The Queen's Forbidden Mate

PAIN! Unadulterated, uninhibited, raw pain! That was the first primitive sensation that clawed its way through the fog of Monike’s consciousness. It started in her wrists… a sharp, burning agony that radiated up her forearms. Her legs felt heavy, deadened by an unnatural numbness that prickled through her skin after hanging suspended for what felt like hours. Her shoulders screamed in protest, her neck throbbed with a deep, localised ache, and her head was an entirely different nightmare. A rhythmic, blinding pressure pounded against her temples, as if blunt hammers were relentlessly beating her brain into a pulp. She felt nauseous. Her throat was completely parched. She desperately needed water, but for several agonising seconds, she couldn't formulate why… Or where she was! Or even how she had ended up in this position! The last cohesive memory she could grasp was sitting at the grand dining table, surrounded by the opulence of the King’s feast. It was the eve of her engagement. She remembered the swelling tide of satisfaction, the sheer intoxication of finally securing the absolute power she had spent a lifetime craving. But then, she had seen Elijah. The King’s lethal right-hand man and newly appointed Prime Minister. The moment his gaze swept the room, her heart dropped. As he had sauntered through the grand hall, effortlessly mingling with the aristocratic guests, women had flocked to him, virtually throwing themselves at his feet. The bitches. Monike still couldn't fathom the deep, ugly venom of jealousy that had gripped her. King Adrian and his royal court had chosen her to be the Queen Consort. Adrian was magnificent… handsome, infinitely powerful, righteous yet terrifyingly ruthless. And, of course, he was a stallion behind closed doors. Like Liam, but forged by centuries of power instead of mere instinct. But then Elijah had claimed to be her mate. She forced her racing mind to halt. What a catastrophic mess, she thought. She cursed these stupid, mysterious magical beings and their even more baffling laws. Before she had agreed to become the future Queen Consort, how was a human supposed to know that Eli was her genetic match? Why hadn’t the arrogant dumbo just told her the truth from the start about them being mates? Monike let out a weak huff, realising her mind was wandering too far from her immediate peril. She was in terrible physical shape. A sudden breeze swept over her skin, causing her to shiver violently despite the humid summer climate of Gondwana. It was only then that she realised she was almost entirely naked. A single piece of flimsy fabric covered her back while her front rested against a hard stone. Where was her designer evening gown? Then, another fragment of memory clicked into place. Adrian had caught her eye across the crowded hall. He had gestured slightly, and she had followed him out of the feast into a separate, ornately decorated parlour. That was where the trail went cold. What had happened in that room? Had Adrian discovered her secret escapades with Eli? Was this her punishment? She was supposed to be happy! What a f*****g mess! Life had been so wonderfully simple when she was hiding out at Liam’s. Inhaling a ragged breath, she tried to force her heart rate down, desperately utilising the grounding techniques Dr. Maggie had taught her. It felt like an absolute lifetime ago since she had been confined to that Rogue-land infirmary. Opening her eyes, the first thing she encountered was darkness. Complete, suffocating darkness. There was no moon to guide her, but as her vision adjusted, she could discern massive silhouettes looming against the sky. Ancient, towering trees formed a claustrophobic canopy around her. Their roots twisted out of the earth like the skeletal claws of giant beasts waiting beneath the soil. The trunks were wider than cars, alien and imposing. Her hands, she realised, were tied tightly to the low-hanging branches of two parallel trees, pinning her over the rough, freezing stone altar. No wonder her shoulders were screaming; she was bent double over a slab of cold rock. As she instinctively struggled against her bindings, her bare stomach grazed the rough surface. Motherfucker, this is going to leave bruises. Thrashing slightly to free her limbs, she discovered that her legs were actually dangling off the edge of the stone. Her eyes widened in sheer terror. She was barely balancing on the very tips of her toes, her calves straining against the air. A dark, intrusive thought pierced her mind: What if I don't survive the night? The realisation fuelled her desperation. She struggled harder. Another sudden gust of wind sent a profound chill down her spine. The garment she wore was nothing more than a thin stole loosely draped over her back. The forest felt entirely