Roxy Morton Kingsman Novels & Stories

Inside was Aaryan. The room was hauntingly beautiful—deep sapphire walls, polished Italian marble floors, and massive mahogany bookshelves that reached the ceiling like a museum. In the center of this elegance sat Aaryan. At nineteen, his eyes held a cruelty older than life itself. A luxury Rolex Submariner glinted on his wrist—not that time moved by its hands, but rather, his touch seemed to make time freeze. And across from him sat Safa. Eighteen years old. Her eyes were swollen, red—like two memories drenched in blood. She was trembling. The entire table trembled with her. Her gaze was locked on the laptop screen, where a film of her own humiliation was playing.

I asked. "My name is Ramona," she said. "I have served the kings of this land for longer than you have been alive. I was here when Alejandro's father ruled. I was here when the humans killed him, and I was here when Alejandro took the throne and swore that he would never let anyone close enough to hurt him again."

After sending the other servant away, he says to me, “You are needed. Stand near the King but do not look at him or Miss Annabelle. Do not address them.” “This is a date,” I say. I know it is. I can see it with my two eyes. But I still require verbal clarification. “Yes,” Tristan says. With narrow eyes, he offers me no sympathy. Why would he? Even if he knew of my feelings for Caleb he would have no care for them. Caleb’s wants were all that mattered in the capital. “King Caleb is on a date with a werewolf noblewoman named Annabelle. Now, see to your duties, consort.” The word has added bite, like he thinks I might say no.

“I’ll handle them from here, Rose.” A tall man with ocean blue eyes and a kinder expression approached and Rose gave him a small bow, her eyes lingering on my frame with disapproval before she walked away. The man approached, he looked no older than thirty, but his presence felt suffocating— it was less commanding than the man with the grey eyes, but still pretty heady. “Elliot,” he said with a nod. “Beta of the BlackVale. The King’s second.” The words echoed in my head like a curse.

I even feel like I’m already about to pass out until my whole body dropped on his arm. “W-What are you doing to Nathalie?!” Roxy screamed as I saw Tyron walking past her. “Let her go or I’ll call the cops!” “You want Kyrie Menzel, don’t you?” I saw when Roxy was frozen on the ground before her eyes went to look at our house. “All yours now.” No! No, please… Roxy, please, help me… Kyrie… Kyrie, come out here, please… I couldn’t do anything when Tyron carried me inside his car and before I could even lose my consciousness, I saw Roxy smiling to herself before she went inside the mansion and calmly closed the gate behind her.

The doors were gradually shut behind them, muffling the partying sounds of moans and orgy noises. The woman who had introduced herself as Lynorr, Queen of Rocheveron stood before them, giving her best “stay calm and everything will be alright” kind of smile. And although they could guess that she was in her middle age, she was still much too young to be married to that… man. The drunk and orgy party excited king of Rocheveron. Of all the welcomes Ryder had had to face and deal with, this was the most unexpected, and to think that this was the kingdom disturbing his border at Eldham.

“Is that enough, or do I need to list off another crime she committed?” Rox looks at me with suppressed anger. I glance at Damian and Myra. “Those two… they are merely not Royale and an omega but reincarnations of Damian Beaufort and Myra, one High Queen’s grandson and the other a poor human who was killed by your… precious Queen,” I say icily. The gob-smacked expression is satisfying until someone says, “Still don’t believe you.” Goddess! These fucking vermin simply want to turn a blind eye to everything just to secure a good position in the hierarchy.

"Austin, what does this rogue king look like? Did the refugees describe him?" Austin thought for a moment. "They said he's very tall, with red eyes instead of gold. And they said he has scars all over his body from battles." Rosemary felt like she had heard this description before, but she couldn't remember where. "Austin," Ariana said suddenly, "maybe Rosemary shouldn't try to awaken her werewolf abilities right now. If there's a dangerous rogue king looking for unmated she-wolves, it might be safer for her to stay human."

He could not, and would not, leave a single flank exposed. Because right now, the King was bleeding. His navy suit was gone, replaced by a dark tactical shirt. His steel-blue eyes were dead, devoid of any humanity, staring at the phone in his hand like a man waiting for his own execution. He was ready to burn the entire city to the ground, to wage a war that would drag every syndicate into the abyss, just to find the woman who had stolen his cold, ruthless heart. Suddenly, the encrypted military tablet held by Cain in the front seat let out a violent, high-pitched ping.

“The reason I took you down here was to show you these pictures. This way, you will be able to recognize them later tonight. This first one here is of King Carlo, father of Prince Marco.” Sabrina looked at the picture of the man and instantly saw the resemblance to her lover. He had the same nose and sharp eyes. In the picture, the King was seated on a golden throne with a red velvet seat. He was wearing a dark blue robe, with intricate yellow designs sewn into it. The King's hair was white, but just as thick as his young son's. It took her a moment, but she recognized one of the photos from her interview as him. “He looks a lot like Marco,” Sabrina whispered, just loud enough for Winston to