Crown of Betrayal (Wicked Kingdoms Book 2) Read online

  Praise for

  Graceley Knox

  “Graceley Knox debuts with a fantasy that will immerse the reader into her world, and make them never want to leave.”

  – Once Upon an Alpha

  “Graceley Knox turns adrenaline into words, then combines them with a true storyteller’s magic into a novel I couldn’t put down. Her alternative world is richly drawn but passionately explored, and occupied by characters now woven into my heart…”

  – USA Today Bestselling author, Angel Payne

  “Graceley Knox has blown me away… This tale will take you on a magical journey that brings Fae and Goblins to life. Definitely the best Faery book that I have ever read.”

  – Tina at Bookalicious Babes Blog

  “Mark of Truth was absolutely spellbinding! It held me captive from the start. Ever and Dare have such a strong force of animal attraction and I cannot wait to see what happens next! So, I say, bring on more Elves, Goblins and Fae my friend!”

  – Mindy, Talkbooks

  Crown of Betrayal Copyright © 2017 by Graceley Knox

  Kindle Edition

  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.

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author is unlawful piracy and the theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Edited by Java Edits

  Cover design by Desiree Deorto

  Dad, thank you for never bullshitting me. You’ve always been there for me, no matter what, and I’ll forever say I’ve got the best dad ever. I love you, old man.

  Crown of Betrayal

  A WICKED KINGDOMS NOVEL

  Graceley Knox

  Table of Contents

  Praise for Graceley Knox

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Title Page

  Glossary

  Prologue

  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

  Excerpt from Throne of Secrets

  Also By Graceley Knox

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  About Graceley

  Glossary

  Álainn – Lovely or beautiful

  Elven/Elf – The Elven are a separate caste of the Fae and don’t fall under the Seelie or Unseelie rule. Instead they rule themselves. Unlike Goblin where they are all under one ruler, a smaller sect of Elves branched off to become known as the Dark Elves. This book focuses on the Light Elves. The Light Elves are very proper and tend to have high opinions of themselves.

  Fae/Faery/Fairy – The Fae are an ancient race of all things mythical and mystical, usually hailing from Celtic roots. Typically, they are ruled by two courts—the light and the dark, or the Seelie and Unseelie (See Seelie and Unseelie for further explanation of those courts).

  Goblin – The Goblin are a separate caste of the Fae that don’t fall under the rule of the Seelie or Unseelie. Instead they have their own King and Queen and stay out of the politics not regarding their own or those they have brought under their wing.

  Iontach – Magnificent.

  Leath Cine – Half breed

  Máistreás – Mistress.

  Máthair – Mother.

  Mac baile fáilte de Goblin – Welcome home, son of Goblin.

  Mac soith – Son of a bitch.

  MECA – Magical Enforcement and Containment Agency. MECA was created by the leath cine who were displaced after the Light Elven Declaration. They now train children that are half human half Elf or Goblin and give them a place in society after they have completed training.

  Mo ghrá – My love

  Seelie or Light Fae – The Seelie are more commonly known as the Light Court or the Light Fae. They typically don’t harm humans and are similar enough in appearance that they can blend in easily with humans. Known to be extremely snobby.

  Sift/Sifted – The ability to move between worlds, realms, and places in the blink of an eye. Most Fae have the ability once taught around adolescence.

  Soith atá suite – Lying bitch

  Soith dúr – stupid bitch

  Tine – Literally fire. As in my little fire.

  Tíre cothrom – Fair folk, fairy, or the Fae.

  Unseelie or Dark Fae – The Unseelie are more commonly known as the Dark Court and typically get up to mischief and cause trouble. They are home to the more grotesque creatures and are known for taking in anyone who is considered outcast, much like the Goblins. They are also the home of the Sluagh, which are equated to the hell hounds of the Fae.

  Prologue

  Tortured screams ricochet off the cold stone walls of the dungeon in the bottom of the Light Elven castle. Some louder and clearer than others. Others raspy and full of anguish. Each filled with immense pain.

  The sounds of everyone else down here with me is another torture all its own. Hands gripping fists-full of matted and greasy hair, I rock side-to-side before scratching at the scruff on my chin. Humming doesn’t block out the sound of the howls of my neighbors in the surrounding cells, nor does singing or talking to myself. Throat raw from my own pleading the previous day, I’m not desperate enough to join in the wailing just yet. It’s the only way to block out everything else. Scream and listen to yourself or be driven mad by the sounds of tortures you have yet to receive for the day.

  The jangling of keys on a ring and heavy booted footsteps sound closer and closer to my cell. Whimpering and rocking faster, I wait for the inevitable. I pull out tufts of hair as the final few steps that bring the hooded figure in front of my cell ricochet off the walls. I keep my eyes downcast.

