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Swords & Tiaras (Books 1 – 3)

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Book Cover: Swords & Tiaras (Books 1 - 3)
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Part of the Swords & Tiaras series:
  • Lady’s Steed
  • Queen’s Griffon
  • Consort’s Dragon
  • Swords & Tiaras (Books 1 – 3)

Embark on an epic journey where danger is around every corner, mysteries of the past come back to haunt and dragons awaken.

This collection includes three previously published titles.

Lady’s Steed ~ Avera never wanted to be queen but when assassins eliminate her family she has no choice. Before she even has a chance to get crowned, traitors to the throne send her fleeing. As she seeks support to oust the false king, she discovers a greater peril.  A dark force is stirring that threatens not just her kingdom but the entire world.
Queen’s Griffon ~  To ensure an ancient entity remains imprisoned, Avera must locate five mysterious stones, however getting to the dead continent of Verlora is fraught with complication. Pirates and monsters aren’t the only impediments to her quest.

Consort’s Dragon ~ As mysteries of the past unravel, the danger intensifies, and not just because dragons have returned. Can Avera convince them to aid in destroying a destructive force or will she have to make the ultimate sacrifice to save the world?

Get ready for a wild ride with this action-packed, magical and epic, fantasy adventure.

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Available on: 2025-11-06
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
Action and Adventure, anthology/boxset/collection, epic fantasy, magic and sorcery, Romantasy, royalty romance
Tags:
english
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Consort’s Dragon

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Part of the Swords & Tiaras series:
  • Lady’s Steed
  • Queen’s Griffon
  • Consort’s Dragon
  • Swords & Tiaras (Books 1 – 3)

As mysteries unravel, danger intensifies, and dragons soar in the sky. 

When Avera is captured by the Emperor of Merisu, her quest to reclaim her throne and prevent an evil entity from escaping its magical prison fails.

Or so she thinks.

Emperor Titus claims he wants to be Avera’s ally, but can she trust him? The rumors of his depravity and tyranny appear to be false. The man she meets is courteous, handsome, and seemingly beloved by his people. Would marrying him be so bad?

Along with his offer to make her his consort, he’s been teasing her with dragon lore. He believes hatching the eggs she retrieved is their best option. Avera isn’t convinced, though. She’s seen the catastrophic damage caused by a single dragon in Verlora. Freeing four more dragons could lead to wide-scale catastrophe. At the same time, the mighty beasts might be the only hope they have to preserve their way of life—if they can convince them to help.

Time is running out, and as secrets become exposed, hard decisions must be made. Will Avera make the ultimate sacrifice to save the world?

Get ready for the stunning conclusion to Swords & Tiaras, an action-packed magical and epic fantasy adventure.

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Available on: 2025-07-10
Genres:
epic fantasy, Fantasy Romance, magic and sorcery, Romantasy, royalty romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Prologue

Years before the assassination of the Daervanian queen.

 

Titus, the mighty emperor of Merisu, the longest reigning of his line, did his best to remain awake on his throne. At his age—a body-aching seventy—being forced every few weeks to listen to the complaints of petitioners bored. As if he cared about flocks of sheep and other petty matters.

However, despite being emperor, he did not have a choice. Blame his advisors, most specifically his vizier, Phelgar, who insisted Titus make an appearance and rule on the matters, even though the result was decided by others ahead of time.

Once upon a time, Titus had dreamed of the grandeur of ruling the most prosperous continent in the world. The reality proved disappointing as bureaucracy had long since stripped the emperor of power, making him but a figurehead, his existence governed by rules and expectations—and boredom.

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As Titus struggled to appear interested in the droning vassal before his throne, he thought of what would come after. A goblet of wine fortified with herbs, hopefully a nap, and then he would attempt to impregnate his latest consort. Such a bother. If only his one and only son hadn’t died. But he had and Titus no longer had an heir despite his many marriages and countless concubines, none of whom managed a successful pregnancy. His lack of an heir had his advisors quite agitated. Very little time remained before he died of old age, and, without a child to inherit, his country would most likely splinter, something his advisors and the lords wished to avoid.

As the last petitioner took his leave—after complaining that his well went dry because his neighbor had stolen the water, to which Titus offered to send a dousing witch to seek out a new source—the tired emperor rose from his throne, grimacing at how his aged limbs creaked and protested. “I’m off to rest before doing my duty,” he muttered.

“Not yet, Your Eminence,” murmured Phelgar. “There is still one more case to be heard.”

“But it is midafternoon,” Titus whined, knowing no one would dare point out his petulant tone. The last person overheard murmuring about the emperor’s attitude lost their head. Not on his order, he should add. Phelgar took insults to Titus’ reign quite seriously.

“They paid an impressive sum for a moment of your time,” Phelgar remarked. A rude reminder that their coffers ran low. The once-prosperous Merisu had been hit by a series of unfortunate events. Droughts the last three summers had spawned wildfires which in turn decimated the already sparse crop yields. Hard to collect taxes when no one could earn any coin. It didn’t help the treasury had been paying extra for additional guards to keep a hungry populace from rioting. At least the many executions of instigators made for fewer mouths to feed.

Titus dropped back onto his throne with a sigh. “And what is the verdict I’m to propose?”

“I don’t have one,” Phelgar replied, surprising the emperor. “They only just arrived, bearing a chest of gold.”

A chest? Impressive and intriguing. Especially the part where Phelgar couldn’t tell him in advance what to reply. Titus couldn’t recall the last time he’d actually made a decision on his own. “Their generous contribution pleases me. Let us see what they have to say.”

The guards at the entrance to his throne room flung open the bronze doors, the height of at least two tall men and gleaming from the daily polishing. Through them marched a trio of women, clad head to toe in white robes that included concealing veils. An interesting attire that probably hid hideous countenances. His third consort had to wear one when he bedded her so he didn’t lose his erection.

The three petitioners stopped a pace before the last step of his dais and in unison knelt with bowed heads.

“Rise.” Titus waved a gnarled hand.

They rose as one, and the woman in the center spoke, her voice low and husky. “Oh, mighty emperor of Merisu, thank you for receiving us.”

“Your names,” Phelgar demanded, a quill and parchment ready to take notes.

“I am Klothi and these are my sisters, Kachezi and Karoki.”

Unusual names. “Why do you seek an audience? By your speech, you do not appear to be Merisuan citizens. Are you here as delegates for another country?”

“We have no allegiance to any country, your eminence, for we were chosen to serve a higher purpose.”

The claim arched his brow. Had a new religious sect sprung up? Surprising since Phelgar’s spy network usually stamped out anything that might run counter to his rule.

“There is no higher purpose than serving Merisu,” Phelgar tartly replied.

“What we do is for the betterment of everyone,” Klothi stated.

“And what exactly do you do?” Titus asked.

“We are keepers of knowledge. The sisters who watch. The ones who see what is to come and would prevent it.”

“Grandiose claims that say nothing. Speak plainly,” Phelgar barked. “The emperor’s time is valuable.”

“We are known as the Dracova Guardians and for the longest time have kept ourselves hidden from the world.”

“I’ve never heard of you. What exactly do you guard?” Phelgar showed little patience.

“That is not something that can be revealed to anyone but the emperor,” was Klothi’s cool reply.

Phelgar stiffened. “I am his highest advisor which means all information comes through me.”

“Not this secret. We will divulge it only to your emperor, should he choose to align with our cause.”

“No,” Phelgar spat. “I’ve heard enough. Leave.”

Titus held up a hand. “Let’s not be hasty.” For the first time in a while, he found himself intrigued. “I wish to hear more.” Phelgar’s eyes shot warning daggers, but Titus ignored him and leaned forward. “What do you mean by align?”

“I’m afraid we cannot divulge more until we are in private. But it is understandable that you are leery, hence why we brought a gift, in addition to our offering of gold, to show our good faith.”

A gift? That piqued his interest, but first… “Why have you been hiding?”

