Dark Castle (The Dazzling Court Book 1)

by Fawn Bailey

  Dark Castle

  The Dazzling Court Book One

  Fawn Bailey

  Isabella Starling

  Edited by

  John Hudspith

  Copyright © 2018 by Fawn Bailey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Cover It Designs

  Editing by John Hudspith

  Contents

  Don’t miss out!

  Disclaimer

  1. Amber

  2. Olivier

  3. Amber

  4. Olivier

  5. Amber

  6. Olivier

  7. Amber

  8. Amber

  9. Olivier

  10. Olivier

  11. Amber

  12. Olivier

  13. Amber

  14. Amber

  15. Olivier

  16. Amber

  17. Amber

  18. Olivier

  19. Amber

  20. Bruno

  A glimpse of Wicked Prince…

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Fawn Bailey

  Don’t miss out!

  Would you like to read the prequel to the Rose & Thorn series for free and meet Harlow and Thorn before the story begins?

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  Disclaimer

  Fawn Bailey is the dark romance pen name of USA Today bestselling author Isabella Starling.

  To every girl who has loved two men at the same time,

  Fawn

  P.S. This prequel is inspired by “Gravity” by Jai Wolf, JMR and Hotel Garuda. You can view the playlist for Dark Castle here.

  1

  Amber

  If you pretend you’re a princess long enough, you might actually become one.

  That’s what my mother told me when I was only nine years old, eyes wide open and staring into hers as she read to me from one of our books.

  It was a thought that was ingrained in me from the moment I first heard it. My mother was reading me one of my favorite books, A Little Princess, and I devoured every part of the story.

  But instead of teaching me the lesson I so desperately needed, it convinced me of one thing. I wasn’t a princess, and without a fortune behind my name, I never would be.

  In my childhood years, I feared only a few people.

  I feared the girls in my class who mocked me for my cheap shoes and my torn uniform.

  I feared the teachers who, as rumor had it, received plenty of money from some parents, to advance the other kids, and who took their anger at the world out on me.

  I feared the times when neither of my parents could find jobs.

  I feared what my father was capable of.

  There seemed to be one thing in common with all those fears – and it was money, or rather, lack thereof. Because money could change everything.

  If we had the money, we wouldn’t have to live in the small, cramped apartment in the cheapest part of London.

  If we had the money, perhaps Daddy wouldn’t drink himself into a stupor night after night.

  If we had the money, we would be happy, and Daddy would never hurt Mummy or me again.

  The words my mother read out in her shaky, permanently scared voice, were meant to console me. To teach me that I could be strong despite everything that had happened.

  But her words did the exact opposite. They convinced me I would be the girl I so desperately wanted to be with the help of one thing – cold, hard cash.

  They made the fiery-haired, golden-eyed little girl even more determined to find her way in the world, and eventually, find her own fortune – to have all the glittering gold in the world and to be able to pay in spades to have things go her way.

  In many ways, I was still that bright-eyed little girl when I arrived in Luxuria. My head in the clouds, and my feet firmly on the ground in 4-inch heels that my best friend had given me as a farewell present, I was determined to solve all my problems with a husband who would be able to pay his way out of any situation.

  In many ways, I was more naïve than I had been as a nine-year-old. Stubborn and proud, I had no idea what lay in store for me in the unknown country where I would go up against twelve other girls for the ultimate prize – the man I loved, and a crown to complement his.

  Convinced that money ruled the world, I managed to forget about one very important thing.

  All that glitters is not gold…

  Excitement pumped through my veins, making me jittery as I walked into the arrivals section of Luxuria’s only airport.

  I was nervous. If I hadn’t had my nails done in a pretty nude pink color to match my shoes, I would have bitten them down to mere nubs – a horrible habit I’d had since those days of skipped lunches and hidden bruises during my childhood in London.

  But now, there was hope for a brighter future. Everything I’d ever dreamed of was within grasp. No more poor little church mouse. Very soon, I would be a queen.

  I raised my head high, a confident smile playing on my lips as I exited the revolving doors leading me into the tastefully, expensively decorated lobby of the airport.

  Finally, I had arrived. And I was ready for whatever adventure the world would throw at me.

  My feet glided over the marble floors, and I marveled at the beautifully furnished interior of the airport. It didn’t feel anything like an airport. It was luxurious, from the cool dove-gray marble of the hall to the overstuffed, jade green plush velvet armchairs replacing the plastic chairs that I was used to seeing in such locations.

  This country has money, I thought to myself, the corners of my lips tugging upward. Soon, I will, too.

  Rueben Thorn, my best friend’s husband, had given me use of his private jet to ensure my safe arrival for the selection process at the court of Luxuria. My life was about to change forever.