unreal… as it always did to human eyes… but more than that, it felt alive! Watching her. Waiting for her. Monike swallowed hard, her dry throat clicking painfully. Panic began to creep into her chest, slow, steady, and suffocating. She tried to yank her wrists forward, but the rough fibres of the ropes bit deeply into her skin, drawing heat. The brutal reality hit her like a physical punch to the gut. She was tied down, stripped, and completely helpless. "No..." The broken whisper left her lips before she could stop it. “No. No. No.” Her pulse exploded in her ears. Monike pulled against the restraints with everything she had, the coarse ropes burrowing into her flesh. The stone beneath her belly remained utterly unmoving. She sucked in a sharp breath. The forest suddenly felt smaller, the shadows turning a dangerous shade of ink. The air grew progressively colder. “No. Not again... Please, not like this again.” Not trapped. Not powerless. Her vision began to blur as her lungs fought to pull in oxygen, her heart racing at a terminal speed. For one horrifying, regressive moment, she wasn't twenty years old anymore. She wasn't the proud daughter of Australia's Prime Minister. She wasn't Liam King's defiant former fiancée. She wasn't the resilient woman who had fought, clawed, and manipulated her way through a cruel world. She was four years old again. A terrified, defenceless little girl banging tiny, bloody fists against a heavy, locked door. Begging to be let out. Crying until her vocal cords bled. Sitting alone in pitch darkness because her father had decided she needed to be taught a lesson. And then, the horrific punishment required just to be let out of that room... The memory crashed into her psyche with such violent force that her lungs literally forgot how to function. Monike squeezed her eyes shut, hot tears leaking past her lashes. “No. I am not that little girl anymore. I am not,” she told herself. The ropes rattled against the wood as she forced herself to breathe, conjuring Dr. Maggie’s stern, comforting face in her mind. “In... Out... In... Out…” She had survived Liam's crushing rejection. She had survived her father’s monstrous punishments and Melinda’s vicious taunts. She had survived losing every single thing she had spent her life fighting for. She would survive this, too. She had to. SNAP Monike instantly froze, her muscles locking. The distinct sound of a twig snapping had come from somewhere just beyond the tree line. Her pulse immediately doubled. "Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing weakly into the void. Silence. "Who's there?" Nothing. The forest remained dead still. Far too still. Even the wind seemed to have died, as if the air itself was afraid to move. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Something was wrong. Deeply, fundamentally wrong. The sense of dread intensified when she noticed the glowing anomalies on the rock. Hundreds of them. Intricate symbols were etched into the stone all around her body. They began to pulse with a faint, malevolent light beneath the canopy. Black. Red. Gold. Ancient, jagged shapes that her human brain couldn't comprehend. The symbols stretched across the entire clearing, forming a massive, flawless ritual circle. Her stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. "No..." Magic. This was real magic. Not the kind humans joked about on television. Not fairy tales or fantasy novels. It was real, terrifying, and predatory. Was there a witch involved? Was it Ira? Had the b***h come back to avenge the attack? Suddenly, a laugh echoed through the trees. Deep. Resonant. Distinctly male. The hair on her neck prickled fiercely. This was someone else. She couldn't recall ever meeting a male witch or warlock. The laugh sounded horribly amused. Monike's blood turned to pure ice. The sound seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once, continuing in a slow, patient cadence. It was the laugh of a predator that knew its prey had absolutely no avenue of escape. Her heart hammered violently against her ribs. "Show yourself, arsehole! You have no idea who you've wronged! The King will take your f*****g head!" Her voice shook at the end. She hated herself for letting it shake. The laughter abruptly stopped. For a few agonising seconds, there was only the heavy, oppressive silence of the woods. Then, a figure emerged from the dense darkness. He was cloaked in heavy black robes, a deep hood pulled forward to entirely obscure his facial features. In his right hand, he gripped a massive, wicked scythe. He stepped into the clearing, closing the distance until he stood directly in front of her face. Far too close. Monike instantly wished he hadn't. She strained her neck backward, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of a face beneath the shadow of the