The Rebel King, page 1
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue I
Epilogue II
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Blush, by Helen Hardt
The Things We Leave Unfinished, by Rebecca Yarros
Planes, Trains, and All the Feels, by Livy Hart
Come What Maybe, by Kerri Carpenter
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Gina L. Maxwell. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
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Shrewsbury, PA 17361
rights@entangledpublishing.com
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Edited by Stacy Abrams
Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes
Cover images by funnyangel/Shutterstock,
Paitoon Pornsuksomboon/Shutterstock
Interior design by Toni Kerr
ISBN 978-1-64937-348-9
Ebook ISBN 978-1-64937-349-6
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition July 2023
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Also by Gina L Maxwell
The Deviant Kings
The Dark King
The Rebel King
Fighting for Love
Seducing Cinderella
Rules of Entanglement
Fighting for Irish
Sweet Victory
Playboys in Love
Shameless
Ruthless
Merciless
Stand-Alone Romances
Hot For the Fireman
To Alyssa Rose.
My first child, my only daughter, and my very best friend.
Thank you for the most amazing mother-daughter relationship I could’ve ever asked for. Not a day goes by I don’t thank the Universe and all the Stars
for you and your love.
“For as long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be…”
At Entangled, we want our readers to be well-informed. If you would like to know if this book contains any elements that might be of concern for you, please check the book’s webpage.
https://entangledpublishing.com/books/the-rebel-king
Chapter One
Tiernan
Power is as ruinous as it is advantageous.
To reap the rewards, you need to be willing to risk the dangers. And that’s only one of the many reasons why I never desired to have more power than I was born with, not the least of which is the ancient adage made famous by Spider-Man’s wise uncle. I’d like to pass on all that “great responsibility” shit, thank you very much.
And yet, barring a very unlikely miracle, I’m going to be the next ruler of the Dark Fae—the fucking Night Court king—whether I want it or not.
I was given six months before C-Day—what I’ve taken to calling my impending coronation—and already half of it is gone. Three months, that’s all I have left. I’ve never been so acutely aware of time passing. It’s like there’s a clock in the back of my skull, ticking away the seconds, each one pushing me closer to the day I’ll be thrust into a position I’ve never wanted and was never meant to have.
My brother Caiden was born to the role, quite literally as he’s the eldest. But it was never merely a sense of duty for him. Caiden aspired to follow in our father’s footsteps; he was often referred to as “the king’s shadow,” always taking his training seriously and learning everything he could on how to be a good ruler when it was his time.
When our father died, Caiden was only a hundred and fifty-two years old—the youngest to rule in the history of the fae by several centuries. But all that dedication and diligence paid off, because Caiden made a great king.
Finnian, my younger brother, would no doubt rise to the occasion, too, even though they’d never consider him viable at only a hundred and sixteen years old. But he’s fiercely loyal and immeasurably brave. If he were needed to step up, he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d rule with confidence, trusting in his deep-seated love for our people and the guidance of the crown’s advisors, and he would succeed in that the same as he does with everything else.
But then there’s me.
The one the people dubbed “the Rebel Prince” before I was two decades old. I’m cut from a different cloth entirely. No matter what you call it—an aversion to responsibility, middle child syndrome, a defiant nature, or a perpetual party boy nature—the fact remains that I’m the Verran brother least suited to wear the king’s crown.
Figuratively speaking, of course. Literally speaking, I’d fucking smash that look, no question.
“Checkmate.”
Yanked back from my distracted thoughts, I refocus on the blue and black checkered board sitting in the middle of the cherrywood dining table. Sure enough, my opponent’s queen made of frosted glass is standing victoriously in the first row.
I glance up at the old man sitting across from me and give him a smile I hope isn’t as half-assed as it feels. “Good game, my friend.”
Robert scoffs, causing his silver beard to twitch where it rests on his chest. “That was a shit game and you know it. My great-granddaughter could’ve beaten you.”
Since Robert brags about her only every time I visit, I know that nine-year-old Hailey is already a regional chess champion at her school. Grinning, I start to swap the pieces we’d collected during the game. “Not much of an insult, old timer. Hailey’s a great player.”
He leans in, arching a bushy gray brow. “I meant Alexa.”
My grin dies. Alexa is only two years old and a bit of a terror from what I hear. If you handed her a chess piece, she’d probably giggle and chuck it at your head. I clutch at my chest dramatically. “Now that’s just hurtful.”