  In my twenty years of life, I’d experienced it all.

  I’d been a ballerina. A slave. A good friend. A loyal submissive. But everything I thought I knew about myself changed the moment I met Prince Olivier Bellamy.

  He rocked me to my core, making me reconsider the goals I’d set for myself. He made me fall in love. And for the very first time, I found myself wondering about things I’d written off long ago.

  I needed money. I knew I would eventually marry to make ends meet for my family, even though I’d been estranged from them for years. But Olivier made me think there was more to marriage than just what each party brought into it with thick wallets and priceless family heirlooms.

  Foolishly, I thought he would ask me to marry him after our first meeting. I was a hopeless romantic when I let myself, and I’d convinced myself that he would want me – no matter my rank or status. I let myself be that wide-eyed nine-year-old again, and I let myself dream of a future I would never have.

  But Olivier left Rueben Thorn’s manor without asking for my hand in marriage.

  I was heartbroken.

  I spent months moping and crying to Thorn’s wife, Rose, about what had happened. I couldn’t forgive Olivier for choosing his country over me. True love meant always choosing your partner above anything else.r />
  Right?

  Wrong.

  When the invitation arrived, I let myself be ecstatic before I allowed the calculating side of me to take over. The selection was a different game altogether. It meant competing against twelve other girls – strangers – to win the heart of Prince Olivier.

  At first, I was bitter and angry. Why would I have to compete? Had I not done enough, charmed him to the point he could not resist me? I’d let him have it all… my virginity, my innocence and my submission. And yet, he planned to pit me against all these other women, to prove once again I was worth it.

  A seed of bitterness was planted, and I watered it every day. Thoughts of hatred toward Olivier consumed me, mixed with confusing emotions of wanting to please him.

  There was one thing I knew for certain.

  Olivier Bellamy would become my husband.

  For better or for worse, he’d be stuck with me.

  I wanted what I’d had that magical night at Rose and Thorn’s house. I wanted Prince Olivier, who’d touched me with tenderness, knowing just how much he could hurt me but holding back because he didn’t want to break me during our first meeting.

  I’d become addicted to him, my thoughts overwhelmed with him. And so, when I received the invitation to enter the selection process and possibly become Prince Olivier’s royal bride, I didn’t hesitate. Even though there would be twelve other women competing for Olivier, I was confident he would pick me in the end.

  He had to.

  The connection we had that night can’t be rivaled, I thought to myself as I mulled things over in the airport. We were meant to be together.

  Pleased with my decision to come, I held my head just a little bit higher, feeling confident in my knee-length, pleated silk dress in a shade of green that complimented my stubborn red hair perfectly. It was made of the finest silk, pleasant and cool to the touch, belted under my sizeable bust and skimming over my generous curves in a way that made eyes turn. Yes, I was pleased with how I looked – for once.

  My eyes scanned the crowd at the arrivals section, a shiver going down my spine. There was nobody with a sign with my name there, though I’d been told someone would be waiting for me.

  Have they forgotten about me already? I thought to myself but managed to calm the nagging voice that insisted on being heard. Surely someone will come for me soon.

  The airport was small, with only a few flights per day. Mine was the first of the day, with none other arriving until that afternoon.

  I had two suitcases with me, laden with beautiful, expensive dresses I’d never be able to afford on my own. Luckily, Rose had taken care of it all. I knew she felt like she owed me, and for this occasion, I let her believe it. I needed every advantage over the other girls I could get, and the expensive faux furs, silk and cashmere inside my Louis Vuitton luggage would make me shine brighter than I would in my cheap, sad everyday clothes.

  “Amber Jonathan?”

  I turned around, flustered as I fidgeted with my carry on. Okay Amber, focus, I ordered myself in my head. You only get one chance to make a first impression.

  I looked up into the man’s eyes with a well-practiced shy smile playing on my lips.

  “That’s me,” I responded. “Are you here to take me to the court?”

  “Yes,” the man replied, not wasting a single word. He took my luggage away from me, the suitcases I’d struggled with before tiny in comparison to his broad, tall frame.

  It was my first chance to get a good look at him, and I tried to hide my surprise, though his all-knowing grin seemed to see every thought inside my head. How frightening.

  He was handsome, not in a refined, sophisticated way like Prince Olivier, but devilishly so. His hair was jet black, unlike Olivier’s golden tresses. It was peppered with streaks of silver, slicked back and giving him a sexy, dangerous look. His eyes were gray, so bright they startled me. He towered over me.

  “Come with me,” he said, and I tottered after him, struggling to catch up with his long steps in my sky-high heels and still attempting to look like I had some class.