hood. The man was tall… far taller than Liam. There was an aura radiating from him that felt deeply corrupted. The kind of unnatural wrongness that made every base human instinct scream at maximum volume. Predator. Danger. Run. A slow, sickening smile curved his exposed lips. Monike's stomach clenched. Every survival instinct she possessed told her the exact same thing: this man was evil. Not just cruel, or selfish, or arrogant. But pure, unadulterated evil. Monike utterly hated the way his gaze mapped her trapped form. She could feel his eyes tracking the lines of her bare body, boring into her exposed back. Like she was a complex puzzle. A prized possession. A treasure he had finally unearthed. Monike pulled viciously against her restraints. The man's smile only widened. "Finally." The stranger's sharp voice rolled through the clearing. It was smooth, cultured, and terrifyingly calm. "I have waited a very long time for this exact moment." Monike stared, her pulse pounding in her throat. "What do you want with me?" His eyes gleamed from the shadows of his hood. "You." The answer came instantly. Without a shred of hesitation. Without an ounce of shame. A violent chill ran through her entire body. The stranger slowly reached out a hand. Monike immediately jerked her head away, but his long fingers managed to brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek. The brief touch made her skin crawl with intense revulsion. He let out a low chuckle. "Beautiful. My men will be joining us shortly." The repulsive words filled her with dread. "What men?" Monike glared, masking her terror with venom. "If you're planning to kill me, stop being so f*****g dramatic and get it over with!" The smile vanished from his face. For the first time, a flicker of genuine interest crossed his hidden features. "Fascinating." His gaze traveled slowly over her facial structure. "You are remarkably different from the others. No wonder you were chosen to be the Queen Consort." "Others?" His smile returned, but this time, it looked completely insane. "There have been many attempts." Monike's stomach twisted into painful knots. "What the f**k are you talking about?" The stranger ignored her entirely. Instead, he lifted his face towards the canopy above. Almost reverently. As though listening to a voice only he could hear. A chill slithered down Monike’s spine. “Here they are,” he murmured. The words barely left his lips… Before shadows began emerging from between the ancient trees. One. Then five. Then ten. Then dozens. Monike’s pulse instantly doubled. Men clothed in identical black robes stepped silently into the clearing and formed a perfect circle around the altar. Not one of them spoke. Not one of them looked at her. Their heads remained bowed as if participating in some sacred ceremony. Fear crawled up Monike’s spine. A cult. She had been kidnapped by a bloody cult. Bloody fantastic! Just when she thought her life couldn’t become any more ridiculous. The stranger raised his glowing scythe. Golden light erupted from the blade. The entire clearing illuminated. “Welcome, my brothers.” His voice echoed through the forest. “I, Palladona the Third, First Sovereign of the Divine Brood, welcome you to the Royal Rising.” The robed figures immediately dropped to one knee. “Hail the First Sovereign.” The synchronized chant rolled through the trees. Monike’s stomach sank. Every single one of them sounded utterly devoted. Utterly convinced. Utterly insane. Palladona slowly turned toward her. And smiled. “Behold.” His silver eyes glittered. “The Queen Consort.” A murmur swept through the gathering. For the first time, dozens of heads lifted. Dozens of eyes settled on her. Monike suddenly wished she were wearing more than a flimsy piece of fabric. She lifted her chin anyway. If she was going to die, she wasn’t giving these lunatics the satisfaction of seeing her cower. Palladona began circling the altar. Slowly. Patiently. Like a predator savoring every second. “You don’t understand your significance yet.” His gaze traveled over her face. “But I do.” A shiver raced down her spine. “You’re mistaken,” she spat. His smile widened. “No.” The word came out frighteningly certain. “I spent decades searching.” Another step. “Decades studying.” Another. “Decades waiting.” His voice dropped lower. “And then the cosmos delivered you.” Monike’s mouth went dry. This was no longer obsession. This was worship. The worst kind. Palladona stopped beside her. Close enough that she could smell him. Ash. Blood. Smoke. “Do you know what kings fear, Queen Consort?” Monike refused to answer. His smile deepened. “They fear replacement.” The cultists began chanting. Softly at first. Then louder. The symbols surrounding the altar ignited. Black. Red. Gold. Power rippled through the clearing. Ancient. Nefarious. Hungry. Monike’s