Stolen by the Rebel King

"Get your hands off of me! Where are you taking me?" Daphne struggled in the grips of her captors, shoving back against their hold. Unfortunately, her frail strength could not be compared to that of two fully grown men, who each held onto one of her elbows with an iron grip.

It was supposed to be her wedding day. She was prepared to suffer stiff muscles from sitting in a carriage for too long, ready to endure awkward conversations with her new, unfamiliar husband from a new, unfamiliar land. After all, as the only royal family member who could not wield magic, that was all that she was worth.

And the rest of the royal circle made sure she would never forget that.

Yet, she did not expect to be inelegantly snatched from her carriage and kidnapped to a land no one dared to set foot in. Vramid, with its numerous mountain ranges, frequent hailstorms, and deadly wildlife, was a death trap for the unprepared.

And now, the chilly winds and frightful storms outside the barren stone walls of the fortress reflected the scene exactly in Daphne's heart.

"Shut up!"

The guards promptly shoved her to the ground without further warning, causing her to cry out as her knees slammed against the hard marble floor. The skin on her hands burned as her palms slid across the floor from the strength of their throw.

"How dare you!"

The guards scoffed, unimpressed. They moved away without a single glance.

Daphne was a princess; she had never been treated so roughly in her life. The skin of her hands was now red with friction burns and her knees were bruised due to the impact. However, that was the least of her worries.

Right in her line of sight was a pair of polished boots. Daphne's eyes reluctantly trailed up, her goosebumps rising more and more by the second. A long pair of legs, a strong torso, a broad chest clothed in fine military wear― her heart stuttered as she registered a pair of dark amber eyes glaring down at her.

Even though his eyes were a warm color, the look he shot her was frosty. Her hair stood to its ends and her blood ran cold.

"Hello, princess," the man drawled in a deep voice, slow and sensual.

From where Daphne was, the man seemed to be towering over her, though she knew that wouldn't be far from the truth. He had a leg crossed over the other, the side of his head propped up by his knuckles as he smiled down at her.

His smile, paired with his dark cold eyes, caused Daphne to feel more threatened than if he were to immediately stab a sword through her heart. She heard rumors that the people of Vramid were ruthless, but this man seemed to be another brand of intelligently cruel, the sort that would give her a rope to hang herself with.

This was a man that liked to play with