“Because the secrets we guard would cause great ill in the wrong hands. There was a time, long ago, when we had shrines on every continent and served our purpose openly. Now, we are all that is left as time and ill luck have eroded our numbers. But that will soon change as the new age is almost upon us.”

“A new age of what?”

“Prosperity. Rebirth. And you, Emperor Titus, have been selected to lead us to that future.”

At the claim, he cackled. “I’m afraid you’ve chosen poorly. I am an old man on the cusp of passing.” He saw no point in denying the obvious.

“We do not make mistakes,” Klothi replied bluntly. “Should you accept our gift of goodwill, age will no longer be a concern of yours.”

“Planning to kill me?” Titus asked.

“On the contrary. We wish you to live, hence the rare and precious offering we’ve brought exclusively for you.”

The woman to Klothi’s left, whom she’d called Kachezi, took a step forward and as her voluminous sleeves retreated, presented a vial. “Drink this elixir and reclaim your youth.”

Laughter erupted from Phelgar and he glanced at Titus. “Do you hear this ridiculousness? Do you think we are stupid?” he scoffed. “The emperor will not drink whatever poison you present.”

“We understand the hesitance. Would you like to see an example of what this elixir can do?” Klothi waved to the woman on her right. “Karoki, if you would be so kind.”

Karoki raised her hands and clasped her veil, tugging it from her head to reveal an old woman, her visage wrinkled like a prune left in the sun too long, her gray hair shorn almost to the scalp. Without hesitation, Karoki held out a hand, the flesh mottled with age, the veins pulsing dark lines visible through the papery skin.

The female holding the vial handed it to her companion. The cloudy eyes stared right at Titus as Karoki removed the cap and took a sip.

Quickly, Kachezi snatched the amphora, and just in time, as Karoki fell to her knees with a gasp. She didn’t remain kneeling for long. As her body began to convulse, she fell to the floor and writhed.

Phelgar’s eyes widened. “You poisoned her! I knew you planned treachery.”

“Watch,” admonished Klothi.

“I’ve heard and seen enough. Arrest this woman!” Phelgar shouted, but Titus held up a hand and, while not a strong bellow, managed to shout, “Belay that order.” Because something strange appeared to be happening to Karoki.

Under his disbelieving gaze, the one who’d drank from the vial shed decades. Her face smoothed, the wrinkles vanishing as her flesh plumped. The spots on her cheeks faded, leaving them pale and smooth with a hint of blush. Dried thin lips filled and regained their reddish color.

The change took only minutes. When done, Karoki stood and faced him, a hint of a smile curving her mouth.

Klothi held her head high as she stated, “As you can see, this isn’t a poison, but rather an elixir that brings back youth. Our gift to you with the hope you’ll join our cause.”

“Give it.” Titus held out his hands, but Phelgar moved to block him. “What sorcery is this? It is not possible to revert the ravages of time.”

“You would deny the evidence before your eyes?”

“It’s a trick. Given there are witches in my family, I am familiar with magic, and there is no elixir of youth,” Phelgar blustered.

“Dracova Guardians are more than mere witches,” Klothi stated in a sneering tone. “We are the last of those trained in the art of magic since birth, privy to secrets your puny mind could not hope to comprehend. Hence why our offer is to your emperor, and not a sniveling coward like you.”

The rebuke almost had Titus snickering, but Phelgar didn’t appreciate it.

“You insolent wench. I am His Eminence’s vizier. I will not stand here and be insulted, nor will I allow you to harm the emperor. Guards, seize them.”

“You overstep yourself, Phelgar. Ignore that order,” Titus called out, standing from his throne.

“But, Your Eminence,” Phelgar said, turning to face him. “Surely you don’t believe this charlatanry. It is most likely an illusion.”

“I am an old man on the cusp of death. Do I really have anything to lose?” Titus asked.

“Your life,” Phelgar bluntly stated.

“A life of aching bones and wheezing breath. I’ve been alive more than seventy years, longer than most.”

“If you die, the country will be in shambles.”

“Because I lack an heir. I’m aware,” was his dry reply. “Do you really think a few more days or months or even years will change that?”

“You’ve had ill luck with infertile women—”

Despite a lifetime of obedience, Titus cut him off. “It’s not them, and you know it, despite how many doctors you parade past me claiming they are barren. Or did you think I wasn’t aware of my wives’ dalliances and their pregnancies with other men? Incidents you caught before the babes could be passed off as my own? Perhaps you should have allowed one of them to be born.”

“As if I’d allow a bastard to sit on the throne,” Phelgar hissed.

“The truth is, my seed refuses to take root, and thus I either die without an heir, or I trust this elixir isn’t an illusion.”

“Once you regain your youth, you won’t need a son. You could rule forever,” Klothi stated loud enough to be heard.

Immortality. It tempted, as did the fact he wouldn’t have to keep pretending interest in the various ladies who showed up in his bed. No more being forced to marry supposedly fertile females whom he couldn’t stand to be around.

“I accept your gift.” Titus descended the dais on legs that protested as he held out a gnarled hand.

Klothi dropped the vial in his palm and Titus eyed the liquid within, a little more than half left. A sniff of the potion wrinkled his nose. “It smells foul.”

“Most cures do,” she softly noted.

True.

Before Titus could shrivel and cower obediently under Phelgar’s disapproving stare, he tilted the vial and dribbled the liquid into his mouth.

It tasted worse than it smelled. Titus almost spat it out. His throat tightened and his stomach clenched as he forced himself to swallow.

The effect proved instant. His muscles cramped, the pain gripping every inch of him. The ampoule fell to the floor and shattered, not that he noticed. He was too busy trying not to scream from the agony scouring his body.

He found himself on the floor and could hear Phelgar shouting, he just couldn’t bring himself to care, seeing as how he was dying.

He’d been wrong.

The poison would kill him.

Here ended his legacy and that of his forefathers stretching a thousand years.

To his surprise, he didn’t die. The seizures and pain eased. He took a deep breath, and it didn’t wheeze. The aches, so long a part of him, were gone. As Titus rose to his feet, staring in wonder at his smooth hands, he heard Phelgar exclaim.

“Your eminence. It worked.” The man sounded so surprised.

Titus was elated. He turned to Klothi and smiled, a charming grin with a hint of conniving as he said, “Whatever you wish from me, you have it.”

“Eminence, shouldn’t you first hear what they want from you?” Phelgar argued.

“Doesn’t matter.” After all, if these witches could keep him young forever and thought he could lead them into a new age, he’d be a fool to refuse.

And so, the three Dracova Guardians joined his court and revealed what was to come, a plan that would be years coming to fruition. Titus didn’t mind the wait. After all, he now had all the time he needed to become emperor of the world.

Chapter 1

The sea voyage from Verlora to Merisu couldn’t end soon enough for Avera. Restricted to a cage in a dark hold, she huddled into a tiny ball, her will to fight gone.

She’d failed her quest.

Gryphon was dead.

The Dracova stones had been stolen from her.

She would never reclaim her throne from that traitor, Benoit, nor could she stop the ancient entity, Zhos, from rising and laying waste to her home.

Instead of victory, she found herself a prisoner aboard the Emperor’s Folly, which sailed for Merisu. Once they arrived, Captain Koonis would hand over Avera and the Dracova stones to his precious emperor—a decrepit tyrant with plans to marry her. To those who might wonder how bad could marrying the ruler of a country be, they’d obviously either never heard or ignored the rumors. Emperor Titus Gugerknaut, age seventy-three, had been married five times. Never divorced, though, because his consorts had a tendency to die. Thrown from a horse, choked on dinner, drowned. One apparently perished in childbirth with the emperor’s heir. As for the most recent, Avera vaguely recalled mention of her flinging herself from a rampart. Probably preferable to enduring the touch of an old man who would one day kill her for not giving him the heir he so desperately wanted.

In a rare moment spent with her shunned youngest child, the previous queen of Daerva—Avera’s mother—had once confided that she didn’t like Emperor Titus. “I would rather see my daughters wed the latrine cleaner than that foul man.”

