I donated to charity, often. I supported a wounded warrior fund back home in our kingdom of Marland. Caspian supported a non-profit that made sure single, destitute mothers and their children were clothed, fed, and housed. And yes, we both tipped ludicrously well. Because in the end, it was just money. But by the same token, money was everything when you didn’t have it by the truckload like we did. Our father had raised us to appreciate that, and in our world of royalty and privilege, that was a rare lesson to learn.
But Dad had taught us well. After all, he’d come from nothing — a chauffeur’s mechanic son who’d caught the eye of the Princess of Marland. One look, and he’d never looked away.
That was another thing Dad had taught us — keep fighting for what you want, and never let someone else tell you you can’t have it “just because.” Our dad knew what he wanted with our mom, and he fought tooth and nail for it. It’d been quite the scandal in Marland when the pure-lineage princess and only daughter of King Horace took a shine to her chauffeur’s son. I mean, princesses don’t date mechanics. And they sure as shit don’t marry them.
But this one did.
So yeah, Dad had taught us the value and in-value of money, because he’d had none of it and then more of it than he’d ever know what to do with. Mom viewed wealth and privilege the same way he did — that it was a responsibly, not a gift. Having it meant helping those who didn’t, not lording it over them.
And this, to make a very long story short, was why I did things like tip $200 for two drinks at an open bar.
“I assure you, sir, it's not necessary.”
“I know,” I said with a smile. “But humor me.”
“Sir—”
“Please keep it.” I shook my head. “It's not charity, I just like rewarding hard work.”
I sipped the bourbon. “Fantastic pour, by the way.”
The guy grinned. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
I turned back to my brother as we strode back down the gilded always of Lucian’s castle towards the sounds of crowds and music coming from the ballroom.
Was I ready for tonight? Not really, but here we were.
“The bourbon’s good, at least.”
I snorted at my brother. As if the King of Avlion was going to be serving cheap shit. I hadn’t caught the label, but I had no doubt the bourbon we were drinking was nothing short of priceless — collector’s vintages, or a private label or something. The truth was, neither of us were ready for tonight. It’d been a hell of year, and that was putting it lightly. Twelve months ago, our father had finally lost his battle with cancer. Fuckin’ cancer — the fight even a guy as much a fighter as him couldn’t win. A few months after that, we’d had to step up hard in order to squash a power-grab for the throne from within the advisor’s council.
Marland laws being what they are, our parents had ruled together — equal power as both king and queen. My parents had been loved as king and queen. People loved their love story, loved the way they ruled, and loved the way they’d been “of the people.” But of course there’d always been those who hated my father for not being “royal by blood,” and for “soiling” the bloodline.
Fucking idiots.
But some of those people had been on the royal council. With our father’s death, my mother took over as full regent and these dickwads had decided to act. Mom was a strong damn woman, but the internal betrayal hit her when she was still grieving and when she wasn’t expecting it. Caspian and I had stepped in and squashed that real quick. But shit, it takes a lot out of you to physically and legally defend your mother’s claim to her titles from some idiots waving arcane, ancient laws on “birthrights.”
So, first a death, then fighting for our own legacy. And then, there’d been Emilia. The betrayal that cut the deepest.
Twins are close. I know you’ve probably heard that, but let me tell you, it’s truer than you know. Caspian and I thought the same thoughts most of the time. We liked the same music, read the same books, and wanted the same things.
Including women.
When we were younger, it’d driven wedges between us. Back when we were teens, we’d squabbled over it more than once, when both of us had crushes on the same girl from school, or when some pretty young thing fell for both of us. We’d fought physically on more than a few occasions, before finally, something had clicked.
Why, when we shared everything in life, were we fighting over which one of us got the girl?
After that, things got a lot easier, and a lot more fun. And not to be vain, but we got it. I mean, we were fabulously wealthy, young royalty. We were blonde, blue-eyed, and handsome — the beauty from our mother and the brawn of our mechanic father.
And we came as a package deal — believe me when I say there weren’t a whole lot of girls that said no to that.
And I won’t lie, we’d had our fun. But as time went on, we got bored of it. We got tired of the meaningless. We started wanting something more. But “more” was something that was harder to share. Sharing just sex for an evening or two with the two of us was one thing. But asking a girl to share her heart with both of us? Well, yeah, good luck with that. We’d tried, once or twice, and it’d been disastrous. The girl either couldn’t wrap her head around having more than just something dirty and physical with two guys, or if she was looking for more, it certainly wasn’t with two men. No, that sent them running.
Until Emilia, better known as the Duchess of Ames.
