Taken by Storm (Storms of Blackwood Book 1)

by Elle Middaugh

  I put my hand up to silence her. “Gem, as orgasmic as that sounds, I’m fucking serious.”

  She grinned and folded her hands. “Okay, show me some magic, then.”

  I sighed. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  She hummed and tapped her chin. “Okay, then show me the royal summons. Surely the king would have given you one.”

  “He did,” I said, relieved. Then I remembered... “But my mom has it.”

  She grinned. “I don’t suppose you have the dead guy?”

  I pursed my lips, and my nose curled. “No.”

  She laughed again. “You’re lucky I love you, because I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Assuming, by some fantastic miracle of Zeus—gods be praised—that you’re telling the truth, what in the actual fuck is a handmaiden supposed to do?”

  “Your blasphemy is going to get you cursed one day.”

  She pushed me, and I fell into a stack of pillows on the other side of the tiny clubhouse.

  Laughing, I pushed myself upright. “I don’t know! Hand me things so that my royal ass doesn’t have to get up and do it myself?”

  “That sounds awful. Oh, what if my job is to... give you a hand... when the prince is away?”

  She waggled her brows at me, and I lost it.

  “Pretty sure that’s not what it means, but what the fuck do I know? I don’t even know what the Storm Princes look like.”

  She perked up. “They could be ugly, short, chubby little things for all you know, with tiny dicks that squirt prematurely. Maybe you will need me to give you a hand?”

  Gem laughed even harder, but I was now thoroughly grossed out.

  Okay, fine, judging them based on appearance was no better than people judging me for being poor. But that last part? Oh, hell yeah. I’d judge the shit out of that. Even poor girls deserved a man who could please them in bed.

  “Or,” she said, brightening as a new idea took over her gnat-like attention span, “maybe they’re hot as fuck, superskilled with their massive dicks and their perfect tongues, and you just lucked into the best deal of your life?”

  I blew a raspberry to keep from laughing. “I can dream, right?”

  But I wasn’t really feeling the idea. Even if they were nothing short of sex gods, they were still the sons of a murderer—one who inadvertently killed my long-lost father and doomed my mother and me to a life of brutal, manual labor—and I was pretty sure the apples didn’t fall far from the tree.

  That’s when the severity of the whole situation hit me like a hammer to the chest. The mood grew suddenly somber, and I felt like I was suffocating.

  “It’s the only way I can keep you in my life, Gem. I have a feeling that if you stay in Blackleaf, I’ll never see you again.”

  She stared at me for a few moments, her smiley nature faltering for once. “You’re serious about all this, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “I’m basically being kidnapped and turned into a baby maker. They won’t give a shit if I’m homesick or not. All they’ll care about is the number of demon spawn I pop out.”

  Gemma took a deep breath and shook her head. For a moment, I was petrified that this was where we parted ways. I desperately wanted her there with me, but I couldn’t force her to come, nor would I ever try.

  But then her usual smile returned, and she stretched out her arms into an exaggerated shrug.

  “Guess I’ll just have to tag along and hand you shit, then.”

  My heart fluttered in my chest. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course! You really think I wanna chop wood and hammer nails for the rest of my gods-forsaken life? Or babysit an ass-load of hyperactive kids every day? No. I’ll relax in the luxury of the palace, thanks, content to hand you your fancy drinks, then hand myself one right after.”

  I sneered, imagining my terrible future. “What about watching my evil, hyperactive children?”

  “You asked me to be a handmaid,” she deadpanned. “If you try to make me a nursemaid, I’ll string you up by your toes and leave you for the buzzards.”

  I burst into laughter and pulled her into a suffocating hug. “Oh, my gods, Gemma, thank you for agreeing to come! I don’t know what I’d ever do without you!”

  “You’re about to find out if you keep strangling me,” she choked.

  I rolled my eyes at her jab but let her go. “If you’re seriously coming, then you’ll need to tell your dad.”

  She chuckled. “I have a feeling everyone’s going to know soon enough.”

