Roven Wood Arc, New York.
Morning.
“More coffee, Sir?” Sergey, my butler, asks, no, confirms, quietly.
He sets the morning paper on the table beside my cup, a polite smile resting on his face.
“Thank you, Sergey.
Please.” I return the smile, just as polite.
Then I grab the paper as he gently pours the coffee.
Last night dipped into something colder and sharper.
I wouldn’t be surprised if snow comes earlier than predicted this year.
Sergey reaches for the TV remote after pouring, while I take a sip of the black, bitter liquid.
I never take it with sugar.
Sugar dulls the edge.
And I need my edge.
“The news or music channel, Sir?” He asks again.
I lift my gaze from the paper, considering.
“Make it the news.
I’ll switch it after.”
He nods and turns to the television, switching it on, tuning it to the news, while my eyes fall back to the paper.
“Guests of the party say it was an awful mess, seeing Tarian Sawyer walk out on his wife at the party, with none other than Pearl Boss, Murieann Amran of Elianor Pearls…”
My blood runs cold at the mention of Muireann’s name.
I whip my head up, sharply and violently.
I must have misheard.
Even Sergey freezes mid-motion, the remote suspended mid-air.
“Turn that up.” I demand, my voice controlled.
He fumbles, nearly drops the remote, then obeys.
“Sir…”
“Just get out!” I thunder, eyes locked on the screen.
His footsteps click hurriedly across the marble as he retreats.
The anchor woman’s voice slices through the silence of the mansion.
“One guest called it rude and uncultured behavior, for Murieann to have stormed the party and made Viola Cooper cry…”
I still as a video flashes onto the screen.
Viola Cooper, hysterical, broken.
And Murieann, calm, composed.
Untouchable.
And him.
My gaze drops instantly to Tarian.The way he holds her, possessively.
Something feral rises in me.
A growl tears from my throat as I shove away from the table, striding toward the open floor-to-ceiling windows.
My face twists into a scowl as I keep my eyes on the screen.
She’s mine.
Muireann’s mine.
The air shifts around me.
I summon it without thought, without restraint.
The clouds outside darken in seconds, bleeding into a dull, heavy gray.
I draw the water from them, from the air itself, bending it, shaping it, turning it into a medium.
Into a path.
Into a weapon.
Into a bridge.
My body dissolves into water, carried through planes, pulled toward her.
And as I move, memory claws its way to the surface.
The first time I saw her.
She was seventeen and beautiful.
It was 1906. This story is hosted at g.com.
The coming-out ceremony for the maidens.
My castle overflowed with them.
Beautiful young women.
Their beauty, elegance, laughter echoed off the gilded walls of my castle.
But none of them mattered.
Only her.
She stood in the arms of Amran and his wife, approaching me.
“My King,” Amran said.
I tore my gaze from her and forced it onto him.
“May we introduce our daughter, Murieann.
Our first.”
There was pride in his voice.
There should have been.
She was exquisite.
I turned to her, a smile forming on my lips.
Controlled and practiced.
But inside, something in me shifted.
“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Miss Amran.
Welcome.” I extended my jeweled fingers.
She bowed, softly and gracefully.
Her lips brushed my knuckle.
And it felt like rain after drought.
Like something ancient inside me woke up and demanded more.
When she left, gliding away to join her friends, I turned back to her parents.
“I want to marry your daughter.”
Their heads snapped toward me.
Shock.
Fear.
Resistance.
It all registered on their faces.
“But she’s just come out.” Elianor argued.
Her husband hushed her quickly.
“My King,” he said carefully, “what my wife means is… give her time.
Let her learn the world first.
And then, in time, we can…”
I looked at them.
Really looked.
And I saw it.
Refusal, not spoken.
But it was there nonetheless.
A clear defiance to my demand.
“It’s alright,” I said, pasting on a tight smile.
“I will be happy to wait.”
I stayed for the rest of the evening.
Played the part.
Smiled.
Spoke.
But the moment it ended, I stormed into my chambers, pacing like the ocean trapped in a cage.
“How dare they refuse me?” I spat into the empty room.
“Amran.
Elianor.
Who do they think they are?”
My father would have never tolerated that.
My father, he never asked.
He took.
After my parents’ deaths, after that so-called accident, which killed my parents, an accident on the surface which I was sure was orchestrated by father’s opposition, I swore I would rule differently.
With restraint.
With dignity.
With choice.
“My King, you summoned me?” Sergey’s voice broke through my thoughts.
I turned on him.
“I want you to follow Murieann.
Amran’s daughter.”
He blinked, confused.
“For what reason, My King?”
“Do not question me!” I roared.
He flinched.
“Tonight, they refused me.
They denied me a chance to marry their daughter.”
I turned away, my gaze locking onto the painting of my parents.
“No one denied my father.”
I stepped closer.
Tears burned.
Humiliation burned hotter.
“But, sir… you wanted to be different from him.”
I stilled.
For a moment, just a moment, that should have been enough to stop me.
It wasn’t.
“I wanted to be,” I said quietly.
“Not anymore.”
I turned back to him slowly.
“Not when I see something I want… and I am denied.”
His fear fed something dark in me.
“I will own Murieann, daughter of Amran and Elianor.
No matter what it takes.”
Now, I slip into her home.
Her scent hits me first.
Soft and familiar.
I take form inside her room, flesh replacing water, power settling beneath my skin.
My gaze lands on the large photograph of her face.
She stares back at me.
Even frozen in time, she is devastating.
No one compares.
No one ever has.
I’ve had countless women.
None of them mattered.
None of them were her.
I step closer.
My steps slow and certain.
“You will be my wife, Murieann,” I murmur, voice low, dangerous.
“My Queen.”
My fingers curl at my sides.
Possession coils tighter in my chest.
“Even if I have to slaughter your family… all over again.” A dark, hollow chuckle escapes me as the memory settles into my bones.
But something, something feels different this time.
Because this time, she’s not a girl.
She’s not untouched by the world.
And worst of all, she’s not waiting.
She’s already in another man’s arms.
My jaw tightens.
My power stirs.
Because if Tarian Sawyer thinks he can keep what belongs to me, then he has no idea what I’m about to become.
And when I finally stand before Murieann for the wedding, will she remember the king who once asked for her hand.
Or will she meet the monster who has come to take it?