But Avera wouldn’t have a choice. Supposedly, the emperor planned to marry her, although she had her doubts after her treatment by the captain. True or not, she saw no way to escape. Perhaps she would die before her arrival. The seasickness had returned and seemed determined to finish her off.

She should be so lucky.

It was a miserable trip, days and days of no daylight and rancid food. The gruel brought to her daily held floating chunks of garbage. Literal garbage. Chewed bones. Clumps of hair. Grizzled fat in a broth that smelled slightly of piss.

Needless to say, she didn’t eat and subsisted only on the tepid water they brought every few days—when they remembered.

From princess to wretch. How far she’d fallen. Even sleep was no escape for every time she slumbered, Zhos taunted her. A faceless and shapeless figure whose voice surrounded her at every turn, taunting and threatening. While she didn’t want to admit defeat while awake, her subconscious apparently had lost hope.

When Captain Koonis appeared in front of her cage—strutting in his finery, his blue uniform lined with braided golden cord—to announce, “We’re about to dock,” she could barely muster the strength to lift her head.

At least this torture would soon come to an end. The emperor would have his precious stones, but seeing how Avera had nothing else to offer, she could only hope for a swift death.

She was marched, bedraggled and filthy, from the hold to the main deck where the bright sun after so many days of darkness had her squinting. Despite her watering eyes, the fresh air did much to revive her.

“Keep moving,” Koonis ordered as she paused and wavered on her feet, blinking. A shove to the middle of her back had her bare feet stumbling, and she almost plummeted from the gangplank into the water. It might have improved the smell of her.

She made it onto the dock where a grand entourage waited, comprised of lords and ladies dressed in bright fabrics, the latter hiding their faces behind fans. Soldiers in impressive uniforms that included helms stood arrayed just outside their group, with the largest of them flanking a young man dressed in silken finery who took one look at her and pursed his lips with disapproval. “Is this the Queen of Daerva?”

“Aye, Emperor.” Koonis dropped to a knee and bowed his head. “I’ve brought her, and the stones, as ordered.” He placed the satchel he’d stolen from Avera at the emperor’s feet.

As Avera perused the young fellow, she wondered why she’d not heard about the old emperor’s passing. Then again, it might have been recent. Only it seemed odd no one had mentioned it. Nor the fact he had an heir. The rumors about the emperor had highlighted—often with sneering amusement—how he kept ridding himself of wives due to their inability to conceive.

The young emperor’s lips tightened as he eyed Avera. “Why is she so filthy and starved-looking?”

Interesting. The emperor didn’t sound pleased.

Captain Koonis raised his head, fear in his eyes. “Your Eminence? I simply treated her like I would any other prisoner.”

“She’s not a prisoner, you fool, but my soon-to-be consort.” The words were spat and Koonis turned pale.

The emperor didn’t make a sign, yet a soldier stepped forward. Before the captain could protest, his head went flying. A fascinated Avera watched as it rolled across the dock and plopped into the water, drawing a swarm of fish. The water boiled at their feeding frenzy.

A fitting ending for a wretched man.

To Avera’s surprise, the emperor bowed low in front of her. “Apologies, Majesty, for your mistreatment. I didn’t think I had to explicitly tell the captain that, as my fiancée, you should have been treated like a precious treasure. Let me make it up to you.”

“You could make things right by releasing me to return home,” she stated, her voice raspy from her ordeal.

“Alas, that is the one thing I cannot do.” He sounded genuinely apologetic. “However, I promise the situation is not as dire as you fear.”

“You’re forcing me to marry you.” She saw no point in being demure.

“Being wed to me would be to your advantage.”

“How so?”

“You are currently a queen without a throne. Branded a traitor by the one who stole it.”

Her lips pinched at the reminder. “How does being your consort fix that?”

“You need an army and I happen to have a rather large one, plus a vast fleet of ships to transport them.”

“I don’t wish to kill my people.”

“Who says they’ll die? Sometimes a proper show of force is all that’s needed. I imagine there are many displeased by the situation but lacking the courage to step forward. An army led by their true queen might prove to be a compelling factor.”

The emperor put forth an interesting argument, but she wasn’t about to agree so quickly. “I am too weary to be discussing this right now.”

“Of course you are. My apologies. Let us get you properly situated before we discuss important affairs.” He turned and raised his hand. “I have a palanquin to transport us to the palace.”

Avera eyed the gilded box on poles, the weight of it carried by eight very burly men, their chests bare and gleaming as if oiled, the muscles of their arms and legs thicker than her waist. They set the palanquin down nearby and pulled back a curtain. The displayed enclosed space had her glancing at her ragged attire.

“You might not wish to be in such close proximity to me.”

“It is my fault you arrived in such a state. The late Captain Koonis obviously didn’t clearly grasp your importance to me. Shall we?” He crooked an arm, a courtly gesture that took her aback.

This emperor was nothing as expected. Perhaps the son wasn’t a scoundrel like his father. Not that she intended to marry him. Her grief over Griffon remained a raw, ragged wound on her heart. Just as she’d come to realize her feelings for him, he’d been taken.

She tucked her hand in the crook of the emperor’s elbow and let him lead her to the litter. Upon entering, she was struck by the comfort, from the fat pillows for sitting to the lightly scented brazier that would hopefully mask most of her pungent body aroma.

The emperor sat across from her, a handsome man, she had to admit. His brown hair was thick and long enough to have a slight wave to it, his eyes a piercing gray.

As the palanquin lifted into the air, she sought something to say and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I wasn’t aware Emperor Titus had passed. I am sorry for your loss. I, too, have recently grieved the passing of a parent.”

The statement for some reason made him smile. “My father, Magnus, has been long dead. I am Titus.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry for the mistake. I must have mixed up your names.” Apparently, she should have paid better attention to her lessons on politics.

“Actually, you didn’t. My situation is rather unique. You see, while I might look rather young, in actuality, I am more than seventy years old.”

“Impossible.” The word flew out of her as she recalled what she’d been told when trekking across Verlora with Koonis’ men. They’d claimed that witches used magic to make the emperor young again. Apparently, they’d spoken the truth.

He arched a brow. “Would you call me a liar?”

Careful. Now that she stood on somewhat solid ground, it wouldn’t do to anger the one person who literally held her life in his hands. Especially since thus far he seemed somewhat reasonable.

“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t understand. How do you appear so young?”

“Magic.” His white teeth flashed as he grinned. “Your confusion is understandable, as is your disbelief. I felt the same when the elixir of youth was presented to me.”

Magic. For a woman who’d grown up believing it was just something put in stories for entertainment, she’d come to realize much she knew needed updating.

“So your youth is a spell? Does it require renewing?”

“In a sense, yes. While the elixir did reverse decades, I am aging once more and will eventually have to imbibe again to remain young.”

“How incredible.”

“Life changing,” he quipped with a wink. “You’ll soon discover many wonderful things once you’ve settled in. I hear you have a curiosity about how things work.”

His spies had done their homework. “I tinker a bit,” was her modest reply. “Although, not much since the passing of my family.”

“I was chagrinned to hear of your mother’s death. She was quite formidable. She impressed me when we met. We bandied around the idea of aligning our families.”

“But obviously didn’t. Why?”

“I was married at the time.” Stated with a wry smile.

“Your wives have an unfortunate habit of dying.” She saw no point in being coy.

“They did, however, not by my hand or decree. My last vizier saw fit to act without my knowledge.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“He and the lords were concerned about my lack of heirs and, given their desire for a legitimate successor, kept disposing of wives they deemed faulty.”

“So I can expect the same treatment, I suppose.”

“Phelgar has since been removed from his position. With my renewed vitality, having a child is no longer a priority.”

“Planning to rule forever?” she spoke half jestingly.

“Yes,” he replied quite seriously.

“If you have no need of an heir, why marry at all?”

“Power. Daerva is the second most impressive country after Merisu.”

Debatable. But, then again, she thought Daerva a most wonderful place. “So you would use me?”

“In a sense. But in return, you would use me, as well, to regain your birthright. It could be mutually beneficial.”

