Taken by the Dark Elf King : Monstrous Mates Book One (Monstrous Mates Series 1)

IF WYLAN HAD NOT BEEN my parents’ advisor I would’ve killed him by now.

Honestly, I may still kill him if he does not cease his incessant whining. Pacing back and forth in front of my throne, I am amazed that his leather boots have not worn divots into the tile. Back and forth and back and forth he marches. The crimson cloak he wears drapes down his back and drags on the floor.

If I severed his head, his blood would leave a similar trail as it leaked from his neck.

“Once again, my king, I must warn you of what we stand to lose if this ball is to go forward.” Wylan turns to me; his crimson eyes are blazing against his gray skin. Scars mar his face, wrinkles show his age. His snow-white hair is long and tangles in the plates of his black armor.

We have not had war since my parents had been slain, yet Wylan still dresses like the alarm could sound at any moment. Not that he would do much more than sit on a hill and wait. He forgets that I was there, fighting beside my father. Willing to die for Myrkorvin like a good prince. A value my father had always instilled in me.

Love is the only thing you should be willing to die for.

My father had died because he loved Myrkorvin enough to charge into battle with too few soldiers. His love for our land had blinded him and made him believe the light elves would be a real asset. When their non-lethal techniques failed, they retreated back into the hills. That love for our land and its people was not enough to save him.

Though, I suppose it was my mother’s love for him that made her join him in death.

“You have made your displeasure with my choice very clear, Wylan.”

I rub my temples to relieve some of the pressure built up there. The black pointed crown I wore had sat atop every dark elf king since the first, passed down from generation to generation. Each one getting further and further away from the light elves we once were descended from.

Our differences rang true on the battlefield. I watched my kind kill, maim, and destroy anything in our path with claws and teeth and vigor. Our latest generation is the most beastly yet. And on the battlefield one can be forgiven if they yield to that side completely for survival.

I myself have been known to do such. “The Beast King,” they whisper in the east.

That golden light elf prince had thought so when I watched him flee with the last of our enforcements. Leaving my father to die and for me to turn into something I almost didn’t come back from. Now that is something I will never forget.

“Arkain, the light elves have never been permitted to join even when the Night of a Hundred Faces was commonplace. Inviting them to take part now is risky. Not to mention some of the older nobles may see it as a slight to invite our former oppressors to one of our most sacred traditions,” Wylan laments.

“The light elves are no longer our oppressors. We have kept them in isolation on their island for centuries, depriving them of The Bridge, and whilst King Orvian is a long-ruling monarch…well even we have heard the whispers of discontent throughout Lysan.” I lean back on my throne, the stiffness of the metal pressing against my back. I should have a new one forged, one to better accommodate my size and give me more space, but this had been my father’s throne.

“What do I care for King Orvian’s popularity? What care should our people have for it?”

“If your report from the east is to be believed and the Orcs are rising again, then we will need them.” Standing and stretching the stiffness from my muscles after this morning’s rigorous training session, I descend down the dais. Wylan eyes me suspiciously. Every time he has to lift his head to look up into my eyes there is a hint of displeasure. Most likely because he never believed I would grow into a male that would one day intimidate him.

Taking off my crown, I hand it to a servant who rushes to stow it.

“We do not need them. We could easily march over the bridge and have the king and queen beheaded and their children jailed if we wanted to.” Wylan places his hands on his hips. “Threatening them with that would be easier than going through all of this nonsense.”

“King Orvian is proud and he is established. A man who would rather face death than surrender. Qualities not often found in light elves. A quality he didn’t pass to his son it would seem.” I sweep my black hair into a knot I wear for training. “We cannot threaten them if we want their help.”

“You most of all should know how little help they were in the end.”

“But this time they will fight.”

Wylan scoffs. “And why is that?”

“Because they’ll have something to fight for. Or rather someone.”

Turning from Wylan I make my exit from the throne room. These royal tunics are too stiff. Too much embroidery. In situations like these I long for the days of my too-big shirts. Where I had the ability to climb and move unencumbered. Now I feel like every move I make I’m going to rip out of these clothes. They were not meant to contain a warrior’s body.

“Someone? Who? Surely not you, Arkain.”

I sidestep a few servants passing by. These halls are quiet. Far too quiet. When my parents ruled there was not a day that went by without revelry. Now, I prefer the company of my own thoughts when I am inside. And when they get too overwhelming as they are now, I like the ability to work them off during a training session with new royal guards.