Emilia had started as a fling. We’d met her at some function, drinks had been drunk, and one thing led to another, which led to us tearing her clothes off and taking her together in the back of her limousine. But the fling had continued. It’d just kept going, until it wasn’t so much fling as it was relationship. And for a while, we thought we’d found it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the closest thing to perfect we’d found yet. She wanted us both — all off us. She wanted the physical, and she also seemed to want the emotional too.
We got close, she got deep, and then, the knife got us in the back, and we never saw it coming.
We never did know if it was something she’d planned or if she’d just woke up one day deciding to stab us. But whatever the cause, one day she was our girlfriend, and the next, her lawyers were contacting ours with settlement agreement for her to keep quiet about the “sordid royal scandal” she’d been “forced to participate” in.
Yeah, fuck.
There’d been words, and shouting, and fury. And she’d sat there the whole time, quietly looking away as Caspian and I roared across the lawyer’s table at her. In the end, we’d paid, of course. It wasn’t worth dragging our mother’s name and our father’s legacy through the mud for. Hell if I knew why the fuck a duchess needed cash, but we paid and she didn’t go to the press.
Caspian was still sure it was something we said, or something that happened outside of us that pushed her into that corner. Me? I just thought she was a heartless bitch.
So that's where we were coming in here tonight. The wounds of that mess were still real, even though it’d been six months. After that, Cas and I had stepped the fuck back from seeing anyone, in any capacity. We stopped going out, stopped seeing girls at all. Cause fuck that. It wasn’t worth it, even if it meant celibacy.
But tonight wasn’t “going out.” Tonight’s suiters ball was more than going to a club or something. It was a royal necessity, really. We needed to be seen actively looking for brides. Hell, it’s not like the populace of Marland exactly knew about our tendency to “share.” So that’s why we were at the ball that evening — to at least make a show of looking for something real. After all, Mom wasn’t going to be queen forever. And no one really knew what to do about twin first-born heirs where the throne was concerned, but the rules about us being married before either of us could become King still stood.
“Look, we don’t have to stay for the whole thing. Just long enough to make sure Logan and Magnus don’t do something fucking stupid like go after one of King Lucian’s dau
ghters.”
I snorted, killing the rest of my drink.
The ball was for all sorts of single princes, princesses, dukes, duchesses, and all manner of young royalty. But the real belles of the ball were of course Lucian’s own three daughters — Isla, Imogen, and Ilana, the three virgin princesses of Avlion. Okay, it's not like they’d been advertised as virgins, but there were rumors about them never dating.
Prince Logan of Torsund and Prince Magnus of Zale had been our best friends for, well, since forever, even if those two were wild cards when it came to acting as they should in public. Mags because of his proclivities for fucking anything and everything with a pair of tits, regardless of them being appropriate or not, and Logan because of his curse.
And I don’t care what anyone else said, I believed my friend about that one.
Four years ago, Logan had been our friendly, outgoing, life-of-the-party buddy. Then he’d been cursed by some sort of witch or sorceress or whatever, who he’d mistaken for some girl at a club looking for something fun and fleeting for just a night. I know, magic is bullshit and all that, but fuck, I knew what I’d seen. He’d been Logan the one day, carefree and laughing, and then something altogether different the next day, after that night.
He’d become the “beast” people called him in whispers now. And magic or not, it meant he was moody, prone to anger, and pretty unpredictable these days.
So basically, it was going to be Caspian and my job to make sure neither of our friends got themselves thrown into the royal prison tonight, or worse.
“So have you guys found your Barbie Dolls for the evening?”
I rolled my eyes as Magnus came up behind us, chuckling with a groan as I killed the last of my drink.
Magnus, and Logan for that matter too, had taken to calling Cas and me “Ken dolls” years ago, on account of our blue eyes, blond hair, and I guess “good guy” appeal, even if the two of them knew damn well we weren’t exactly the good boys the press always seemed to think we were. But the name stuck, hence asking about “Barbie.”
Dick.
“You gonna try and behave yourself tonight?” Cas muttered.
Mags grinned, snagging two champagnes off the tray of a passing waiter and knocking one back in two gulps.
“That answer your question?” I said evenly to my brother, who grinned.
“Look, Mags, we’re all here to have fun, and I know you haven’t been yourself recently, but try and rein it—”
I frowned. Magnus wasn’t even looking at us at all, and I followed his stare to a gorgeous redhead in green and gold standing across the ballroom.
“Mags.” I frowned. “Magnus.”
It was like he’d tuned us out as he knocked back the rest of his second champagne, pushed the glass into my hands, and strode purposefully towards the girl.