“You’ll excuse my skepticism considering the circumstances that brought me here. Kidnapped. Forced into Verlora to retrieve the Dracova stones, then kidnapped again and mistreated. And now you expect me to kindly and obediently agree to your demand.”

“The sequence of events was unfortunate. However, as predicted, you did succeed.”

“Predicted by who?”

“My new viziers, whom you’ll meet shortly.”

“They see the future?”

“Of sorts. They perceive enough to be able to guide to better outcomes.”

Since he appeared willing to speak, she decided to ask, “Why do you want the stones?”

“That is complicated.”

She wondered what he knew of them because what she’d discovered still seemed farfetched. If what Basil—her late father and a scoundrel—revealed was true, then those stones were, in fact, eggs.

Dragon eggs.

And having seen what one unleashed dragon could do, she really hoped Titus didn’t plan to try and hatch another. Not to mention, the stones were needed to keep Zhos in its prison. Until their theft, they’d acted as a shield of sorts that kept Zhos from being able to act. She still didn’t understand how they worked, only that they must have had some kind of magic that nullified Zhos’ efforts.

“They’re dangerous,” she stated.

“Only to the unknowing.” Titus offered a secretive smile. “They will be key in my plans for the future.”

“There won’t be a future if they’re not returned to Fraegus Spire to prevent Zhos’ escape,” she retorted sharply.

“Become my consort and I promise Zhos won’t be a problem.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d alluded to knowing about the entity plaguing Daerva. “You know how to defeat it?”

“I know many things, and as you learn to trust in me, I will reveal those secrets to you.”

Trust? All of her natural intuition—plus all the stories she’d heard of this man—told her she’d be better off putting her faith in a venomous snake. However, in her current situation, she’d best play along with whatever game Titus had drawn her into. If he had information, then she wanted it. If he could help her free Daerva from Benoit and save it from Zhos, it might be worthwhile to listen to what he had to say. Maybe even agree to marry him. After all, Griffon was dead, and she had no one else to turn to.

“We’ve arrived at your new home,” Titus announced, parting the curtain to give her a peek. The palanquin traversed a wide bridge of black, porous stone that led to a massive castle. A palace he called it, and she could see why, given its sprawling grandeur. Unlike her own home, it didn’t have high walls to defend it, but rather lush gardens with spraying fountains.

When their conveyance settled on the ground, Titus exited only to immediately turn around and offer her a helping hand. She emerged into sunlight and beauty. Everything around had been designed to please the eye. Gracefully carved statues stood scattered along garden paths lined with flowering bushes. Minaret towers rose high in the sky, appearing too finely crafted to remain upright. Even the staff appeared happy and well-fed, judging by their rounded cheeks and colorful clothing. They showed obeisance to their emperor, dipping into low bows, but they did so with smiles, chirping, “Afternoon, Eminence.”

“Afternoon, my good people. Do say hello to Queen Avera Voxspira. She will be guesting with us, and you are to treat her as you would me.”

“Yes, Eminence,” they replied in a chorus.

Curious gazes strayed her way and she had to wonder what they must think of the filthy and smelly woman in rags accompanying their ruler. She most certainly didn’t look like a queen.

Once more, Titus offered the crook of his arm as he led her inside, the entrance actually opening right into a massive ballroom with hanging chandeliers and gleaming floors. The pillars holding up the vaulted roof were seemingly too slender for such weight. At the far end of the room massive bronze doors were wide open, giving a peek at a dais of dark stone and the throne that sat atop it.

“Welcome to your new home,” Titus stated. “Should you have need of anything, simply say the word.”

“You’re too kind,” she murmured, her ingrained manners emerging by rote.

“Not kind enough. I must make up for the mistreatment. I don’t know what possessed the captain to treat you so horrendously.”

She didn’t point out that the emperor must have said, or not said, something to instigate the captain’s behavior.

“Prielli.” He waved to one of the women who’d dropped into a deep bow. “Her Highness, the queen of Daerva, has arrived. After an arduous journey, she is in need of some pampering. Please see to it that she is made comfortable in the consort’s tower and provided with anything she requires.”

“Yes, Your Eminence. If Her Highness would follow me.”

Before Avera could follow the maid, Titus said, “If you feel up to it, I hope you’ll join me for the evening repast.”

“Is that a command, Emperor?”

“No. A request, and I see no need for honorifics between us. Call me Titus.”

It seemed only polite to say, “Very well, if I am not indisposed then I shall see you at dinner, Titus.” She took a step from him before adding, “You may call me Avera.”

She took her leave of Titus, somewhat confused by her initial impression of him since it clashed with everything she’d ever learned. As she followed the maid up some stairs that her malnourished body protested, she didn’t have the breath to ask any questions. She could only gaze about at the splendor of his home. Clean. That was the first thing she noticed, which couldn’t be easy given the dark stone everywhere. Yet she saw no dust or cobwebs, nor scuff marks on the floor from boots. Few guards as well, which surprised her.

The maid led her to a second set of stairs set inside a tower, the number of which made Avera inwardly groan. She wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest, but she gritted her teeth and forged onward and upward. It proved worth the effort.

Her room turned out to be a suite set on two levels. The first had a receiving chamber with divans, a small library, and even an intimate dining area. Prielli pointed as she named off the amenities.

“Someone will ensure the fireplaces and braziers are lit every evening should you wish to entertain or even relax. If you require anything—food, entertainment, or to summon someone—simply pull that rope.” Prielli indicated a thick, hanging cord of gold that ended in a tassel.

A last set of stairs led to the top floor of the tower and Avera’s bedroom, massive in size, with windows all around giving her the most splendid vista. The city of Tiraus was spread out below, the buildings mostly made of mixed gray and black stone with roofs of light blue tile. The streets were neatly aligned with parallel roads that intersected to create squares, rather than curving all over like those back home.

“Is that a market?” Avera asked, noticing bright awnings running in concentric circles in a wide opening surrounded by structures.

“It’s the Megazaar. If you wish, we can visit.”

She very much did wish, just not today.

Being ensconced in luxury did much to revive Avera. The biggest surprise? When she emerged from the lavish room with the deep soaking tub that washed the grime from her skin, the Dracova stones sat in cloth-covered cradles on the dresser.

The note with them?

Please accept these as a wedding gift and a promise that together we shall stop Zhos from ruining the world.

Perhaps she could still save Daerva. The price?

Marriage to a stranger.

COLLAPSE
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Queen’s Griffon

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Book Cover: Queen's Griffon
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Part of the Swords & Tiaras series:
  • Lady’s Steed
  • Queen’s Griffon
  • Consort’s Dragon
  • Swords & Tiaras (Books 1 – 3)

To save her kingdom, an exiled queen must locate five mysterious stones.

Queen Avera Voxspira has been kidnapped by pirates, putting her quest to counter an evil entity in peril. If only Captain Griffon would listen. However, he refuses to help and instead brings her to Saarpira, the isle of pirates, while he waits to see who will pay the biggest ransom.

Avera does everything in her power to escape, only to find herself a prisoner of someone even worse. The only bright spot is her new captor wants her to complete her dangerous mission which entails visiting the dead continent of Verlora. The country, known for its science and innovation, suffered a catastrophe decades ago and remains perilous to­­­ those who dare brave its shores. However, Avera has no choice. She must navigate the danger and find the stolen stones that act as seals to keep the powerful Zhos trapped.

One by one, her captors fall as they weave their way through the destroyed city of Sitnalta. But surviving that journey is only the beginning of her troubles. Unexpected revelations have her questioning everything she’s been told—and what she must do.

As Avera untangles the mysterious threads of the past, she must make a choice, one that might have dire consequences for the future.

It will take all her wits to survive because she doubts the charming—and insufferable—pirate captain will find her in time.

 

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Published: 2025-04-03
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
epic fantasy, Fantasy Romance, magic and sorcery, Romantasy, royalty romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Prologue

When Verlora fell…

 

The day began overcast with intensely dark clouds. Odd because the air didn’t hint of rain, nor had their weather forecasters anticipated a storm, but the ominous press of the sky seemed determined to defy their usual accurate predictions.

