Lord of Rage. Jill Monroe

the realm. Or that she could arrange every detail from the musicians to the amount of candles needed in the great hall for a ball.

      She eyed her discarded needlework. That’s what a princess should be concerned about. Perfect stitches.

      Tomorrow her father would begin the search for her husband. Breena knew King Aelfric had put off the task; he didn’t want his daughter living away from him. His life with Alvina had started as a marriage of convenience where love had grown, and they’d forged a close-knit family. But that family was growing up and changing. Her oldest brother, Nicolai, quickly escaped the dinner table after the meal was over, most likely to the bed of a woman. As a gently bred princess of Elden, Breena wasn’t supposed to know those kinds of details—but she did. Already approaching the middle of her second decade, Breena was several years older than when her mother had arrived in Elden, ready to fulfill the marriage contract.

      That’s why she was so restless. Their family could no longer hold back time and the changes a ticking clock brought with it. Soon she’d be leaving her childhood home, to marry, and go to another kingdom. She’d be in the arms of a man whose face she could see clearly, whose features were not fuzzy results of a dreamhaze. A man who’d show her what happened after the clothes came off. The time of her dream lover was over. It would be wrong to force him into her dreams once she belonged to another.

      But she wasn’t married yet. Her fingers found the timepiece her mother had given her on her fifth birthday. She wore it on a necklace around her neck, a sword and shield decorating the front.

      “Why a sword?” she’d asked. Though she was more prone to running through the castle rather than walking gracefully, even her five-year-old self knew weapons of war did not suit a princess.

      Her mother had shrugged, secrets darkening her green eyes. “I don’t know. My magic forges the timepieces.” The queen bent and kissed Breena’s cheek. “But I do know it will aid you on your journey. Your destiny. Make it a good one.”

      A craving to see her warrior jolted her. Breena should probably be worried that those cravings hit her more and more frequently.

      But if her destiny were not to be with her warrior, then she’d take her mother’s advice and make her journey a good one. Breena kicked off her delicate slippers and lay down on her soft mattress, not bothering to slip out of her dress or tug the covers up over her chin. She closed her eyes and pictured a door. When her mother tried to teach her how to take over the dreamworld, she’d told her that all she had to do was turn the knob, and walk through. The door would take her anywhere she wished to be.

      The door only took her to the mind of her fierce lover, and right now that was the only place she wanted to go.

      She found him sharpening the steel of his blade. Breena often found him taking care of his weapons. In her dreams, she was never made nervous by his axes or swords or knives. She relished his ferocity, his ability to protect. Attack. She leaned against a tree and simply watched the play of his muscles across his shirtless back as he slid the cloth around the hilt.

      Breena never found much time to simply observe him. The warrior in him was always on alert, and because she was in a dream, his features were never clearly defined. Did lines from his eyes indicate he liked to laugh? Were there lines across his forehead, marking him as a man of intensity and concentration? All she could see were broad brushstrokes. Not the kinds of things that would tell her who he was inside.

      A smile curved her lips when his shoulders tensed. Her lover had sensed her presence. The sword and cleaning cloth dropped to the grass at his feet as he turned. Her nipples hardened as his gaze traveled up and down her body, his breath little more than a hiss. Breena squinted, once more trying to peer through the dreamhaze that never seemed to let her see the true angles of his face. Only his eyes. Those intense brown eyes.

      His footsteps were silent as he walked over the leaves and twigs carpeting the ground. She pushed away from the tree, moving toward him, wanting to meet her lover as quickly as she could now that he knew she’d arrived.

      This would be their last time together.

      Or at least it should. She should be focusing on her kingdom, and aiding her father in selecting her husband.

      Breena twined her hands around her lover’s neck to bring his lips down to hers. The man in her dream never kissed her gently, as she suspected a courtier bred to rule over a castle would. No, this man’s lips were demanding. His kiss was passionate and filled with primal desire.

      “I want you naked,” he told her, his voice tight.

      She blinked at him, startled for a moment. He had never talked before in her dreams. Breena liked his voice, elemental and filled with hunger for her. He reached for the material at her shoulders, ready to tear, but she stilled his hand. She didn’t want him to be the seducer this day, not that his lovemaking would be considered a smooth seduction. No, she wanted to be equal partners this last time. Breena wanted to undress for him.

      With a twist of her wrists, she tugged at the ribbon between her shoulder blades and felt the fabric of her bodice give. Propelled by a slow roll of her shoulders, her dress began to fall. His eyes narrowed when her breasts were revealed, her nipples growing even tighter before his eyes. He reached for her. Breena knew what he would do the moment he had her in his grasp, and she laughed.

      “Not yet,” she teased. Then she picked up her skirts and ran to the tree. She’d never played this game before … never thought to. She knew on some level her warrior lover would savor the chase. He would win, but she had every intention of letting him find her.

      Although her lover was silent, Breena sensed he was close. She laughed again when his hand curved around her waist. He tugged her back against the solidness of his chest. The hard ridge of him pressed against her, and something needy and achy made her stomach feel hollow. The urge to tease and run vanished in an instant. Breena wanted—no, she needed—his hands on her body and his lips on her breasts.

      Something hard clamped across her mouth. Confusion filled his dark eyes and the solid lines of him began to blur. Fade. His hands tightened around her arms, but it was too late.

      “Stay with me,” he demanded. “What’s happening to you?”

      She struggled, willing herself farther through the doorway, closer to him. But it was too late.

      Breena fought against the force holding her head in place.

      “Quiet,” a voice ordered.

      She shook her head, and reached for her lover’s hand. But she grasped only air. Some thing, some force, was taking her away from him. “Help me,” she tried to call, but the hand covering her mouth wouldn’t let her speak.

      And he was gone.

      Breena was back in her bedchamber. Rolfe, a member of her parents’ personal security, stood over her. “Quiet, princess. The castle’s under attack. They’ve already taken the king and queen.”

      She sat up, the last vestiges of her dream fading completely. As the meaning behind the guard’s words sank in, her fingers began to chill and her heart began to race. “We must help them,” she whispered.

      Rolfe shook his head. “It’s too late for them. They’d want me to get you and your brothers and take you through the secret passageway out of the castle.”

      “But …” she began to protest. Tears filmed her eyes and her throat began to tighten. The passageway had been built by some long-ago ancestor as a last-resort escape route if the inhabitants of the castle feared there was no other option but flight.

      “Come, princess, and hurry. Put on some shoes. We must fetch Micah and Dayn.”

      “What about Nicolai?”

      The guard shook his head.

      Fear slammed into her. The enormity of their danger finally penetrated her dreamhaze. This wasn’t an attack on the castle, like those easily repelled in the past; this was an all-out onslaught. “He’s been taken, too?”

      “I