  I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, right. No one ever pays attention to me."

  "It's a small town, Lex. It doesn't matter who you are. If the topic is moving into the palace, then there’s going to be gossip."

  I pursed my lips and let out a heavy sigh.

  She was probably right.

  The next couple weeks were going to be interesting.

  Chapter 3

  Turned out, my final days in Blackleaf were, in fact, not all that exciting.

  Days passed into weeks, and while people seemed to have no problem talking about me, most were still disinclined to talk to me. The only ones who bothered to chat face-to-face were distant relatives hoping to improve their standing in life once I came into my supposed wealth.

  As if I’d have any say...

  The morning the king was due to arrive, my eyes cracked open like the ominous sounding of a bell. This was it. The day I left for the palace. The day my life changed forever.

  I jerked from my bed, thrust open my curtains, and puked out the window.

  Gemma stood outside with her hands on her hips a few yards away, a travel bag slung across her shoulder. “Classy, Lex. Classy.”

  I flipped her the bird and retched again, spilling my guts on the mossy ground. Eventually, my stomach stopped heaving, and I wiped the spittle from my lips.

  “I don’t think I can do this, Gem.”

  She laughed, though we both knew it wasn’t amusing in the slightest.

  “I don’t think you have a choice. Come on. I’ll help you get dressed.”

  She entered my room and locked the door behind her, assessing the tiny space until her eyes fell on the gown hanging in my closet. Mom had spent every last coin we owned purchasing that dress, and I wasn’t even sure if the king or princes would approve of it.

  Gemma gently traced the silken, sky blue fabric with her fingertips, and her smile became thoughtful.

  “This doesn’t feel real, does it?” she asked, turning to me.

  “Stop it. You’re going to make me puke again.”

  She laughed and slid the dress from the hanger. “You want some practice? Pretend I’m the prince and he’s just ordered you to strip. What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll tell him to go fuck himself.”

  She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “That’s the fast track to a beheading, my friend. Here. Imagine he’s superhot and not the son of the Storm King. Imagine he’s one of those sexy guys from our romance novels.”

  I heaved a huge sigh but acknowledged that she was right. The king wanted to make me a royal, and I had no doubt that any defiance on my part would be strictly punished.

  I slowly pulled my nightgown up my body... but forgot to undo the button, getting it stuck on my damn head. My freaking arms were trapped in the sleeves too, so there I sat, wiggling like a wild animal in a sack.

  Gemma giggled like crazy and yanked the fabric the rest of the way off, quickly slipping my pale blue gown on in its place. It hugged my hourglass shape perfectly, showcasing my cleavage and accentuating my plump ass.

  “You’re gonna need a lot more practice with stripping,” she announced, admiring my dress.

  I gestured to my body. “As if this is going to be any easier to slip out of. It fits tighter than my mining gloves.”

  “That’s true,” she admitted, as she fussed with my hair, “but there’s a zipper in the back. You’ll just have to sexily pull your hair up and be like, ‘A little help, You
r Highness?’”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s just as likely that he’ll be a savage and rip the damn thing from my body, mangling it so I’ll never be able to wear it again.”

  Gemma’s blue eyes lit up. “Gods, I hope so. It’ll be just like our favorite novels. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

  “Or,” I continued with my ridiculous theories, “maybe he’ll be completely uninterested in me and leave me stuck in this tight-ass thing for all eternity?”

  Her features flatlined. “Yeah, no. That’s not a thing. You look smoking hot. Those princes are going to be afraid you’ll catch the damn dress on fire if they don’t get you out of it fast enough.”

  I laughed, happy to feel some of my nerves floating away like tiny butterflies.

  Then my locked door rattled, and Mom knocked from the other side. “The king is here.”

  And just like that, those butterflies exploded into little puffs of dust.

  The Storm King entered our rickety shack and stood in the doorway like a freaking silver-bearded Greek god, full of authority and poise. His calculating blue eyes scanned my body from the top of my head down to the tips of my toes, then back up to my face. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel sexual; it felt judgmental.

