by Lana Hartley
“This is your day, Snow,” Derek says, leaning toward me and whispering these words into my ear.
“No, this is our day. Liberation Day,” I whisper back at him and, for a second, I just close my eyes and take a deep breath.
Everything I fought for, it all led to his moment.
A moment of happiness.
A moment of love.
Two Beasts
A Dark Fairy Tale Menage Romance
By Lana Hartley
Copyright 2018 by Dark Princess Press
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
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Isadora
I’d hoped to never marry, but I allowed the Queen to teach me that there could be a suitable compromise.
After all, the Queen is my mother.
I never thought that compromise would stretch me so far… An arranged marriage isn’t so strange, even nowadays. But an arranged marriage with not one but two would-be kings?
I face the mirror again, looking to erase my tension on my face and then in my mind. “I’m Isadora Brevintos, and I have to marry, as I’m the princess of my nation.” I repeat the words, brushing my hair and hoping working the comb through my long strands will help to calm my nerves.
I catch my mother’s image in the mirror, and any relaxation that might have crept over me slinks back and I see my forehead crinkle.
My mother and queen, never one to shy away from war, decided she would keep a peace arrangement in play rather than let tensions rise among the surrounding and powerful nations. “Yes, you will do your duty to your nation,” she says, her mouth forming a stern line. She smiles, an attempt at warmth that doesn’t quite penetrate my nerves. “You look every bit a princess, my child, and this brilliant move will mean so much for our country.” Her eyes beam with pride.
Her hands are resting on my shoulders now, and I reach up to squeeze them for comfort, but she pulls away. I don’t think she realizes she does it as she walks away. The queen is rambling on about duty, honor, and other things that I’ve already intoned to myself, already heard a thousand times.
It’s this coldness in her that I fear I have in myself. Perhaps I’m still a virgin and have no interest in men, because I despise affection like my mother seems to.
My mother had me, but her husband and my father, he no longer lives.
Perhaps it is me who is unlovable, I worry.
It’s a dreadful thought. I hope that it isn’t the case. I hope the two princes I’m arranged to marry do not feel that way about me. More than anything, I hope that they are just as unhappy with this situation and therefore empathize with my hesitance to do certain…things that married people must do.
I’m not ready for any of that!
I finish brushing my hair before the stress makes me brush the strands into a static electric mess, and I stand up.
“Good, you’re ready. I want you to appear eager,” the queen says, and when her eyes take me she grimaces. “Smile, you aren’t being led to slaughter.” There’s almost laughter in her voice, but I can’t help notice how it seems to hide…disgust.
I don’t want to think such horrid thoughts about my mother, especially not when she’s bringing a peaceful compromise to a nation I will one day rule. I don’t want war, I don’t want famine.
Marriage is a small price to pay to save untold lives of my future subjects.
I smooth my hands over my brocade and jewelled gown, so lavish that I was afraid to put it on. It took two handmaidens to cinch me.
What if it takes two princes to un-cinch the dress? My face heats at the idea, and I’m horrified.
I keep walking forward, leaving my chambers and heading to the grand ballroom of the palace I’ve always called home. I feel as though I’m in a foreign land, though the princes have both come here in order to agree to wed me. Though there are many customs and traditions that are much neglected in these modern times, it seems none will be when it comes to this arrangement.
I can barely breathe thinking about what little I do know about the different ceremonies. I’m terrified of the betrothal ceremony, and it is the first and possibly least frightening of them all. It doesn’t involve more touching than a holding of hands, if I remember the protocol correctly, and that can’t be so bad.
But then I see them both.
Wow. Just wow.
These two princes are stunning in the pictures that I’ve seen, and when I see them in person I know that those photographs do them no justice. They are so attractive that it almost hurts my eyes. Like, I’m saying this, the person who cares nothing about dating and has had zero interest in men. But they are outstandingly, incredibly attractive. Broad shoulders, strong chests, and chiselled abs I can see defined through their shirts. Charming smiles and sensual eyes; even their jawlines are godlike.
My body is utterly betraying me right now, because I feel a dampness in my panties that shocks me. I’m wet. I never get wet, especially not just seeing a man…or two.
Aaaand I’d hoped that we wouldn’t even work on an heir till later. I know that there are ceremonies—not unlike this betrothal ceremony, but GOD, I am going to have to sleep with both of them… Now I’m not too worried about it.
Can I still be a slut if the two men I want to sleep with are literally vowing to marry me right now?
Despite myself, I kind of want it.
And now I feel like I can be crushed. Because, before I saw them, I was hoping they’d be just as reluctant as I was. Now, I’m hoping that they’re not going to be reluctant when they see me…
Shit. I have more important things to worry about. We are uniting three countries, and I want to do my duty for my own country and for the world. I can’t be worried about dumb things like if I’m not pretty enough for them. It’s a bad enough I’m a virgin.
Pleasing two husbands can’t be much harder than pleasing one, and I remember what my mother said. She said pleasing men was easy, but that I’d need to worry about pleasing myself through my duty.