  Because of the black hood shrouding everything but his eyes, I can’t make out the identity of my torturer. I’ve looked into those eyes as I was sliced and diced. My body in agony while on his rack. I’d know those eyes anywhere.

  Rocking back into the wall, I wait for the command. I know not to rise until I’m told to. I learned that lesson the hard way.

  “Up!” The command is barked in a harsh tone. Keys clinking together as he inserts one into the lock, he opens the barred door to the filthy cell. I cast a quick glance around. Cracked walls, slime on the floor, and the bars that have kept me prisoner for gods only know how long, meet my eyes. Bracing against the wall, I use it as leverage to stand on shaky legs. Each tendon in my body tensed in misery.

  A tattered blanket is rolled up in a ball in the corner. The hole ridden mat it rests on is infested with bugs. Even though I’ve trie
d to kill each and every one of them, they keep coming back, biting me in my sleep. What little sleep I get. In the other corner, a wooden pale with dirty brown water is set next to a hole in the ground. Far from the luxury I’d grown up in, yet it’s the only place I’m able to recuperate in relative peace after each day’s torment.

  Standing there with my head hung low on my bony shoulders, I wait for the command to walk toward my jailor.

  “Let’s go, maggot.” Without waiting for a response, he spins on his heel and heads back in the direction he came. Part of the abuse is having to willingly walk toward that rack. Knowing that if you don’t go there of your own volition the suffering will only be that much more severe.

  Hobbling as fast as my bruised and broken body allows, I follow behind the hooded figure that now lives permanently in my nightmares. Coming to a stop in front of him, I stand just to the side of the wooden table covered in blood and other liquids. The man stands tall waiting for me to climb on and lay still. To accept my punishment.

  Each breath I take rattles my chest, and I cough harshly.

  I keep my face downturned and grimace while I climb atop the slippery surface. The multi-colored fluids soak into my tattered and torn clothes. I lie down and keep my eyes on the rocky ceiling of the cavern. At once, cold iron shackles are around my wrists and ankles, the metal searing into my already blistered flesh.

  I tense and wait for the torture to begin, clenching my teeth through the first nail that’s hammered into my palm. I grit my teeth and don’t cry out through the second. The third. Or the fourth. Expecting a fifth nail to pierce my palm, the pain of the hammer smashing every little bone in my hand forces a scream past my cracked lips.

  And so it continues.

  Hours upon hours of agony.

  Pleading for reprieve and begging for mercy.

  Tears streaming down my face.

  My body is broken over and over again. Each day it only gets worse. Each day there’s a new torture added to what was done previously. Each day I’m forced to climb down off the rack and crawl through my own blood and the rest of the muck on the dirt floor back to my cell.

  Today is no different. My leg is broken in three places. My hand is bleeding and shattered. Both eyes are itchy and raw, and my jaw is unhinged. Still I manage to crawl back to my cell and collapse on my mat covered with bugs.

  With a chuckle at my moans of pain, my jailor locks the door behind me and leaves me with one word. The word is a promise for more of the same. It haunts my dreams.

  “Tomorrow.”

  Hours after the final prisoner has been returned to their cell, the pitiful moans of the injured and bleeding captives begin. Crying and begging for help from a higher being blend with the sounds of bones being set into place.

  Lying on my back, the formations of the rock above my head momentarily keep my mind off the blinding pain. A shuffle outside of my door doesn’t alert me to anything. It’s probably a rat scampering by in search of left over slop or bread.

  The sound of someone trying to talk to someone else does grab my attention though. Talk is forbidden amongst prisoners.

  “Psst. Psst. Hey, over here.” The words are whispered so low, I think I’m hearing voices.

  It sounds again. “Psst. Over here.”

  Raising my head a few inches from where it rests on the rolled-up blanket, I blink a few times. Just outside my cell is a short pixie. I squint my eyes to make sure I’m not imagining it. Slowly, I raise up on my elbows. Making eye contact, I stay where I am. This could be a trick, and responding to this person could earn me more time on the rack.

  “Hey!” he whispers, “I’m here to help.” The compact pixie presses his face to the bars of the cell.

  Not believing the offer of help, I lower back to rest on the thin mat.

  “I can lead you to who you desire most.” His voice pitches an octave higher with his words.

  At that I raise my head again in interest. Could this pixie be working for someone? There are very few people who can remove me from this hell. Even fewer who know I’m down here rotting.

  Inching closer to the bars of my cell, I stay a few feet away and press into the stone wall separating my cell from my neighbor’s. Staying in the shadows, I open my mouth to speak but no sound comes out. My throat is scratchy and raw and words won’t pass my cracked and bruised lips on the first try.

  I force one word out, grimacing in pain. “How?”