  He smirked. “Miss Ravenel, I almost didn’t recognize you. I see you’ve taken my request to heart.”

  I sneered right back. “Yes, Your Majesty, a nice bath and a new dress were exactly what I needed.”

  He sniffed out an almost-laugh and turned his gaze to Gemma. “I take it this is your handmaiden?”

  I glanced at my best friend as she dipped into a makeshift curtsey. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  And finally, his gaze drifted onto my mother. He stared long and hard, until I became nervous for her. “Ms. Ravenel, you look... stunning. Far more beautiful than I imagined.”

  He took her hand, bent down, and placed a gentle kiss on top.

  My heart didn’t know whether to drop like an ax or soar up into my throat, so it just sort of bounced around, making me nauseous.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, bowing, voice barely louder than a whisper. Some might’ve mistaken it for breathless desire, but I knew it was more than likely fear.

  He grinned, a mischievous and calculating split of the lips, then gestured outside to where three carriages awaited. “Shall we?”

  I pursed my lips as I watched them. The Storm King was a snake, just like the princes, and Mom was a toad, like me. Whatever game he was playing was only so he could gobble her up later and, again, not in a good way. At least... I didn’t think so.

  Then again, Mom was pretty, and the king was rich and powerful. Stranger people had come together in less likely circumstances...

  I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the disturbing images my overactive imagination had concocted. No one needed to see their mother on her back, with a crown between her legs, and her toes curled in the air.

  I might vomit again.

  There were three carriages—thank the gods it was at least an odd number—but instead of giving us ladies one to share, he split us all up. He insisted that my mother ride with him in the first one, that Gemma ride with the other servants in the back one, and that I ride by myself in the middle carriage, so that I might clear my thoughts in preparation for meeting the princes.

  Right. The bastard was probably just hoping I’d sweat myself into an anxiety attack. Which, to be honest, was likely to happen. Time alone with my ridiculous mind was the last thing I needed.

  “Oh! Wait!” I shouted before clambering out of the carriage and darting back inside. I’d almost forgotten...

  “Speedy!” I hissed, wondering where the little shit had gotten to. I hadn’t seen him since the night before, hanging from my bedpost as I passed out.

  I found him in the kitchen... about to fall face-first into a pile of dirty dishes—including a number of knives. Damn it, I knew I should have washed them up before the king arrived.

  I quickly scooped him up and scolded him as we reentered the carriage.

  “Bad sloth! That was a sink full of dirty dishes, not a drinking bowl. And those were knives in the bottom, in case you missed it. You could have been killed.”

  He bleated indignantly.

  I choose to ignore the tone of his voice and assume he was graciously thanking me.

  “You’re welcome.”

  His bleats turned low and grumbling.

  “If I’m stuck moving into the palace, then you’re stuck coming with me, buddy. You’re totally shit out of luck.”

  He slowly curled up in my lap and promptly fell asleep.

  Ungrateful little dick.

  I smiled as I pet him. As much as I teased the little bugger, I loved him wholeheartedly. He might have a propensity for near-death experiences, but it would never stop me from saving his adorable little life, time and time again.

  The carriage jerked, and before I could even register what was happening, Blackleaf was far behind me. Woodland scenery breezed past the window like a smeared oil painting, and all I could hear was the noisy clopping of the horses’ hooves on the path.

  Hours passed. We took several breaks to stretch our legs and squat behind the bushes and pee, but then it was right back to rolling along. Despite the luxurious cushions on the seats, my ass was starting to ache.

  By the time the elaborate royal gardens came into view, it was nearing sunset, and I could no longer feel my body from the waist down. There were tall shrubs trimmed into animal shapes, flowers of all sizes and colors and scents, and leafy vines that climbed all over the tall walls that surrounded the grounds.

  It was like an enormous circle had been cut out of the forest, and in the very center stood Blackwood Palace. Clumps of fancy estates dotted the outside of the barrier, growing smaller the farther they stretched from the palace, until they eventually disappeared into the woodwork.