Griff woke as he usually did, grumpy at the fact he had to leave his comfortable bed. Alas, his teachers expected him to be present for his lessons—as did his father. He knew better than to skip. His rear end still recalled the sting of the one time he chose to miss a boring day in the classroom.

Rather than eat alone at home, he had his breakfast in the communal dining hall. The young boy paid little mind to the whispering around him and the strained—even frightened—expressions on many faces. Adults could be strange about so many things.

His father was absent as were many others that morn. Of late they’d been working longer hours than usual.

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After breaking his fast, Griff hurried to school, his nose wrinkling at the putrid smell perfuming the air. Most likely an experiment gone wrong. It happened, and while the labs did their best to contain the results, sometimes things escaped.

As he entered the classroom, he noticed only half the students were present. He slid into a seat beside Jorge and, after a glance around, asked, “Where is everyone?”

“Dunno. But I saw a bunch of people heading for the pier on my way in,” Jorge replied.

“Are we expecting a ship or someone important?” The usual reason why people hurried to the docks, though Griff had heard of no visiting dignitary that would justify an exodus, and quite frankly, the only cargo that ever excited him involved the mighty horses that came from across the world. One day he’d own a Volaqu and fly across the beach like the wind.

“Haven’t heard of anything arriving, but my mum was muttering about bad omens this morning.” Jorge rolled his eyes. “Dad told her to stop being so superstitious.”

Their teacher, Lucin, entered. The slender man would give them their lessons on history, geography, and world politics. Boring! It would be followed by an hour of calisthenics and weapons training—Griff’s favorite part of the day—then their midday meal, after which it would be the time for the hair-pulling math, literature, and to end their day, science.

More than once, Griff complained to his father about the last because, unlike some of his peers, Griff had no interest in how things worked whether they be living or mechanical. His father usually offered him a stern look and said, “Just because you don’t like it, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t understand it.”

And so, Griff suffered.

“It would seem we’re missing a few classmates,” Lucin, stated. He might have said more, only the floor trembled slightly.

No one paid it much mind. After all, the Research Facility for the Advancement of Science and Technology often did things that resulted in explosions—which Griff thought more interesting than learning the difference between gear and pulley systems.

“Seems like our scientists are at it early today,” Lucin said with a chuckle. As their teacher opened his mouth again, a stronger vibration shook the classroom, rattling desks and chairs, even knocking a few drawings off the wall.

“Everyone, remain calm,” Lucin shouted as the students began to murmur and squirm in their seats. They might have listened if the shaking had not continued.

One of the boys near the front, his expression pale and worried, rose. “I think I’m going to go find my mother.”

No one made fun of Pietro as he exited, mostly because several others followed suit. Such a long-lasting tremor was unheard of.

Lucin blew out a loud sigh. “It would seem we won’t get much done today. Class dismissed.”

Griff whooped alongside Jorge as they raced from their class into a hall that shook and made navigating difficult for some. While they found it amusing trying to walk, staggering like young drunks, the adults they passed appeared quite worried. Could have had to do with the cracks that began appearing in the concrete walls.

“Let’s get outside,” Griff suggested as he noticed a rather large crevice that appeared in the ceiling.

“Last one there has to kiss a girl,” Jorge yelled, running off.

Griff, however, didn’t immediately follow, taking a moment to aid a young woman who stumbled and dropped a folder of papers. It took but a moment to help her gather them, long enough for Jorge to have run outside. Griff soon followed, he and other students spilling into the large courtyard abutting the school, a massive edifice that held dozens of classrooms, one for each age group of learners from toddler to young adult.

The shaking continued and screams could be heard, but more worrisome was the clang of the fire bells. Griff couldn’t help but feel perturbed, a reaction not apparently shared by his friend.

Jorge grinned from the center of the yard and taunted, “Who you gonna kiss, loser?”

Before Griff could reply, the ground heaved and cracked. A crevice split open under Jorge’s feet and his friend plummeted into the hole.

A wide-eyed Griff froze in shock, but only for a second.

“Jorge!” he yelled as he ran for the edge of the wide chasm.

The ground continued to shake, the trembling growing stronger, the violent force of it sending him to his knees. Despite the bruising, and his tummy clenching fear, Griff crawled to the edge of the hole in the pavement and peered down into a bottomless abyss. No sign of Jorge.

“Griff!” The yell had him lifting his head to see Father standing on the far side of the school’s courtyard, looking frantic.

“I’m here.” Griff stood, but it took some careful balancing to navigate the heaving ground while skirting the hole before he could reach his father.

Father grabbed him close in a hug. “Thank the gears in the mighty clock tower you’re safe.”

“What’s happening?” Griff asked.

“Something went wrong in the lab.”

“Did something explode?”

“Of sorts,” his father muttered, leading him away from the school.

“Where’s Uncle Basil?” Not his real uncle, but his father’s best friend. Basil was the lead scientist for one of the labs, something to do with experimental development, whatever that meant.

“Don’t worry about your uncle. You have to leave.”

“What?” His father’s statement made no sense.

“We’re evacuating Sitnalta.”

“But why?” Griff asked as his father, who had a firm grip on his forearm as he began walking in the direction of the pier.

“As a precaution. Something has gone awry and until we can fix the unfortunate result, we feel it best to remove as many people as we can to avoid casualties.”

Lots of big words, but Griff only understood one thing.

“You’re making me leave?” Griff huffed, trying not to pout. A boy his age shouldn’t whine.

“Only until we get the situation under control. Think of it as an adventure at sea.”

“I’d rather stay with you.” Not entirely true. Griff enjoyed sailing. The sea breeze on his face. The undulation of the boat as it tunneled through waves. The power and beauty of the ocean.

“I’d prefer to know you’re safe. I have enough to worry about without adding you to that list,” his father snapped. A rarity that underscored the severity of the situation.

Griff kept his mouth shut as he followed his father to the pier, trying to forget seeing Jorge fall, ignoring the screams of people as buildings cracked and, in some cases, collapsed. The rotten stench in the air intensified, mixed with the increasing aroma of smoke. Something burned.

Their flight to the docks didn’t prove unimpeded. Several city dwellers tried to stop Griff’s father, shouting at him.

“Are we going to die?”

“What are you doing?”

“Fix this!”

Father didn’t take his usual time answering their questions. Even more shocking, at Father’s signal, soldiers formed a bubble around them, a wedge that drove through those standing in their path.

The docks were pure chaos, the likes of which Griff had never seen. People, their arms full of belongings and children, pushed and shoved, clamoring to be allowed to board the tethered ships. Already some ships had set sail, their decks crowded with passengers. Others attempted to cast off only to have people grab the mooring ropes, screaming to be allowed on board.

The Kalypsi, Father’s personal ship, remained at the dock. Griff craned to look, and he could see a few familiar faces peering over its rail, including Kreed, who’d not been to class this morning. Unlike the other moored vessels with streams of people boarding, soldiers stood at the bottom of the Kalypsi’s gangplank, weapons in hand, preventing anyone from gaining access. A restriction that didn’t apply to Griff.

At the sight of Griff’s father, the soldiers pushed those crowding the dock, creating a hole for them to pass. A passage meant only for Griff. Father didn’t join him on the pathway to the boat.

“Please come,” Griff asked, his voice small and pitiful. A good thing none of his peers heard or he’d have been mocked.

Father shook his head. “You know I must remain and see how we can fix this unfortunate incident.”

Griff couldn’t help a tremble of his lower lip. “But—”

“No crying.” A stern admonishment by his father. “You must be strong. Everything will be fine. Here.” His father unbuckled his sheath with the sword Griff admired. “Keep this safe for me.”

“When will I see you again?”

“Soon.”

A lie, as it turned out.

Griff stood at the rail, watching his father stride back into the shaking city, then watching as the crew sailed the Kalypsi into the crowded bay, waiting for their chance to slip through the narrow inlet.

