Chapter 1 Hayden

Tonight was the night.

This was it. Months of waiting, months of biding my time. Months of my obsession, and of watching that obsession become betrothed to another man. A lesser man. Hell, not even a man, not by my standards, and sure as fuck not one that had any business being with a girl like her.

But that was all ending tonight.

Tonight, her wedding night. Only there wasn't going to be a wedding - at least, not to him.

You might say it's poor form to throw the bride over your shoulder caveman-style and run off with her, most especially if it's not your wedding. Possibly worse if the actual groom is a rival king. You might say all those things, and you might even be right. But then, King Milton Maneford shouldn't have invited me, not when she was to be his bride.

Princess Callie Hearst, of Arbor.

My addiction. My compulsion. My obsession.

I suppose I'm not a man who should have had anything to do with her either. A king I might be, but there was nothing "gentlemanly" about me. My rough hands wanted one thing and one thing only, and that was to hold her and never let her go.

Princess Callie. My Callie.

I knew who she was before Milton announced, of course. I'd already had my eye on her for, well, longer than I had any business having eyes on her, I'll say that. But Milton had swooped in to rain gifts and money on her slightly cash-strapped parents - the King and Queen of Arbor. He'd snatched her up, right before I could make my own move.

I'd hated him before. After that, I wanted to bury him for being anywhere near an angel like her.

Blonde, blue-eyed, and so soft and small. Petite, with hips that begged for my hands to hold them tight, or pin them to the bed. Legs that were made to wrap around my waist as I spread them wide. Lips designed to moan into mine as I showed her what a real man could do to her. Sweet, angelic, beautiful, and so fucking innocent.

Very innocent, actually. As in, never been touched. Not even by her shitty fiancé. Besides being a colossal douchebag, King Milton had a big mouth, especially when he drank. It was at a poker game a few months before when he'd put back too many martinis and bragged about how no man had ever laid a hand on his new bride.

The thought of him putting his greasy fucking paws on her made my skin crawl and my hands close to fists. But he hadn't. "Not until the wedding," as he'd slurred at that damn poker game.

Fuck she deserved so much better than him. She deserved to be a queen in every sense, not some trophy for an aging, slovenly piece of shit like Milton. And that sweet little rose between her thighs deserved to be plucked by a man who knew what he was doing - a man who'd make her feel things she'd never even fucking dreamed of.

A man like me. Not fucking Milton.

But like I said, that wasn't going to happen. Not anymore. There wasn't going to be a wedding, not after I stole his pretty young bride away for myself.

My cock ached at the thought of throwing her over my shoulder and running off with her. My balls tingled, cum boiling hot inside as I imagined carrying her off to my own castle, and claiming her myself - as my queen, and in my bed. My pulse hammered, standing there in the hallway outside her chambers. I knew she was in there, getting ready for a wedding she dreaded to a man didn't want.

And I was going to take her away from all of it.

I put my hand on the doorknob to her chambers, and twisted. No more waiting. No more biding my time. No more not feeling her legs wrap around my hips and her moans drip through my ears.

Tonight, she'd be mine.