Well, I’m doing my duty.
And that’s going to mean pleasing these two men!
I might faint as walk toward them, but I keep taking deep breaths and keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Vincent
I straighten my hands over my suit to keep from clenching them in to fists like I want to. “War works for business, works for economy, works for everyone but our people. That’s why I agreed to this arrangement.” I clear my throat and look at the man I’ve never been able to stomach for more than a few moments with in the past, and now I’m going to share a wife with him. “It isn’t because your sparkling personality won me, over, Nathan,” I say, trying not to choke on my words at that. Nathan is scheming shit that I wouldn’t want to share a country with, much less anything else. “But I understand that we’re in this together,” I say and straighten my mouth, keeping frustrations off my face and calmness over my facade. “I know this is what’s best for all of our nations. For the world.” That’s the truth, so it tastes less like a dried out lime when I say those final words.
Nathan’s eyes light up with the kind of mischief that shone over his schemes in school. “Oh?” is all he says, exhaling for a moment and looking toward the door our shared wife will soon walk through. I went to a special preparatory academy with Nathan Torthan, and I knew we were opposite personalities from the moment that we met. “Do you remember the way we met?” Nathan says, wanting to push me toward frustration.
I say nothing.
“You just aren’t a team kind of guy, and I hear that Isadora is quite the prodigy in many ways; not others, of her mother’s,” Nat
han says and raises an eyebrow. I can tell that he wants to get a rise out of me by dangling his dick out that he has some kind of information that I fucking don’t have. He thinks he’ll snare me into his game. Nathan’s a scheming asshole, and I just don’t have time for his crap. I’ll play his little game only as much as I have to.
“I remember you ensuing chaos in one of our diplomacy classes, and yet here you are,” I laugh the words, though they’re full of the poison that being in the same air as him does to me. I don’t work well with others, and I doubt I’ll ever be able to get past just barely getting this alliance to work since Nathan is that partner now.
Fuck, do you hear what I’m saying?
I don’t work well with others, and I’m going to join three nations with a marriage. Fuuuuuuck…
I’m standing across from Nathan now, and I don’t even want to look at him, like I’m swept up in some petty charade that he likes to play at. “Look at her,” I say with my voice actually threatening to waver now. Damn. Even Nathan can’t distract me from the sight of her.
Isadora Brevintos is gorgeous. I knew she was a knockout before now. We both did. Dickheads or not, neither Nathan nor I would marry some hag just because her head wore a crown. We both sleep around enough that we’d just acquire power otherwise. Isadora is beautiful.
But the sight of her now, walking toward us in an utterly elegant gown and stepping forward tentative yet so pure.
Well, when I see Nathan clench his fists, I know he’s thinking exactly what I am. His mouth purses for a second before the mask he always wears overtakes his face.
“Don’t fuck this up,” I say, and I turn to Nathan to say this, even though I want to keep my eyes on Isadora. She’s walking toward us both, and I don’t know how my chest is containing my oxygen now. My ribs could crack from the strain I’m facing.
Isadora’s eyes are not cast downward. She’s not timid, despite the definite uncertainty that she must face in this move. An advantageous agreement like this would have come with more guile and coordination if she had any.
“Your Highnesses,” Isabella says, her voice breathy for an instant before she gains her resolve.
“Please, we’re Nathan, Vincent,” Nathan says with a wave of his hand.
I capture Isabella’s. “May I?” I ask, hoping to kiss her hand. I like old-fashioned charm. Nathan is hard-on seduction with no subtlety. I try to avoid feeling sickened by him.
“Yes, you may. I imagine you’ll both do so much more in time. There is to be a bedding,” Isadora says. I’m surprised at her language, whispered so that only the three of us can hear it. A bold move. She doesn’t say it lasciviously, and I can’t describe how it turns me on. What a filthy fucker that I am. Sweet Isadora brings out the naughtiest thoughts within me, because I want her. So much more than just a fuck. I like her. I like her personality. I like her courage.
I want to taste her courage come undone around me. I want her perfect peach lips to tremble from pleasure, her courage putting her in an ultimately pleasurable moment. I want to see her ‘o’ face be one of ‘oh god do that again.’
If my horny thoughts are all over my face, then my diplomacy is worse than I could have imagined.
Isadora’s face flushes a little, and I know she’s wondering how she was so bold.
Nathan’s hand goes to the small of her back, and I see her warm to the idea though she’s still so demure.
Fuck, what was I thinking? I’m enraptured by thought of her, and I want to decimate this sharing notion as soon as possible.
I won’t, because I won’t choose the battlefield for my country over something to do with my cock and my pride, but it does make this even more difficult. Worse than I could have imagined.
“Thank you both,” Isadora says, reaching her hands out to claim one of ours into hers. “I know that this is an odd, antiquated plan, but I appreciate you all for doing what’s good for our people, for the world.”
Isadora is going to be an excellent queen. I just want her to be only mine.