  I pressed my face against the glass of the carriage window, eyes scanning wildly, taking in every bit and piece of the intricate scene before me. It was no great mystery where our taxes had gone. In fact, it was a wonder they hadn’t somehow taken more. Blackwood Palace was absolutely gorgeous.

  Made of pristine white bricks—possibly sandstone from the Ebony Isles—the palace was at least six stories high, with tall towers, turrets, and ramparts all topped with glittering teal rooves that looked like no stone or shingle I’d ever seen.

  As we approached, the gates opened, and a dark blue bridge was lowered across a sparkling moat. It looked more like a freshwater stream than the boggy marsh I’d expected. There were probably tropical fish swimming in there, rather than alligators.

  The gate closed behind us, and before I knew it, we were stopped in front of a cascading fountain that was as big as all three carriages combined. Streams of water poured from the mouths, hands, and nipples of six, larger-than-life gods. Each figure was in a different bodily position, and the whole scene seemed to be carved out of marble and sanded to an almost glass-like smoothness. It was spectacular. Like the crumbling statues I’d seen in Blackwood forest, except ten times more pristine and amazing.

  And at the foot of the fountain stood the four royal princes.

  I sucked in a deep breath and held it as I stared. They were gorgeous, all standing in a line and waiting patiently for our arrival. As I struggled to remember how to breathe, I mentally assembled my plethora of book-boyfriends and tried to categorize the Storms.

  The first man was the tallest, with blond hair, broad shoulders, and his hands tucked casually into his dark pants pockets. He looked strong enough to pull my carriage without the help of any horses. Or, you know, strong enough to lift me up and bury his face in my...

  I let that thought die on the air and cleared my throat. He was clearly muscular on the outside, but I wondered if he might be a sweetheart on the inside.

  I forced myself to focus on the next prince.

  He was the shortest, but only by a bit, and possibly the handsomest of the
brothers. If his smirk was any indication, he damn well knew how hot he was. His hair was light brown and styled perfectly, and his eyes were a pale, sea green—even from the carriage, I could see how stunning they were.

  I bet he was the kind of guy who talked dirty to the ladies before he fucked them senseless...

  I tore my gaze away and onto the third prince.

  This one had medium brown hair, and his skin was lusciously tan, like he spent a good deal of time in the sun. His eyes were a playful, honey brown, and his smile was warm and genuine rather than cocky.

  This is the sweet one, I decided. The one who’d make all my dreams come true if I’d only give him the chance.

  And finally, I laid eyes on the fourth prince. His hair was dark, maybe black, with a line of stubble along his sturdy jawline. His pursed lips looked deliciously plush, and his arms were crossed, with tattoos covering the area where his shirtsleeves met his wrists.

  And this is the bad boy, I mused as my mouth went dry. The one who’ll spank me when I’m naughty and teach me a lesson.

  Gods, I was getting worked up. I was awfully warm in the cheeks... and between the thighs. I fanned my face to cool the burn on my skin, but it didn’t really help.

  A carriage door opened and shut, and I started to panic. This was it; any moment my door would fling open and I’d be forced to meet them face-to-face instead of ogling like some fangirl behind the glass.

  Speedy’s face slowly came into view, and he gradually blocked my vision. It was like he was intentionally trying to steal my attention. Almost as if he were jealous. It was freaking adorable.

  I smiled and curled him into my arm. “Don’t worry, Speedy. No matter how hot these princes are, you’re still my favorite boy ever.”

  I swore I saw his slow black eyes roll.

  “Don’t give me your sass, Mister Sloth. I mean, have you seen these guys? Seriously, look.”

  I held him out and pressed his nose into the glass. After I was sure he’d gotten a good eyeful, I brought him back to snuggle... and he shit all over my gown.

  I screamed, a torrid mixture of shock and anger, and dropped him onto the seat beside me. The door quickly swung open and a servant rushed over to me, with Gemma and Mom on her heels.