  “I know who you really are. And I know who you desire most.” The pixie pauses as he presses his face further between two of the bars. His tiny hands grip the bars next to his face as he speaks again, this time lower. This pixie has chosen a form akin to an adolescent male, his stature slight and his features sharp. “I was sent here by someone who would like to see you succeed in your plans.”

  Cocking my head to the side, I wait for the catch. As if reading my mind, the pixie responds.

  “The only thing you must do in return is keep her away from any and all goblins. She must never be seen by one of their kind again.”

  Getting out another word with difficulty, I ask the most vital question. “Who?” Who was willing to help me? And to who did they refer that I must keep away from goblins? I don’t care who it is. I’d do it to be free of this agony.

  “Never mind that, but you and your love will be together. You must swear a blood oath before I can help you.”

  The pixie’s voice has risen slightly, loud enough for me to not have to struggle to hear his shrill voice. Wincing at the thought of being caught talking to anyone else, I shrink back.

  “Swear the oath and I will free you from this prison.” The pixie procures a small silver knife. Slicing into his palm with a swift flick of his wrist, he holds his bloodied hand through the bars.

  I watch drops of blood splash in the dirt and shake with terror. What if this is all a trap? But what if it isn’t? My heart whispers the question and my mind is made up. I extend my own hand and reach for the small knife. Nicking my palm, I hold out my own hand. I move my head as much as I can in confirmation. As our blood mingles, every scrape, bruise, and broken bone begins to mend. Eyes widening, I realize that this is no ordinary pixie, if it is even a pixie at all.

  Working my jaw side to side, I stand and wrap my healed hands around the bars of my cell.

  “Get me out of here.” I speak without my lips cracking or my words getting caught in my throat for the first time in months.

  With a snap of his knobby fingers, the pixie opens the door to my cell.

  Striding toward the door, I take one last look at what has been my personal hell for what feels like forever.

  Slowly, I step through the door of the cell without feeling trepidation. I breathe deeply and let the acrid air fill my lungs. The breath clears the cobwebs in my brain, and I exhale steadily.

  “This way.” The pixie waves a hand and starts toward the darkest part of the dungeon.

  Not looking behind me to ensure the coast is clear, my head races with thoughts of what I do once I’m out of here.

  Revenge.

  Reunion.

  And resurgence.

  I’ll find my love and ensure that she stays with me. Forever this time.

  For the first time in a long time, I smile. I give a last look over my shoulder before I step fully into the inky darkness that will bring me my freedom.

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  Thump.

  Thump thump.

  Thump.

  Thump thump.

  My heart is pounding in my chest like I’m the kick drum in a rock concert. Chest heaving, I wipe a rivulet of sweat from my forehead. Letting my hand flop back onto my king-sized mattress, I try for calming breaths.

  In and out.

  In and out.

  On my last exhale, I give up the futile exercise with a grunt of frustration. This shit has to stop. I can’t keep dreaming about someone who’s forbidden.

  It’s not enough that he’s invaded my house and m
y personal space at every opportunity, but now he’s occupying my dreams.

  I know I should just give in and let it happen, but I can’t. I do, however, allow my mind to wander back to the dream I had just woken up from.

  His large hands, rough with callouses, caress me. Starting from the top of my head, his hand trails whisper soft down to my cheek. Stopping, he cups my cheek in his palm, his autumn leaf colored eyes never leaving my own azure and lilac ones. Eyes squinted in focus, he continues his path down my body. His broad fingers leave paths of electricity in their wake, his touch shocking my senses. Drawing in a sharp breath, my nose is assaulted with his scent. Earth after a rainstorm. It tantalizes my libido. A hint of crisp air and male musk only drives me further over the edge. Currents of heat course through me and my skin feels like it’s alive. With each touch, even my skin craves what he can give me.

  His hands cup my ample breasts. The rough pads of his fingertips send a spark up my spine and I push up into his grip.

  I let out a breathy moan. “Mmm, yes.”

  His hands stop in midair, his thumbs hovering over the aching tips. Lowering his hands, he only circles each breast. Licking his lips, he watches my every reaction to his ministrations.

  Arching my back, I try to tell him without words what I want. What I need. His fingers on my nipples, applying just the right amount of pressure to send jolts of pleasure to my pussy. That little edge of pleasure pain he gives me makes my every nerve riot for more.

  “Dare,” I cry out his name as he denies me that pleasure.

  His hands drop to grip my hips. He holds me right where he wants me. His thumbs sweep inward toward my pubic bone and I suck in a sharp breath when he ducks his head closer to my center.

  I wait for his touch, impatiently. When it comes, it’s feather light and just enough to appease. But not for long. Wiggling my hips as much as his grip will allow, I bury my fingers in his chestnut colored hair.

  A low growl vibrates through his chest, the sound sending another wave of wetness to my swollen pussy.