heart slammed against her ribs. The air itself seemed to vibrate. Palladona spread his arms. “The age of kings is ending.” The cultists repeated the words. “The age of kings is ending.” Palladona laughed. A terrible sound. A victorious sound. “The Royal Rising begins tonight.” The chanting intensified. Monike’s panic finally cracked through her anger. This wasn’t a performance. This wasn’t some deranged fantasy. Whatever these people intended to do… They truly believed they were changing the world. “HELP!” she screamed. No one moved. No one reacted. The chanting only grew louder. “Somebody help me!” Nothing. The forest swallowed her voice. For the first time since waking on the altar, genuine despair hit her. Hot tears burned her eyes. She thought of Liam. Of Co Ma. Of Australia as she knew it. Of Melinda. Of Adrian. And then… As much as she hated herself for it… She thought of Elijah. Those red eyes. That infuriating smirk. The way every woman in the kingdom looked at him. The way he looked at her. As if he already knew something she didn’t. As if he had accepted a truth she kept trying to outrun. Mate! The word echoed through her mind. A ridiculous word. An impossible word. A dangerous word. Yet as terror closed around her throat, it was Elijah she wanted. Not a crown. Not a kingdom. Not power. Just him. And that realisation frightened her almost as much as Palladona. Totally petrified and dejected, she looked around the dark clearing. ‘This must be my punishment. My karma for orchestrating the attack on Ira.’ Tears of pure regret spilled over her cheeks. ‘But I never wanted her to suffer like this. I only wanted her out of my way.’ She wept, the weight of her past mistakes crushing her spirit. ‘Monike? What the f**k is happening here?’ Ira’s clear, distinct voice suddenly reverberated inside her skull. ‘Ira? Oh my God, Ira!’ Monike sobbed mentally, her thoughts frantic. ‘Thank God you're here! This world is completely insane! Please save me, please! There is a whole crowd of madness going on here! These psychos are here to breed me. I'm the only human around. I've been sacrificed!’ She stammered in her mental panic. Thank God Ira had connected with her. The witch might actually have the power to pull her out of this horrific mess. But even in her terror, a dark, ambitious thought flickered: ‘If I leave with her, will I lose the crown? Will I lose the power I fought for?’ Suddenly, the warm, glowing edge of the scythe touched her bare cheek. Monike screamed, entirely beside herself with terror. ‘f**k!’ Ira swore loudly inside her mind. The witch could feel the physical pain through their connection. For the first time, Monike was terrified of leaving this world. Not because of the crown. Not because of power. But because of Elijah. Her Eli! She could lose everything but she was not sure if she was prepared to lose Eli. Ira’s ethereal, astral form suddenly floated outward from Monike’s head. She began to rapidly mumble a string of defensive spells. The wind whipped up fiercely around the clearing, and clouds of dust rose from the dirt, making Monike feel a sudden surge of hope. But nothing else happened. The magic dissolved into nothing. It was a horrific anti-climax, only this time, it was Monike’s literal life on the line. Monike watched in horror as Ira tried to physically push Palladona away with her bare hands. But the cult leader was anchored to a different plane. Ira’s translucent hands passed straight through his chest. Palladona walked around to Monike’s back, entirely unfazed, while she continued to thrash wildly. “Get ready, Queen Consort. I, Palladona the Third, command you to give us the humanoids. We require them to destroy the King.” With the blunt edge of his scythe, he brutally hooked the flimsy fabric away from her hips, exposing her completely. A warm, mocking gust of wind teased her bare skin, and a wave of dread like nothing she had ever experienced washed over her. The entire group of men went dead silent. Every single pair of eyes in that cult was staring at her exposed body. "Each one of us will transfer our power into our breeding," Palladona declared, letting out a manic, booming laugh that echoed through the trees. "The resulting children will be monsters that answer only to our commands!" Monike yelled, kicking her legs frantically in the air, crying out for the only person who had ever truly stood by her, protected her, and loved her through all her darkness. “ELI...!” As she thrashed her restrained upper body, the remains of her flimsy garment slid entirely away from her. A rough, cold hand heavily caressed the soft, milky-white skin of her hip. “Keep your f*****g hands off me, you piece of s**t!” Monike screamed with every ounce of air in her lungs. If she was going to die in this godforsaken forest tonight, she