  “Do you work for the royal family?” I asked in a rush. Better to get all the information I possibly could, even if he was just a servant.

  “I do.”

  He didn’t elaborate, and I bit my bottom lip as we left the airport building. What greeted us outside were bright skies and a pleasant, cool temperature that made me glad I’d only worn a light Burberry trench coat over my dress.

  Our surroundings were stunning. The airport was smack-dab in the middle of the country. To our far right, I spotted a large lake, seemingly never-ending in the mist that clung to the land. To our right, there was a smaller town with a gorgeous Gothic church in the center. The airport was built on a small hill, giving me an incredible view of Luxuria’s quaint, but remarkably well-preserved historical beauty.

  I couldn’t focus on our spectacular surroundings, though, my thoughts filled with a nervous worry that I’d offended the man who’d come to collect me.

  Have I already overstepped? I questioned myself, desperate to bite my nails yet again but managing to suppress the need to gnaw on my perfectly manicured talons.

  I’d been warned by Rose that the Luxurian court was a bit old-fashioned. Even though I knew how to behave at these kinds of events after a few years of training, I was terrified of breaking a century-old tradition or offending somebody I was supposed to make a lasting impression on. For example, the man who was now storming a few paces ahead of me, carrying everything I owned in two strong, capable arms, his biceps bulging against the expensively-cut suit he was wearing.

  In my hurry to not fall behind, I nearly stumbled over the cobble-stone path leading away from the airport and toward the drop-off area. Goodness, this place really is old-fashioned. I half-expected a carriage to be waiting for us.

  Just as I stumbled, I grabbed onto the man’s sleeve to steady myself.

  My luggage tumbled to the ground and the man turned to face me, a snarl on his face. Yet he let me hold onto his arm, supporting my full weight as if I weighed nothing at all. Once I composed myself, I gave him an apologetic look, coming face-to-face with stormy, unforgiving and cold gray eyes. It made me take a step back, and he cleared his throat, giving me a stern glance.

  “Don’t sneak up on me like that, or you’ll get hurt.”

  I was so shocked by his words I couldn’t even manage a reply, instead just nodding and falling into step behind him again. At least he’d slowed down now, and I could keep up easily without breaking a heel.

  Before I had time to question his strange, almost threatening response, we arrived at the drop-off section where a lacquered white Rolls Royce was waiting. My eyes widened at the sight of it and I felt the now familiar rush of excitement as two other men joined us. The air stank of money.

  The two other men were both wearing uniforms, a navy suit with pinstripes, complete with a driver’s hat for one of them. I didn’t fail to notice that their suits, while still appearing expensive, weren’t cut as flatteringly as the other guy’s.

  He must be someone important, I thought to myself, trying not to let panic take over. I need to impress him.

  The men nodded at me, greeting me with a respectfully muttered “Miss Jonathan,” before loading my luggage into the car.

  I had to bite my tongue to stop all the questions I had from pouring out of my mouth, painted with dark pink gloss. Thank goodness I’d decided to change at the last moment in the airport’s bathroom. I had a feeling these three men would not be impressed by the black, comfortable leggings I’d worn on the twelve-hour flight from the States to Europe.

  Eager to fire off questions, I reminded myself to be patient.

  I had no idea what I was getting into, and I wanted to know so many things – like when the other women would arrive, and whether I’d be able to see Olivier soon. However, the man who picked me up was wearing a somber expression that made me shut my mouth again. He didn’t seem like the type who lik
ed to answer questions, so I kept them to myself, for the time being at least.

  It would have been nice to know his name, but I was too intimidated to ask him. I had a feeling he was well-aware of my nerves, as he grinned at me in a way that said I can read your thoughts, little girl.

  He helped me into the vehicle, and I settled into the plush, buttery cream leather interior. It was an incredible car, one that I’d only seen in movies before.

  The two men who’d been loading my suitcases into the trunk took the two front seats, and the other man, the one that made me a little afraid, climbed into the back with me.

  I looked through the window as the car pulled away from the airport, a frisson of excitement making my hands shake in my lap.

  “Nervous?”

  I looked into the man’s gray eyes and offered him a shy smile.

  “A little bit,” I admitted. “This is all so new to me.”

  “But you’ve met Prince Olivier before. You know what to expect, don’t you?” His eyebrows shot up and it hit me just how handsome he was, making me blush. God, how I hate being a redhead. It was impossible to hide things like embarrassment from anyone.

  The man seemed to realize how frustrated I was and grinned at me with a mixture of curiosity and a twisted sense of humor, almost as if he enjoyed me being so nervous.

  “Not really,” I told him. “I met Olivier at a party my friends organized. Rueben Thorn, perhaps you’ve heard of him?”