He grunts in response while scrutinizing me. You’d think he had laser vision for as hard as he’s staring. But he’s right—a novice could kick my ass today for as shitty as I’m playing. I haven’t lost consecutively this many times since my novice days, when Robert started teaching me shortly after we met. It was frustrating as hell in the beginning—I’m a self-admitted sore loser, and he never went easy on me—but it wasn’t long before I fell in love with the game.
I’ve never been known for the kind of precision focus my brothers have. It’s a trait they’ve used to become grossly successful in business (Caiden) and a master of every fighting style known to man- and fae-kind (Finnian). I, on the other hand, find it hard to stay interested in any one thing for too long, my mind constantly bouncing among a dozen different thoughts at warp speed.
But this game has a way of shutting everything else out, allowing me to think clearly and concentrate on my strategies and the thousands of possible moves. Chess is only one of two things that quiet my mind. Since I can’t indulge in the other thanks to our frustrating victims-of-circumstance situation, these weekly matches with my friend have been a welcome distraction.
Until recently, anyway. Once I passed the halfway mark of my six-month reprieve, reality hauled off and bitch slapped me in the face, and I’ve thought of little else since.
I could have avoided Robert’s shrewd scrutiny if I’d just canceled. But I’ve never missed a Sunday afternoon match in the fifty-six years we’ve been friends. Everything else in my life has been flipped on its head—I’ll be damned if this simple pleasure gets taken away from me, too.
Robert reaches over to where a white teapot dotted with rooster heads (or cock heads, if you ask him, and if you do, he’ll laugh at his own joke for a good five minutes) sits on an electric warmer. He pours himself another mug of the Longjing green tea I bring back for him whenever I take the company jet for a weekend of partying in Hong Kong. Then he switches out the teapot for the bottle of Devil’s Keep whiskey I “borrowed” from Caiden, but brought for myself, thank you very much.
I arch an admonishing brow. “Didn’t the doctor tell you to cut out alcohol?”
“Maybe,
Lifting my own glass, I pin him with a dubious look over the rim as I take a drink. “Fine. But when you start putting shots of tea in your whiskey, I’m calling Wanda.” His daughter lives on the East Coast, but she’s a pro when it comes to nagging her father about his health.
“Instead of being a snitch, how about you tell me why you’re playing like you don’t know your queen from your bare ass?”
Rolling my eyes, I start to set up the next game. “I can’t be exceptional at everything all the time, you know. What is it you’re fond of saying? I’m only human.”
Robert snorts. “I wish you were. Then I wouldn’t be the only one of us wrinkly as a raisin.”
I chuckle at that. He’s always been sour about my eternal youth. Using a glamour—a magical ability all fae have to disguise themselves—I make myself appear as an old man, with weathered skin and balding white hair. “That better?” I ask in my normal voice.
He draws back with a disgusted expression. “Christ, no, you look like shit. Now I feel bad that that’s what you have to stare at every week.”
Dropping the glamour, I huff out a laugh as I place the opaque pawns on each of the squares in his second row. “Don’t pretend you don’t still have game at eighty. How many girlfriends do you have at the senior center now?”
“Never mind how many,” he says, pointing an arthritic finger at me. “And you know damn well I’m not eighty, so don’t be a smart-ass.”
Lining up the clear glass pawns on my own second row, I do a quick mental count of the weeks until Spring Equinox, which is also his birthday. “March twentieth is only ten weeks away. I’d say it’s safe to round up.”
“Ha! At my age, it wouldn’t be safe to round up if it was only one week away.”
My heart lurches in my chest. He meant it as a joke, but it’s hard for me to find any amusement in it. Robert’s the only human I’ve allowed myself to get close to for obvious reasons. They’re breakable, prone to sickness or disease, and even if they live to be a hundred, their lifespans are a mere fraction of what ours are in this world.
For five years, I kept up the ruse with Robert that I was human. He became my closest friend during that time, which is why I made the decision to reveal who I really am. I didn’t want to pretend with him anymore. Surprisingly, he was more excited and awed than anything else, but it didn’t take long before things between us went back to normal.
Sometimes, in my more selfish moments, I wish I wouldn’t have asked for those chess lessons all those years ago. You can’t lose someone if you never had them to begin with. But I can’t regret having Robert Blackburn as my friend, even knowing our time together will be short.
As is my habit, I stuff my emotions deep down where they belong and deflect with humor as I place the final pieces on the board. “You’re too stubborn to kick the bucket. You’re gonna live forever just to spite your doctors.”
His brown eyes challenge me over the rim of his mug as he takes a sip of his doctored tea. “I could if you gave me the magical mushrooms.” Since he knows I can’t lie, he occasionally takes a wild guess at what the fae might have that could grant a human eternal life. And since I’ve neither confirmed nor denied that such a thing exists, he insists one does. For the record, there’s no such thing, but it’s fun to see what he’ll come up with next.