“Not me,” I say. Wylan is still in step beside me. “Their princess.”

Wylan stops abruptly, almost crashing right into a maid carrying clean dishes.

“Their princess?” He splutters. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

The castle halls are just the same as when I was a boy. Plush red carpets, walls of great black stone. The royal portraits along the wall detail every monarch from the first. Mine will be hung there when I take my queen. As I pass, I notice how much we as a people have changed. From our first dark elf king, Syrin, hair still golden, skin only slightly ashened, and his queen still pure light elf, glowing with that golden light. The last light elf monarch of Myrkorvin.

Until now if my plan goes the way I need it to.

“She, Wylan, is the key piece of this puzzle.” Stopping outside my chamber door, I pause and turn to Wylan, his white brows bunched in confusion. “King Orvian would never betroth her to me. But when I select her during the Night of a Hundred Faces, he will have no choice but to part with her. Or deal with the wrath of free magic.”

“I still fail to see how this will encourage the light elves to fight. She is a princess. Cattle. Her sole job is to be married off for political gain.” Wylan scoffs. “They won’t come to our aid if she performs her duty.”

My teeth grind together. I grow tired of Wylan’s constant questioning. I may not have a mind for politicking like he does, but I do know one thing. How to win a war by any means necessary.

Unfortunately for King Orvian, his beloved daughter has just become that mean.

From all the intel I have received from my spies, Elveena is as beautiful as she is wild. Young. It is…distasteful what I am planning to do. The exact sort of thing my father had been trying to steer our kind away from doing. I remember the male he was and I know he would also want me to do whatever I needed to keep our kingdom safe.

And if that means one light elf princess must be tricked into a marriage with me, then so be it. I have withstood worse than a female’s displeasure at my actions. If her father found out I was mistreating his kingdom’s beloved princess, I’m sure that would spur him and his banner to finally take up arms against us. Not with us.

I may have the soul of a monster but mistreating a female is not something I would ever do. What I planned for her is already bad enough.

And perhaps when the Orcs have been put down once and for all I would consider letting her return home if she wished.

“Cattle? Only a fool would see her as such. Princess Elveena is perhaps the most powerful asset we have for turning the tide with the light elves.” We are out of options. Wylan knows this. Opening my chamber door, I hurry inside, stripping out of my tunic and into my training gear. Wylan averts his eyes out of respect or jealousy. I cannot be sure.

The last war decimated our ranks. Our people cannot reproduce fast enough to replenish our stock of soldiers. The ones I am training now have only matured after a century. We do not have that type of time on our side.

If the rumblings of Orc movement from the east are to be believed, then we will need the light elves at our side. The last war stole my family and turned me into a beast. King Orvian will not allow that same fate to befall his daughter. That is why I must marry her. To secure him and his forces.

“I still fail to see how this ruse will gain you more than a young bride. We have not had a light elf queen in almost a millennium. Think of how the people will respond to her.”

“They will respond to her better if she is picked during the Night. Seeing it as woven by free magic. No one can argue with its will.”

“And you think King Orvian will just let you keep her?”

“He will if he wants to live. A bargain struck in Myrkorvin is a bargain that must be adhered to. And the Night of a Hundred Faces is a bargain weaved between hundreds.” Lacing up my boots I stand once more, finding my long sword and strapping it to my hip. “When Elveena is chosen she will have no choice but to submit to our union. And when we call upon the light elves to help us against the Orcs, their king will make them. Not out of love for his country but out of love for his daughter, who will be slaughtered should we fall.”

“Love is the only thing you should be willing to die for. Applying your father’s logic to light elves is risky. They don’t love like we do. They don’t mate like we do. They’re too…refined.”

Hearing that phrase out of Wylan’s mouth sends claws of ice down my spine, but I nod.

“So I get a prudish bride who believes marriages are more akin to eternal friendships. There are worse prices to pay for our people.”

“And how will you assure that she is selected? You do understand—”

“I grow tired of your questions,” I snap. “And of your disrespect. No one questions me. Nor my authority. I keep you because it was what my father willed. It is by my oath to him that you remain here.” Wylan’s skin lightens a shade as he swallows down his reply.

Brushing past him, I head for the door. The insistent nagging has caused me to be late for the first drills. I need to sweat. I need to hit something and have it hit me back.

“As for the princess,” I call back to Wylan who’s still standing in my doorway, “she’s mine to deal with. Everyone else can keep the fuck away from her.”