Saw as the mountain that shadowed Sitnalta appeared to explode, spewing smoke and lava, bright red gobs that landed like bombs on the buildings—and even a few boats.

A horrified Griff witnessed a large schooner, its decks teeming with people, catch fire and begin to list. The nightmare only increased as streams of molten rock started to run down the mountainside.

The volcano, long dormant, had woken.

Soon, he could see nothing as smoke, stinking and thick with ash, rolled over the city and into the bay. As it reached them, people began to cough, including Griff.

“Cover your faces! Don’t breathe it in,” screamed the first mate as he tugged his shirt over his mouth and nose.

Griff copied him, the fabric somewhat filtering the poisoned air. The world took on an eerie cast, with visibility restricted to the area around him, but the noise…

The groan of heaving stone and concrete, the wails and screams, the hum of the engine propelling them since there lacked a wind for the sails.

The Kalypsi emerged from the bay and kept going. The further they travelled, the more the smog lessened. The more Griff could see.

See his home enveloped in darkness.

His last sight of it.

His last memory.

The start of a hard, new life as a refugee with nowhere to go.

Verlora died that day, as did his father.

Chapter 1 – Avera

Present day.

 

Avera was dying.

Just ask her poor heaving guts and spinning head. Her entire world had become topsy-turvy. She could only lie prone and hope she passed quickly to end the misery.

As if to compound her agony, a rather large man kept appearing in her slitted-eye view, pushing into her hands tankards of water, cruelly offering bowls of broth and bread. None of which remained in her stomach for long.

The misery wouldn’t end.

And then suddenly, Avera woke and realized she could open her eyes and that her stomach had decided it would no longer clench and spew. She might just live.

Or not. As Avera recovered, she noticed she’d woken in a strange bed that gently rocked, narrow of width and covered in a coarse woolen blanket. She had no recollection of how she’d gotten there.

Despite the weakness in her limbs, Avera pushed herself into a sitting position and almost smacked her head on the bunk above.

Where am I?

Last she recalled, she’d been at the far end of the pier in Seaserpent Bay, scouting out an old chapel used by sailors. She’d run into the captain of a recently docked vessel. A captain who’d refused to give her passage but then done something to her. She recalled a foul-smelling rag being placed over her face, closing her eyes, and then the misery of puking everything she’d ever eaten—plus a few things she didn’t recall ever putting in her mouth.

A glance around revealed little, but enough. She was in a cabin, a small one with two bunks and a trunk under a porthole. She still wore her clothing and had her locket but lacked her sword.

A few things occurred to her in that moment.

She had been kidnapped.

By pirates.

Which meant she was currently sailing on a boat.

She rose to her feet, wavering as dizziness beset her. She had to wonder why the grumpy captain had abducted her.

Time to find out.

Avera took a quick peek out the window to confirm they were indeed at sea before she made her way to the door. She tugged the handle, but the door didn’t yield. She’d been locked in.

Unacceptable. She pounded with a fist and hollered, “Let me out, you scurvy pirate! How dare you kidnap me!”

It took a moment before the captain replied from the other side of the locked portal. “Now, now, little queen. I’d have thought you’d be happy. After all, you practically begged me for passage on my ship.”

“As a passenger, not a prisoner,” she yelled.

“Does the how matter?”

It did because in one scenario she wasn’t a prisoner locked in a room. Alone, she should add. “Where are Gustav and Josslyn?” Her Grand Rook and his sister, the duchess, escaped the capital with Avera and had been her loyal companions since.

“Back in Seaserpent Bay, I imagine.”

“You left them behind?” she exclaimed.

“I didn’t need the extra mouths to feed. Although I would have made an exception for your steed. Alas, I had to choose between you and the horse. Congratulations, you won.”

“Why did you take me?”

“Because I like interesting things.”

“I’m a person, not a thing,” she growled, almost losing her balance as the ship tilted. Her stomach lurched, apparently not yet fully recovered.

“Very well. You’re an interesting woman. One who might prove useful.”

“Useful for what?” Her heart stopped before she exclaimed, “You better not be ransoming me to Benoit.” Benoit being the man who’d stolen her throne by orchestrating her family’s murder and then framing Avera for the crime.

“I don’t sell people.” Was his sharp rebuke.

“You just abduct them.”

“I only did what you wanted while avoiding the unnecessary arguing. And before you ask why we would have sparred, you would have wanted to bring your friends and your horses. Demanded a cabin fit for your station and a host of other annoying things. By taking you, I’ve established you’re here by my grace. As such, you will be nice if you wish any amenities on this voyage.”

“Be nice?” she huffed. “I will eviscerate you.” And she’d take pleasure in wiping the arrogance from the pirate captain’s face.

“No thanks. I’d rather keep my guts in my body.”

The ship rolled and she teetered into the bunk. Her throat tightened as bile rose. “You are insufferable.”

“Not according to my crew.”

“You—you—” She might have said more but the nausea that took her didn’t leave her breath for speaking, just vomiting. So much vomiting.

And moaning.

And lying in the bunk as she resumed dying.

Food was brought and left along with jugs of water. Not that she had the appetite to eat. She did try to drink, only to heave it back up almost immediately. Blame the storm that wouldn’t stop swaying the vessel. She’d never known a person could be so ill.

Days passed before the seasickness eased. Hopefully for good this time.

It took her a moment before she could sit up. The dizziness closed her eyes.

Weakness infused every inch of her battered body. Her poor chest hurt. Her throat ached, the flesh of it raw. Before, when she’d been landbound, she thought sailing sounded marvelous.

Turned out it was more like torture.

She drank a glass of water and waited to see if it would stay down. When it did she followed it with a hunk of bread which had been left on a plate on the floor. A bit dry, but she washed it down with more water and felt a bit stronger.

It took a few deep breaths before she could stand. A glance through the porthole showed water as far as she could see. So still at sea, but at least the ship had stopped rocking violently.

Her first step almost dumped her back on the bunk as her weak limbs initially refused to cooperate. She gritted her jaw. She would not return to that bed, not until she got some answers.

When she reached the door, she expected it to still be locked. It opened, and in her surprise, she almost fell. She held on to the door for a moment, breathing. Bit by bit her strength returned, and the dizziness subsided.

Still, Avera remained weak, and it showed in her slow steps as she exited her cabin into a narrow hall. She headed for the daylight she could see and held in a groan at the sight of the three steps she’d have to climb.

Just three. It might as well have been a hundred. She panted heavily by the time she managed to totter onto the sunny deck. The fresh air that hit her skin and filled her lungs did much to revive. With her eyes closed, she inhaled deeply, each breath filling her with strength. When she felt less disoriented, she blinked at the bright sunlight magnified by the water all around. Not a speck of land in any direction, meaning she wouldn’t be escaping the ship anytime soon.

She took stock of her surroundings. The deck of wooden planking extended the length of the ship. Tall masts, hung with sails, jutted into the blue sky. Atop one was what she’d heard termed a bird’s nest, where apparently sailors kept watch for trouble.

A waist-high rail ran the circumference of the ship. Metal rings were embedded every few yards. She noticed more of those rings on the jutting structure in the center of the deck that held the steps going belowdecks. It rose well above her head and a squint showed a window, the glare of sun on it making it impossible to see inside. Had to be the bridge, which she’d also heard called the helm.

Sailors roamed the deck, busy with tasks, but not so busy they couldn’t give her curious glances. None spoke to her.

Avera pivoted to see if she could spot the captain, but no one of his large size and annoying nature appeared. Her gaze returned to the window. Did the captain stand behind it, watching?

Upon seeing a stocky woman slopping a bucket of dirty water over the side, Avera approached and ventured a soft, “Excuse me, can you tell me where we’re going?”

“To Saarpira.”

The isle of pirates long known for its lawlessness. The destination wasn’t exactly surprising, given who’d abducted her. “How long until we get there?”

“A week or more, at least. The storm blew us off track.” The woman wandered off with her empty bucket and Avera leaned against the railing.