Nathan
Marriage alliances are the best political move. Diplomacy will always be more valuable than war. Even if it means I’m arranged to share a wife this brute attempting to have tea with me.
Even if Vincent Lyvester is that brute.
I watch Vincent, every bit the prince I am, sipping his tea, his hand clenching on the glass.
When this marriage is final, Vincent and I will be shared kings of two allied nations.
He seems to actually be attempting to be civil. I know better than to assume Vincent is being anything other than genuine, because he doesn't have a properly manipulative bone in his alpha male shell.
At least I have the abs and the political prowess. We can't punch our way into peace…
“I hear you are a just and clever general,” I offer to Vincent. I know how to be genuine, too.
Hey, I do.
For the record, my general path to peace—we all want peace—is to give that damn cocky smirk I swear was plastered on when I was born.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Marius, no doubt, my second-in-command, keeping me up to date on my kingdom’s goings on, and those of every other nation. I don’t pull my phone out now because that will just undo my own goodwill gesture toward Vincent, now won’t it?
Yes, yes it would. I don’t make stupid moves, so I’m not about to start now.
“You want to get that?” Vincent says in a hushed but ultimately loud whisper. I’m clearly going to be the husband with all the grace, but that won’t come as a surprise to anyone.
Except, perhaps, the bride herself.
Isadora Brevintos. She’s nothing like the trash I take into and out of my bed on a regular basis. My chambers have seen more maids than would be needed to clean a whole castle, be the woman actual servants or just girls I pick up in bars that are groupies not deemed too dangerous by my staff doing risk assessments. No, Isadora brought no secondary missions to the table, performed no diligences outside of standard channels.
Isadora is two things I’ve never seen before.
When the marriage was arranged and agreed upon, she was a pure politician with no desires to work through backchannels or to be underhanded.
And now, walking through those doors, she’s more gorgeous than any woman I’ve ever seen. I feel it like the strongest instinct I’ve ever had. I want her to be mine. I need to have her.
Sharing her is not my idea of a good plan at all…I understand it politically, but the animal inside me simply wants her all to myself.
I see that Vincent is staring too, so I quickly pull out my phone and let him go slack-jawed at the sight of her before I do the same and we look like a pair of idiots.
Marius texted me a few details. I send him back a 100 emoji. Yes, I find those little emoji’s to be quite useful for quick communication; don't you agree? I’ve slipped my phone back into my pocket before anyone has noticed.
No one knows I’m texting right before the betrothal ceremony progresses, and Marius knows that yes, I am intent on impregnating her with an heir as soon as possible.
I don’t have to admit to anyone that I’m as much excited about the prospect of seeing Isadora’s stomach swelled and full of my child, because it means I planted my seed in her as much, as I am excited about the alliance we’ve made in this political match.
It isn’t a love match. I shouldn’t let myself get distracted from the ideas washing over me right now that threaten to overtake me.
Unlike passionate, brash, alpha bravado Vincent, I maintain control of myself at all times. I’m not so foolish as Vincent to let everything read on my face. No one knows what I’m thinking unless I want them to, and then I design that thought.
So how come I want to look like the alpha male turned into a fucking puppy at Isadora’s feet?
I’m no one’s lap dog.
I take what I want so well that, when it comes to political power, it is willingly ceded to me in a way that people believe al
l the things that are actually my machinations were, in fact, their ideas.
A smile forms across my lips, and just as a thought occurs to me, Vincent wises up and looks at me after muttering something about how glorious our intended bride is.
I offer the smile to Vincent because I realize now that, while I’m regarded as clever, Vincent is one of the only people to see me as cunning. The man chooses to not offer persuasion up as one of his honed skills like I do, but he has always recognized that I’m playing a game where everyone doesn’t seem to know that they are pieces on the board.
I banter with Vincent but mostly ignore him. I don’t want to waste my breath on him when I could be stealing away Isadora’s and charming her.
“Don’t fuck this up,” Vincent says, all bravado and gritted teeth.
Oh, so Vincent cares as much as I do. Is as drawn to her as I am.
I play the game. I see the players and the facts before me, and right now, I have to figure out how Vincent’s shared lusts and affections for Isadora can be useful for me.
Isadora approaches us, and I see that she’s without any purposely bewitching moves. She’s not unlike Vincent in that she seems intent to play fair, rather than play the games of politics. If she’s to be a good ruler, honestly she’ll want to balance both. But there’s a spunk in her, a fire, that leaves me without doubt that she can and will do both, and very well.
Isadora
I drink in the sight of these two men, and I could get deliriously drunk at their intoxicating attractiveness. The hostility they obviously bear toward each other is frustrating, and I hate that I’m excited by the energy.
They are barely veiling their insults toward each other now, and it lights a fire in my blood. I want them to be civil, to resolve this. I know they are both well-respected leaders and yet…I daresay they are losing their cools. I feel powerful to know that not only do I want this bickering to end, but that I will make it.