“Oh tonight’s going to be fun, isn’t it,” Caspian muttered dryly.
I laughed, clapping my brother on the back. “Did you even see where Logan went off to?”
“Nope.”
“Fantastic.”
“I vote for a refill.”
I chuckled as I followed Caspian over to another bar, grinning as I watched him toss another insane amount of money on the bar for our free drinks before turning and handing me mine.
“To finding our true love,” he muttered sarcastically.
After all, that was the reason for coming to a suitors ball. Just the same, it felt like bitter irony at that point.
“To finding our soulmate—”
The words froze in my mouth as I raised my glass to his. Actually, the whole fucking world froze. Because just then, standing in the doorway to the ballroom, the sounds of the string quartet and the crowds washing over us, my eyes locked onto her.
And everything else just sort of faded away.
She wasn’t real. She couldn’t be. Blonde, willowy, her blue sequined gown trailing behind her as she swirled and smiling at a few other girls in regal looking gowns. She was talking to the redhead, actually, and Magnus, before she turned along with a another fair-skinned girl with black hair and a silvery white dress and moved away, leaving the poor redhead to Magnus’s clutches. I followed the blonde though, gritting my teeth as the light caught her big blue eyes, sparkling under the chandeliers, and her smile sent butterflies crashing through me.
Holy. Shit.
“Cade.”
I heard my brother but couldn’t respond, my eyes just locked onto her.
“Dude.”
I blinked as he shook me, shaking my head and turning to him.
He frowned. “The fuck was that?”
“Cas.”
He heard the tone in my voice and shut his mouth.
I didn’t say a thing, I just turned back to her, and this time, his eyes followed mine.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered.
I nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“Who the hell is—”
We both froze as we watched King Lucian himself step forward, beaming at this gorgeous creature and then placing an arm around her and hugging her close.
Oh, shit.
“That, dear brother,” I said slowly, putting the pieces together. “That is King Lucian’s daughter, Princess Ilana Morningstar of Avlion.”
Caspian whistled lowly.
“Well, this is going to be a problem.”
This was going to be a big problem.
Because I knew right there that the same lightning I’d just felt had hit Caspian too. She’d caught us up like a damn spell, and with one look, I knew were were both thinking the same thing.
She was it. She was everything. There was no denying it. We’d given up on finding the one thing we were looking for, but there in that ballroom, just when we’d least expected it, she’d found us.
Something told me, King Lucian’s virgin, oldest daughter, was completely off the table when it came to being shared by the two of us.
Well, except I had no idea how wrong I was.
Taken Three Times
Taken Three Times
Three times the outlaw, three times the danger.
I’ll never forget the night they kidnapped me.
Snatched from my bed by three dangerous, demanding, gorgeous outlaws, ready to auction me off to the highest bidder.
Three dominant, possessive, tattooed men who stir something dark in me that I’ve never felt before.
Men who want to make me theirs, who want to take me in ways I’ve only imagined in fantasy - and who want to make that wicked, forbidden fantasy very real. It’s my chance to leave my innocence behind and embrace the darkest, dirtiest part of myself.
If I dare.
But time’s running out, for all of us. And pretty soon, they’re going to have to make a choice between the job they’re sworn to do, and my sweet submission.
Submit, to the three filthy, tempting, and gorgeous stone-cold killers who stole me away?
Yes please.
Taken Three Times is a dark, steamy read involving a mfmm menage romance with three utterly obsessed alpha heroes. This is all about her – no m/m. If you love over-the-top, slightly unrealistic, and wildly dirty romance with plenty of steam, this one’s for you! HEA with NO CHEATING!
Author’s Note:
Warning: This book is dark and steamy (kinda how I like my coffee). It does involve themes such as kidnapping and restraint that may be triggering to some readers, though engine-revving for others. Like all my books though, the HEA is guaranteed, so I promise, if you stick with it, the ending is worth it!
Please know that this book is a MFMM romance, which is to say, it's all about her - no MM action.
I recommend getting a fan and a cool drink, because things are about to get very hot. Enjoy!
Copyright © 2016 Madison Faye
All rights reserved.
Editing: Sennah Tate
Cover: White Rabbit Creative
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permissi
on from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.
This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains extremely sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.
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Chapter 1
The smell of musty earth filled my nose as I slowly opened my eyes.
Darkness.
Slowly, groggily, I forced my eyes to open further, making them adjust to the low, almost nonexistent light of the stark, small room. A dusty window, caked in grime and half-covered by newspapers up high on one wall letting in thin tendrils of morning light, and a small threadbare cot I was lying on.