Despite how she’d gotten aboard, it occurred to her that rather than be mad, she should be pleased. If she ended up in Saarpira, then she still had a chance of making her way to Verlora and completing the quest she’d been given.

If she could escape her captor.

As she inhaled more of reviving salty air, her gaze took in the sails, unfurled canvas that stretched taut as the wind filled them. They were emblazoned with a large emblem. One she recognized, but to be sure, she called out to a grizzled seaman coiling rope. “What symbol is that?” She pointed to the sail.

“That there is a griffon, just like our captain.”

Her heart stuttered. “Wait, are you saying the captain is called Griffon?”

“Aye, milady. Seems fitting given they’re both mighty beasts.”

The sailor must have thought Avera odd for she began laughing. Laughing and feeling better than she had in days. Perhaps not everything was lost. After all, she’d found the legendary beast that Opal, the guardian of Fraegus Spire, had indicated would be crucial for her quest. Apparently, if she wanted to save her country from Zhos—a powerful, murderous entity attempting to break free from his enchanted prison—she had to find the Griffon. It might have helped if Avera had known she was looking for a man, and not an animal.

Even more helpful if Opal would have mentioned just how annoying he’d be.

Speaking of the irritating man, he suddenly appeared, walking back from the bow, his long-legged strut and wide shoulders making her gaze linger inappropriately. Of all the men to admire… It only increased her ire.

“You!” she huffed, planting her hands on her hips.

“I see you’ve finally decided to stop lying abed,” he replied with a smirk.

“Don’t mock me,” she snapped.

“Hardly mocking. More like amazed. I’ve never seen or heard of someone puking so much before, and that says a lot, seeing as how I’ve drunk copiously with sailors of all stripes.” He passed her and headed up the steps towards the bridge.

Avera trotted after him. “What are you planning to do with me?” she asked as she shadowed the captain. The so-called Griffon chose to speak to the sailor handling the helm instead of replying.

The captain remained as handsome as ever, a tall and rather wide man with dark hair and a swarthy complexion—features the Verlorian people were known for. He moved to a map on the wall where another of his crew listened as he pointed and traced a route with his finger. The commanding display only increased his attractiveness, much to Avera’s annoyance.

She sidled close enough to see where he indicated. “Is it true you’re taking me to Saarpira?”

“Yup.”

“Despite knowing I want to go to Verlora.” The destination given to her by Opal who’d tasked Avera with retrieving the five stolen stones needed to keep Zhos in prison. An impossible quest to start with, and now this captain seemed determined to make it harder.

“I ain’t going there. Not today. Not ever.” Understandable, considering the continent was known to be impassable. It was said that those who went to investigate never returned.

But Avera didn’t have a choice. She either found a way to Verlora, or an ancient foe would escape its prison and destroy the world. Not that Griffon believed it when she told him.

“If you won’t take me, then I’ll find someone in Saarpira who will,” she tartly replied.

“Not likely, so don’t waste your time trying.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” Avera huffed.

“Pirates are about profit and there isn’t any in Verlora. Nothing but death awaits there, so yes, I can state with assurance that you won’t find anyone who will agree to take you.”

The finality in his tone deflated. So much for her previous optimism. “In that case, I demand you return me to Seaserpent Bay at once.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be arrested as a traitor?”

A reminder that her throne had been stolen from her by Benoit, her late mother’s husband. A man who’d not only plotted and had her entire family killed, but also machinated to the point where he made Avera an outcast in her own country. The past weeks had been hard. Between the assassination of her mother, the former queen, to her brief stint as monarch, to discovering an ancient evil stirring, and now the kidnapping, Avera couldn’t seem to catch a break.

“In that case, there is no other choice. You must transport me to Verlora.”

He snorted and finally cast her a glance. “Never.”

“But you must. I have to go there,” she insisted.

“How many times do you have to be told Verlora is a death sentence for all who visit?”

“When was the last time someone went?” she asked as she followed him from the bridge back to the main deck.

“A while.”

“Then perhaps things have changed.”

He whirled so abruptly she slammed into his chest. His very wide and solid chest. He didn’t try and catch her as she bounced off it and landed on her rump.

She glared up at him. “I hate you.”

He arched a brow. “I don’t care.”

“Why won’t you tell me why you’ve really abducted me?” While he’d given her a reason before she found it less than satisfactory.

“Who says I need to have a reason? But since you won’t stop nattering, as far as I’m concerned you are a commodity. The question being, who will pay the most to acquire the last of the Voxspira line? I hear the Emperor of Merisu is looking for a new consort. Marrying Daerva’s disgraced queen might appeal to him, especially since he’s been looking to expand his territory.”

“You mean conquer Daerva,” Avera huffed as she rose to her feet.

“I thought you wanted Benoit removed from the throne?”

“Not by having a foreign country invade,” she muttered. Never mind the fact she’d toyed with the idea of hiring mercenaries to help her oust the pretender.

“What happens won’t be up to you, little queen. As of now, you are my property and I will decide what happens to you. Although, keep annoying me and I might simply decide to feed you to a kraken.”

“Krakens aren’t real,” was her surly reply.

“Said by someone who’s obviously never sailed the Eastern Seas.”

“Wait, you’re saying they exist? You’ve seen them?” her curious nature couldn’t help but ask. After all, in the past few weeks she’d seen many a thing she’d once thought impossible.

“Aye, and I don’t recommend it. Even the babies are deadly.”

“You survived,” she pointed out.

“Barely.” He walked away, and she didn’t think twice to follow.

“What would it take to convince you to take me to Verlora?”

“Nothing will ever make me return,” came his flat reply.

“When we spoke before, at the chapel”—before he’d kidnapped her and established himself as the bane of her quest—“you asked if the stones I’m after could have caused the problems in Verlora. Don’t you want to find out if that’s the case?”

“No.”

“What if it fixes things, though? Makes Verlora safe again,” she asked as he descended the steps and went to the last door at the end of the hall. She caught the panel of wood before he could slam it in her face. “You can’t ignore me.”

“I will when you speak nonsense,” he snapped, whirling on her. “How exactly do you think you could fix Verlora when no one else, even some incredibly gifted scientists, couldn’t?”

“Opal said—”

“I don’t know or care who Opal is or what she’s managed to convince you of. Verlora is lost and nothing can change that.”

“If you believe that then what’s the harm in dumping me there?”

“I won’t risk my crew getting close and that’s final.”

With that, he slammed the door in her face.

Avera pursed her lips.

That didn’t go well. However, he wasn’t the only one who could be persistent.

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Lady’s Steed

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Part of the Swords & Tiaras series:
  • Lady’s Steed
  • Queen’s Griffon
  • Consort’s Dragon
  • Swords & Tiaras (Books 1 – 3)

She never wanted to be queen.

Avera long ago came to terms with being the forgotten royal. As fourth in line, she was never expected to inherit the throne. All that changes when her entire family is assassinated and she barely escapes with her life.

Stepping into the role of queen takes her into a world she never could have imagined. One of plotting and intrigue. Hidden passageways. Magical and murderous statues. And traitors determined to steal her throne.

When the choice becomes flee or die, she embarks on a pilgrimage to an ancient place, one that holds a terrifying secret and sets her on an impossible and deadly quest.
Avera isn’t a champion or a fighter, however she’s also not a coward. Someone has to act. There is a dark force stirring, one that threatens not just her kingdom but the entire world.

From forgotten princess, to ousted queen and now the future’s only hope. Can Avera survive what’s to come?

An exciting, epic fantasy that will take you on a quest full of magic, monsters and mystery.

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Published: 2025-01-02
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
epic fantasy, Fantasy Romance, magic and sorcery, Romantasy, royalty romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Queen Calixte Voxspira stared at the pair of portraits hidden within the locket she cradled in her palm. It had been almost thirty years since her affair with Basil. They’d spent several glorious months together, using the secret passages in her palace to keep their clandestine encounters secret, pretending in public that they weren’t lovers.

The anger—and also anguish—she’d experienced after his betrayal had diminished over time, leaving her nostalgic. She often wondered what happened to Basil after he abandoned her without apology to return to his country. Had he felt any remorse? Did he realize he’d left her with a greater treasure than the rocks he’d been so eager to steal?

