Broken (A Choice of Light and Dark Novella)

For Ruslan, life has always been one thing—pain. Trained to kill. Experimented on. Forged into a weapon. But when his father, the ruthless king of the Iron Realm, demands his children fight to the death for the title of heir apparent, Ruslan embraces the darkness that once broke him and turns it into his greatest strength.

For twenty-one years, he waited. For his throne. For his mate. For the future that was promised to him.

But when he arrives to claim Izidora, the fated mate destined to stand at his side, she’s gone. Stolen away by the Night Fae who spent the same time searching for her. 

Ruslan will burn kingdoms to get her back. He will slaughter anyone who stands in his way. But when he finally finds her, she doesn’t look at him with love.

She looks at him with terror.

And for the first time in his life, Ruslan is the one who breaks.

Graphic violence, death, incest, mentions of rape and sexual assault, mentions of child abuse.

The Mage tucked the last of his books into the confines of his trunk, ensuring it was watertight before slipping into his dark robes. Briny air assaulted his nostrils as he stepped from his cabin and into the hall where Iron Fae bustled about, unloading the cargo brought from Nugati. Volcanic rock clinked as one walked by carrying a massive black bag of it. The Mage followed him to the deck above, where mountains so high they disappeared into the clouds above greeted him. 
This was to be his new home.
In Nugati, the Mage’s ideas had been rejected. He’d been shunned from his order, forced to live and experiment on his own. Until whispers had reached him of a king in a faraway continent seeking a way to give his people more power. Rares had written to him and explained his theories. The king of the Iron Realm had invited him immediately, promising riches and freedom to explore the boundaries of nature. 
At the end of the dock, a dozen soldiers waited, fur cloaks pinned around their shoulders and covering their metal armor. A banner of jagged shards of iron ore set on a blood red silk framed the four corners of the regiment, and at the head sat the king of the Iron Realm himself. Young, fit, and with a dark gleam in his eye, he grinned as Rares wound his way down from the ship. 
“Put Rares’s things in the carriage there,” the king instructed the sailors with the trunks. They passed him by, disappearing from the Mage’s view. 
He swept into a deep, reverent bow. “My King,” he said when his nose was almost touching the ground. 
“Rise,” the king said, his tone almost bored. 
Rares straightened, then tucked his hands into the long sleeves of his robes. The rough fabric scratched his skin, a harsh reminder of how he’d been stripped of his order for daring to think differently. Now, he had nothing but his own knowledge and the potential waiting before him. Soon, in the Iron Realm, the fabric would gleam with jewels, signifying his contribution to the Fae society. Much better than threaded patches, he thought. 
The king dismounted, then circled Rares with piercing eyes that sent a shiver down the Mage’s spine. When he’d completed a revolution, he stopped. “Kneel and swear your oath to the Iron Crown. Exactly as written in our communication.”