Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Carrie had exactly one second to think oh no before her legs stopped working and the world tilted sideways. She was falling, the forest spinning around her, and then—
Arms caught her. Strong arms. A face swam into view above her—young, professional, blank.
"Tango Four neutralized," the soldier said into his radio. "Requesting extraction for processing."
The radio crackled. "Copy that. Extraction team inbound."
The soldier shifted her weight easily and carried her toward the tree line. As consciousness faded, Carrie saw him pause and bow—actually bow—toward the four men in the clearing.
Devyn flicked his hand in dismissal without looking.
Then everything went dark.
THE KINGS WAITED UNTIL the extraction team had disappeared into the trees before resuming their conversation.
Quinn watched the forest swallow the soldiers, his expression revealing nothing. Fourth civilian this month who'd wandered too close to a convergence point. The security protocols were handling it—memory modification, safe return to a hiking trail, a vague recollection of getting lost and being found by a kind park ranger.
No harm done. Just an inconvenience.
"The dreams," Quinn said, his voice low and flat. It wasn't a question.
The four of them had shared many things over the past decade—territory, secrets, the weight of crowns none of them had been born to wear. But this was different. This was something none of them could explain.
For the past three nights, all four of them had dreamed of Abigail Briones.
The same dream. Her face pale and still. Her honey-blonde hair matted with blood. Her eyes open, staring at nothing. Dead.
"Clearer each time," Skye said. "There's a door. Old, rusted. And behind it—"
"We know what's behind it." Wolfe's voice was a low growl, his fingers flexing at his sides like he wanted to hit something. The beast in him was closer to the surface today. "The question is what we're going to do about it."
"The question," Quinn corrected quietly, "is whether Hewhay's is showing us what will happen or what already has."
All eyes turned to Devyn.
He stood slightly apart from the others, his gaze fixed on the mist curling between the ancient trees. The wild majesty of this place usually settled something in him—the raw power of nature, untamed and uncaring. Today it just made him think of locked doors and passages that led nowhere.
"She disappeared before my wedding," Devyn said. "Into a passage behind my chapel. No one has seen her since."
"And you've searched?" Skye asked.
"Every inch of the estate. Every passage, every hidden room." Devyn's jaw tightened. "Nothing."
"But you haven't searched where the dreams are pointing."
Silence.
The locked door in the passage. The one Devyn had sealed himself, years ago, when he first took the estate. The one that led to the old dungeons—chambers from a darker time, when the previous kings had dealt with enemies in ways that left no witnesses.
He'd never opened it. Never wanted to know what was down there.
Now he might not have a choice.
"We'll reach out to our contacts," Skye said. "If anyone in the other territories has heard anything—"
"There may be times," Devyn cut in, "when I'm not by my wife's side."
The words hung in the air.
Wolfe's eyes narrowed. "The new queen."
"She appeared at the exact moment Abigail disappeared. I don't believe in coincidences."
"You married her anyway."
"I did."
"And?"
"And now I need answers." Devyn's voice was flat. Final. "I can't get them if I'm watching her every moment."
A beat of silence.
Then Wolfe nodded. "We'll look after your queen."
Quinn inclined his head—the barest movement, but from him it was as good as a blood oath. He never wasted words. His silence spoke for him.
"Be careful," Skye said, his voice dropping, all friendliness stripped back. "If the dreams are true—if Abigail is dead—someone went to great lengths to make it look like she ran. That kind of planning takes patience. Resources. Someone with access."
"I know."
"And your wife—"
"I'll handle it."
They parted without ceremony—no handshakes, no farewells. Just four men who'd walked through the same impossible door a decade ago, bound by secrets that no one else could understand.
Devyn was halfway to the extraction point when his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen. Mrs. Lyme.
His housekeeper never called during territory business. Never.
He answered. "What is it?"
"Your Majesty." Her voice was urgent. "I apologize for the interruption. It's the queen. She's been... unsettled this morning."
"Unsettled how?"
A pause. "She couldn't eat breakfast. She's been in the library for the past hour with a cup of coffee. Her hands are shaking, sir. And when I asked if she was feeling well, she just...looked at me. Like she'd seen something terrible."
Devyn's blood went cold.
"I'm sure it's nothing," Mrs. Lyme continued, "but after what happened with—" She stopped herself. "I thought you should know."
"You did right." His voice came out sharp. Hard. "I'm on my way."
He ended the call and changed direction, his stride eating up the ground. The helicopter pilot was running final checks when Devyn appeared, and the man took one look at his face and stopped asking questions.