Page 5 of Uncrowned

I didn’t miss the evil that flooded into stark features. Redmond’s dark eyes narrowed, and white teeth became exposed through the tight smile.

“He betrayed my family once. I won’t give him the opportunity to do it again. If I want her, she’ll be mine.”

“I like the sound of that even better.” He took a step and his lids dropped even more. “The damn man deserves to pay in the worst ways. The reputation around the father… I’ve been giving this some thought. The stories I hear—the horrible abuse she’s suffered her entire life.” He stopped, seeming to be careful of what he said. “I know you don’t care about any of that but think it through. She could be perfect for us. It wouldn’t take much to force her into our ways. She’d adapt better than any of the others. Hell,” he shrugged, “she’s kept so guarded, she’d probably worship you for rescuing her. Her parents just tried to marry her off to an old man. She’d be grateful for you. And she’d be loyal, Vaughn. That’s the most important thing.”

“How are you so sure about this?”

His face twisted. “The stories are plentiful. The woman has endured the worst. But that’s not a bad thing. She’ll be stronger because of it. She’ll live.” My eyes locked on his as he continued. “With her mind so fragile, you’d be able to make her into anything you want. Stronger. A weapon. You need someone like her. And… she needs you, too. She needs away from that man. Allen Taylor is going to kill her. It’s only a matter of time.”

For moments I couldn’t speak.

“I’ll give it thought. I have to go.”

I turned, and both guards lowered their heads as I passed and left the Throne Room. Voices echoed against stone as I turned, heading past Masters as I entered the main hall. The walk to The Order’s exit faded as I went in and out of thought.

Taylor.

Taylor.

I’d never considered the traitorous lines. I shouldn’t have. The fact that my enemy did… changed everything. If King Lawrence thought her worthy, maybe there was something there. There was no room for error. Or pity. I had to make the right decision. I had to choose the right queen, and this woman’s blood did hold a lure I couldn’t deny. Where Marian LaRoe’s bloodline was old and powerful, it wasn’t up to par with what I wanted. She was a founder, but in America, not here. She lived in London, but she wasn’t part of our world. She wouldn’t understand her role like someone who’d grown up under the monarchy. A woman under the Taylor line would be prepared. Groomed. She would understand expectation, especially marrying for a title. She would not break under pressure. Not if Redmond was right.

The maze of halls and stairs led me out of the underground and into a parking garage. I headed for the elevator, hitting the button and riding it up to the top floor. The city lights of London shone brightly through the floor-length windows as I headed to the bar and made me a drink.

Taylor.

Again, the name repeated, and with it, the information from what I knew of the present family.

Allen and Henrietta Taylor.

Allen. Mid-fifties. Short and round. More silver than dark hair. Known for his angry outbursts and shady money deals.

Henrietta. Forties. Black hair. Beautiful. As cold as she was frugal. She loved to spend money, just not on anyone but herself. Gossip-queen. Viper.

They only had one daughter. If I recalled correctly, around twenty years old. Solid name. Older. … Penelope. Yes, that was it. Her description didn’t come. I’d never looked into her. There’d been no reason to. Now there was.

I refilled my glass, sitting at my desk. It didn’t take long to dig up information on the family. I went through Allen’s lineage first, moving to Henrietta faster than I should have. My pulse was increasing through my surprise. My interest was piqued. It only grew as I took in their pedigrees. It was more than I could have hoped for. Even with the two dozen dukedoms already titled, they didn’t have the heritage I wanted. Most were new, replacing older families they didn’t trust during the transition. So much had been lost in our fall, but I was going to fix that. I’d bring the old titles back and reinstate them. This wasn’t just about me—it was about the legacy—about memorializing the past while I repaired the future.

I typed in Penelope’s name in the search bar, clicking the link for the images. My breath caught at the big, blue eyes that stared back at me. The unexpected reaction had me shifting in my chair as I hit the image to enlarge it.

Long, black hair was offset by pale skin. Her cheekbones were high, and her lips were a dark pink and full. The woman was in a black dress, poised, with no smile. There was a seriousness about her that had my brow creasing in curiosity. Clicking the button, I went to the next image. And the next. And the next.

Barely any smiles.

Big, expressive eyes.

Abuse.

Abuse.

Abuse.

Anger formed at imagining her being beaten. Hate blossomed and grew, as well as an odd sense of protectiveness.

An hour passed.

Before I knew it, the sun was rising.

Site after site. Lead after lead. I read everything I could. Penelope was a goddess. Beautiful didn’t begin to describe her. From her achievements to a scandal. It was one that was increasingly common, but one I didn’t like being that it went public. That nude body in the arms of another man, it didn’t just irritate me, it provoked something territorial. It infuriated me for reasons I couldn’t understand. The reaction gave me pause as I weighed what I had learned about her. Of how she’d appear as my queen.