would die undefeated. She refused to be humiliated by these sleazebags. Palladona stood directly at Monike's head now. His chanting had grown incredibly loud, the words vibrating through the air. The man standing positioned behind her aligned his bare length against her lower lips, rubbing himself crudely against her entrance. Her angry cursing completely dissolved into broken, desperate wailing. She wept profusely, pleading and spluttering as tears blinded her vision. “Please! Palladona, please just let me go! I am not from this world! There’s been a massive mistake! I am nobody's consort!” Suddenly, she didn't care about being brave anymore. She didn't care about the crown. She just wanted to survive. She didn't want these men to touch her, and she was willing to trade anything for her freedom… even if it meant abandoning Adrian and Elijah forever. She would be profoundly grateful just to return to the regular, boring human world with Ira. Palladona laughed, raising his glowing scythe high into the air. “Oh, you are the Queen Consort, make no mistake about it,” he sneered down at her. “We know where you come from, Queen Consort. The cosmos promised your arrival. Tonight, the Royal Rising begins. We will finally be entirely free of this fictional world created by the Rogue King and his mother.” ‘And his mother?’ Monike's mind fractured. ‘Was Miriam involved in this? Fuck.’ She had absolutely no idea how the ancient witch Miriam tied into this nightmare, and she didn't want to find out. She just wept, blubbering against the cold stone as the man behind her waited for the final command. Palladona began to move his burning scythe in tight, rapid circles above her. The golden light emanating from the blade created a literal ring of fire around her head like a demonic halo. The clearing lit up brightly, and she knew her terrified, tear-streaked features were fully visible to the crowd. She continued to pull violently against her restraints, exhausting the last of her physical strength. She refused to be broken here. Palladona suddenly cut the fiery halo in half with a swift downward stroke of his scythe, nodding sharply to his followers. It was the signal. The ritual had officially begun. The cultist standing behind Monike pressed the tip of his aroused member directly against her bare womanhood. Monike went into an absolute frenzy, screaming bloody murder, throwing her hands and legs around with whatever microscopic movement the ropes allowed. She begged them to stop, her voice hoarse. She was not letting that filth inside her. Suddenly, right beside her, Ira gathered every ounce of her remaining spiritual weight and pushed against the empty air. A concussive blast of invisible magic slammed directly into the man behind Monike. The sheer force of the impact sent him flying backward into the dirt. Monike felt a momentary spike of pure relief. But how long could Ira possibly hold them off? The witch looked incredibly pale, her energy draining fast, and there were dozens of men left in the brood. A piercing, high-pitched screech suddenly sliced through the night air. Before Palladona could react, something massive slammed into him with brutal, bone-crushing force, sending the cult master and his golden scythe crashing hard into the dirt. Monike’s heart leaped. ‘He was here.’ With their collective meditative trance instantly broken and the sacred ritual obstructed, the remaining cultists were violently jolted backward out of their alignment. A heavy blanket materialised out of thin air, draping over Monike's bare skin. She knew Ira was helping her with the last of her magic. More terrifying screeches filled the atmosphere, followed immediately by the horrific, metallic smell of fresh blood and tearing flesh. Monike watched through wide eyes as Ira’s beautiful face appeared close to hers, her striking blue eyes peering down in a panic. With frantic movements, Ira quickly untied the raw ropes from Monike's bleeding wrists, freeing her from the altar. Once her limbs were free, Monike scrambled up and looked around the chaotic clearing. The cloaked cultists were locked in a lethal, savage battle against a pack of vampires. Her jaw dropped in absolute awe as her eyes locked onto Elijah. He was fighting like a demon possessed, tearing through the crowd to get to Palladona. He was fighting for her. At least, she desperately hoped he was. Monike turned to Ira, her voice trembling with a mixture of shock and profound gratitude. Without the witch, she knew she would have been ruined tonight. “Thanks, Ira,” Monike mumbled, her eyes tracking Elijah's lethal movements. “He is my mate.” “What?” Ira looked completely stunned, her blue eyes widening to the size of saucers. *** ***Prologue ends. Like all my books, the prologue will play out later in the book. Happy reading***