I grin wide, flashing my fangs, and wink. “Nice try, old man. There are no magical, immortal-making mushrooms. Your move.”
He opens with pawn E4, staking a claim on the center of the board. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject earlier. I’m still waiting for you to tell me what’s rattling around in that head of yours.”
I counter with pawn C5, the Sicilian defense, and battle for the center on my terms. “Other than wiping the board with you this game? Nothing at all.”
He responds by bringing his knight to F3, preparing to push the D pawn to D4 on his next move. Scoffing, he says, “I’ve known you half a century, Tiernan. Try again. Or should I be calling you Your Majesty now?”
Pausing, my eyes snap up to his and narrow. “No, Bob, you shouldn’t,” I say, retaliating with the nickname he hates. “Because I’m not the king.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Yet,” I amend.
And thank the gods for that. I don’t dare utter that part out loud, though, because I’m never alone. Not anymore. I’m constantly shadowed by members of the Night Watch, the personal security to the royal crown.
Two are posted outside, and with our preternatural hearing, they could easily pick up our conversations in a quiet neighborhood like this one. And despite them being close friends, I can’t risk them knowing my true feelings.
Rebel or not, I’m still a Verran, and I have a legacy to uphold. If it gets out that I don’t want to be king or I give them any reason to find me incompetent, they’ll say our royal line is no longer fit to rule, and steps can be taken to replace us. I can’t let that happen. I won’t. The only reason Caiden’s abdication was supported by the people is because being king had become a life-threatening situation, for both him and his mate.
No, the only ones who know about my reservations are Seamus and my brothers, and that’s how it needs to stay. Besides, I’m still secretly hoping for that miracle—the one that involves finding a way to break a centuries-old curse—that will allow Caiden to be back where he belongs and me squarely back at Party Central.
Stranger things have happened. Probably.
I lift my glass of Keep and toss it back in one go, enjoying the trail of smooth fire that snakes down my throat. Robert lifts the bottle and pours me another three fingers, his tone more sober than before. “Look, Tiernan, I get there’s a lot you can’t talk about. But you don’t have to put on airs with me. I would never judge you, you know that. And if there’s anywhere you can simply be yourself, it’s here. That hasn’t changed.”
He’s right. His is the only place I’ve ever been able to shed my royal persona and just be me. Offering him a wan smile, I say, “Everything changes eventually, old friend.” I nod at the board. “It’s your turn.”
Stroking his beard in thought, he studies me and tries to see several moves ahead. Not in the game, but in life. It’s something I learned early on that he does, trying different conversations or actions in his head to see which might have the most favorable result. I wait him out patiently, as I always do, wondering what he’ll decide.
After a bit, he sits back in his chair and waves a hand over the board. “I’ve had enough of beating you for one day. Any more losses and your enormous ego will be in danger of bruising.”
Lighthearted humor. Gods bless him. I smile—a real one this time—and place a hand over my heart. “My enormous ego is grateful for your mercy.”
Robert snorts a laugh and takes a drink of his tea. Lowering the mug, he frowns at the contents and reaches for more whiskey, but I’m faster. I grab the bottle and set it well out of his reach. He gives me his best grouch face but doesn’t bother arguing. “If you’re going to ruin my tea, the least you can do is let me live vicariously through your stories. Tell me about the wild nights you’ve had recently.”
“Nothing to tell, I’m afraid. All work and no play makes Tiernan a very dull boy.”
Robert sighs. “Guess I’ll watch the news then. Maybe they’ll have something interesting to say.” He picks up the remote and aims it at the TV that’s always on but muted during our games, then turns his attention to the local news.
What has my life come to when the news channel is more interesting than what I’ve been up to? I used to regale Robert every week with stories about wild parties I attended with A-list celebrities, or a new prank I pulled on one of my way-more-serious brothers.
But parties and pranks feel like they happened a lifetime ago.
As soon as the change in rule was announced, Seamus Woulfe, the senior advisor to the throne, told me I wouldn’t be able to continue my extensive extracurricular habits. And yes, that’s what he called them. But even with the power he temporarily holds as the king regent, he can’t stop me from doing what I want.
However, he does hold a different kind of power over me: guilt trips. As my father’s closest friend, Seamus is like an uncle to me and my brothers. His twin sons, Connor and Conall, are not only our closest friends of well over a century, but they’re also co-leaders of the Night Watch. Seamus knows we’d rather chew glass than disappoint him, and he wields it well.
