Forbidden: Shades of Pretense Series, #1

By K.A. Kelley

Lacking magical powers in a village where everyone else practices magic, Savina has never fit in, so she pursues a better life in the kingdom of Southerk, where magic is prohibited. While studaying under the court physician, Witch Azita, Savina captures the attention of the handsome but disgruntled  Prince Adlam. Unsure of how to react to Adlam's attention, Savina tries to avoid him, but this becomes more difficult when her position in the palace changes and she is put in closer proximity of the prince.

 

Having been forced to marry Princess Ophelia for the unity of their respective villages, Adlam never knew desire until he laid eyes on Savina. Witch Azita warns Savina to stay away from the prince, but can she defy his orders? And with the harmony of two kingdoms relying on his faithfulness to Ophelia, can Adlam suppress the urges that arise whenever the beautiful apprentice is near? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.A. Kelley
• Release date: Apr 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201929442

Book preview

Chapter 1: Prince Adlam

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Your Royal Highness, today is the day, sire.

My servant, Hemoy, walks into my chamber; I’ve warned him several times against walking in so early like this. I’m not even awake yet, but his dumb head does not recognize that I require peace and absolute silence when I’m sleeping.

Hemoy, get out! I groan an order, sleepily.

His majesty has asked me to remind you that Princess Ophelia would be here very soon, My Lord.

I open my left eye first, then the right one. Sighing, I turn to face the dumbhead servant who will be relieved of his duties soon if he does not stop acting foolish all the time.

Hemoy, what part of ‘get out’ do you not understand?

Adlam, my dad’s voice interrupts as he walks inside my chamber. I’m forced to sit up. I would like to have a word with you, he utters, alone, his gaze shifts to Hemoy, and without wasting time, Hemoy bows politely before hurrying out of my chamber.

Dad, I clear my throat as I get down from my bed.

I need to talk to you about Ophelia, he starts. I realize that this is a critical situation.

I walk back to sit on the seat beside my bed. This is not a topic I’d like to talk about this morning. We have talked too much about it. I don’t understand why that name has not left my dad’s lips.

There is nothing critical about her, I counter him, politely.

Lord Torp, as you know, is not just a good friend of mine, but a long-standing ally of Southerk. My dad walks over to me and sits down.

I know. I do not have anything against Lord Torp; neither do I against his daughter, Ophelia, I express, hoping my dad would call the discussion to an end.

He has probably heard me talk about Princess Ophelia to my servant. I don’t know her so well. I’ve only seen her once, and that was when I was younger, about nine years ago or longer than that. And now she’s coming to this village to become my bride. How am I supposed to feel about it?

When we talk about your future, Adlam, it is not only about you, your happiness, or love. It is about Southerk. It is about the peace and safety of this place! He raises his voice authoritatively before standing up. You will one day be king, and Adlam. You have to put your people before yourself. It is the act of sacrifice that comes with the crown. Live up to it, or you will never be worthy of the title Prince of Southerk!

But father, I have no feelings for her whatsoever! I flare up, gesturing with my hands.

Well, I would encourage you to find some for the sake of yourself and the duty that you carry!

My father turns around aggressively, and I listen to his footsteps as he walks out of my chamber. Burying my head in my hands, a loud sigh escapes from my lips.

The stress that comes with this thing called crown is a lot more than overwhelming. Most times, it feels like I’m drowning—drowning in fears, drowning in the responsibilities that are on my shoulders. It feels like I am not the right person for this position. I don’t deserve to be the son of a great king. I’m not even worthy. The potential I lack, the charisma I do not possess. Why? Why did I have to be born a prince?

Your Highness, your royal robe is ready, Hemoy announces as he walks inside my chamber.

Hemoy, I can’t do this. I’m not capable, I lament to him, my head still in my palms. 

No, you can do it. You are worthy, Hemoy says, sincerely.

You are stupid, so I won’t take your word for it. I tap his back slightly before standing up, regaining my usual demeanor. This is a destiny that I can’t avoid; facing it is the only option I have.

You called me your favorite servant and even a friend yesterday, he smirks.

I must have been out of my mind, Hemoy! I push him aside and walk to my dressing room to prepare for the big day.

If only fate could be escaped. But it can’t—not for people like us.

...

I walk inside the Great Hall slowly, anxiety obvious on my face. Hemoy is walking behind me, running his mouth about how great I am. I don’t know what he wants, but if he intends to ask for a day off tomorrow, I’m sorry; there will be no such thing.

...and you are going to make a better King, Your Highness,

I turn around to face Hemoy, casting him the best of my glares. Shut up, Hemoy. You don’t want to walk me to the throne, do you? I raise my brows. He bows slightly before walking to join the other court workers where they stood.

Today is an exciting day, my dad tells me with a smile as I walk to stand beside him.

Yes, Lord Torp is always a cause for celebration, I respond, nonchalantly.

Adlam! he calls me in a quick but quiet manner. This is a celebration to welcome the woman you are going to marry, the future Queen of Southerk. I expect you to treat this day with more dignity and respect! he scolds me.

I do, I do treat it like that, father, I express, apologetically.

We all look up when King Torp and his daughter walk inside the Great Hall. His daughter is dressed in a yellow velvety robe, and her curly blonde hair falls across her shoulder. She looks like royalty, and if I am honest, there is nothing special about her. Judging her based on my standards, she is not my type. For one, I don’t like blonde women. I am blond too, so I’d love my partner to be something different. Two, why is she so skinny? I like my women shapely and voluptuous. My eyes drop on her chest, and the only thing