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Poor Avera, the result of that short coupling. A child who’d suffered the name bastard since Calixte had been unmarried at the time of her birth. Calixte’s fourth and youngest offspring, and also the brightest of the royal children—most likely because of her sly father. Or was Avera’s keen mind the result of having been left so often to her own devices?

A young woman now, full grown, and yet Calixte barely knew Avera. Not by choice. They might live in the same palace, however, politics—among other things—made a close relationship with Avera impossible. The guilt Calixte felt over the neglect gnawed at her daily, but she had no choice. The foretelling so long ago had warned her to remain remote lest Avera’s life end before it began.

A sigh escaped her. Sometimes the weight of her tiara overwhelmed. How she would have loved to flee with Basil. He’d asked her at the beginning of their tryst, but she couldn’t leave her people. Couldn’t leave the kingdom of Daerva to the not-so-tender mercy of her oldest heir, Aldrich. She never understood where her son’s darkness came from. His father, a lord of even temperament, never had that streak of cruelty Aldrich displayed.

Thankfully, he’d never be King. The same vision that warned Calixte to ignore her youngest daughter had also touched upon the end of her reign: Upon thy passing, the crown shall be inherited by one worthier than the First Prince.

Would it be her second daughter, Zironia, the Tiara in Waiting who’d yet to bear a child? Or the Spare Tiara, Merie, who worried more about the curls of her hair than the people of their land? In truth, Avera would have been the best choice, but with so many heirs in line before her, including Aldrich’s own children, she would never sit on the throne.

Or would she?

The foretelling had also claimed that Calixte’s youngest would have a great burden to bear. That the fate of the kingdom would rest upon her slender shoulders and she would face terrible ordeals that would test her strength. Hence why Avera knew how to ride and fight, and was well-learned, taught by the best Calixte could hire. She might not be able to mother her daughter as she wanted, but she’d made damned sure Avera never lacked for anything else.

Despite the sun having yet to crest the horizon, Calixte tucked the locket away with her other treasures and prepared to start her day. As she turned from her cabinet she heard a noise, a scraping sound that raised the hairs on her nape.

She whirled, seeking the source, and gaped as someone stepped out of the secret passage to her room. A hidden entrance no one but she—and her long-gone lover—should have known about.

“Who are you? What are you doing in my chambers?” Calixte exclaimed, noting the intruder wore a hood to mask their features. Their eyes were the only features visible through the cutouts.

“I am death,” a male voice intoned.

Probably meant to frighten, however, Calixte wasn’t the type to get vapors that easily.

“Who sent you?” she asked, her fingers reaching into her pocket for the dagger she’d been carrying around of late. Blame the nightmares plaguing her these past months. Dark dreams of violence and bloodshed that she couldn’t entirely shake when she woke. It turned out her niggling sense of something not right hadn’t been paranoia.

“Someone who needs you gone to clear the path to the throne.”

“Did Aldrich hire you?” she asked. She’d seen how her son, the First Prince, chafed in the wings, waiting to sit on the throne.

“Doubtful seeing as how your first born is being killed as we speak.”

How awful she didn’t feel sorrow but only relief at knowing Aldrich wouldn’t survive her. He’d long been haranguing her about stepping down so he might start his rule. It had been done in the past, but Calixte kept refusing, knowing her son wouldn’t serve the people well.

“Who is the traitor?” she asked as the intruder moved closer, his step stealthy. She could have yelled for her guards—a pair stood outside her door—but she wanted answers.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? You’ll be dead in a moment.”

“Exactly. So why not tell me? Or do you not know?”

“I don’t need to know who hired me. The guild entered into a contract, and I am here to complete its terms.”

The phrasing made him an assassin, indicating someone had gone through great trouble and expense.

“You do realize I can pay you more than they’re offering,” Calixte bargained.

“I took a vow to not be bribed.”

“Ironic words coming from a man who sees no problem with murder.”

The assassin shrugged. “Have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Which of my daughters are they planning to put in charge if I and my son are to die?”

“None. Your line ends today.” The assassin lunged with his blade and Calixte had little time to react. The dagger emerged from her pocket and barely blocked the blow aimed for her heart.

“Guards, to me!” she yelled as she recoiled to give herself space.

“Yell all you like. By the time they break down the door, you’ll be dead,” the hooded man taunted.

Thump. Thump.

The pounding at the portal had her cursing the fact she kept it locked at night. She’d thought herself safe once within, the secret passages unknown to anyone else, her kingdom at peace her entire reign. How could she have missed the bubbling discontent?

“You’ll die for this,” Calixte spat as she narrowly avoided a slash.

“Only if they catch me, which hasn’t happened yet. The guild sent their best for this job.” He darted forward and she dodged to the side, only she made a mistake in watching the hand gripping the sword. She missed the dagger the assassin pulled with his other hand. It slid into her gut with ease, and she gasped.

“You’ve killed me.” Disbelief marked her words. Of all the ways she expected to die, murder wasn’t one of them.

“It’s not personal,” he remarked, pulling the weapon from her flesh and wiping it on his trousers.

She slumped to the floor, more in shock than pain, her fingers clasped over her midsection as if that would stem the flow of blood.

He crouched in front of her. “You don’t have to suffer. Hold up your head and I’ll finish you quickly.”

“How kind of you to offer,” was her dry reply.

“I’m not a monster.”

“Could have fooled me,” she murmured, ducking her head.

“Just doing my job. Speaking of which, your soldiers are about to enter, meaning I have to leave. Are you sure you don’t want a swift death?”

She lifted her chin, baring her throat. “Yes, but first, might I see the face of the man killing me.”

He hesitated only a moment before tugging off the hood, not that she cared about his appearance. In that moment of inattention, the dagger she still held plunged. Unlike him, she didn’t miss.

The jugular she severed spurted, and he recoiled, his mouth opening and shutting without a sound, his eyes wide with disbelief. The assassin died before her guards burst into the room.

While they ran to fetch a doctor and applied pressure to her wound, Calixte already knew she wouldn’t live to see another dawn. Only the foretelling and the hope it offered kept her barking orders.

“Bring me my daughter!” Calixte kept repeating as they put her to bed and pretended they could fix her.

“They’re dead, Your Majesty,” the flustered Duke Petturi stated. “The Heir, the Tiara in Waiting, the Spare, even the baby.”

Calixte stared at the fat man who’d been her advisor for the past decade. “Where is Avera?”

“Who?”

“My youngest daughter,” she snarled.

“Oh, her.” His lips pulled down in disapproval.

“Yes, her!” she snapped. “Bring her at once.”

“Why?” The man dared to argue despite knowing she had little time.

“Gustav!” She bellowed for her Grand Rook, a man who’d been by her side for decades. A loyal soldier who would obey his queen.

Her grizzled rook arrived, wearing a grim expression framed by short silver hair. “Your Majesty.” He dropped to a knee by her bedside. “My failure to protect is inexcusable. I await your punishment.”

“This isn’t your fault,” she muttered. More like hers for refusing to live like a prisoner in a kingdom known for its peace. She gestured him close and whispered, “You must find Avera. Protect her, Gustav. She is all that matters now.”

“Yes, my queen.” He thumped his chest and left abruptly.

She closed her eyes and prayed. Prayed for her youngest. Prayed for her people. And most of all, prayed those responsible would die horrifically for what they’d wrought this day.

Chapter 2

As dawn began to lighten the sky just outside the marketplace, Avera Voxspira slid from her steed’s back.

Luna nudged Avera, leading her to murmur, “I know you smell some apples. Don’t worry. I’ll get you a few juicy ones before we head back to the castle.” Right after she finished browsing the newly arrives wares.

A shipment had just arrived from the port at Horizon’s End and she really hoped to find a relic from Verlora amidst the new wares. The country, situated a week’s sail from Daerva’s east coast, had fabricated the most wondrous of objects before their continent went dark. The Verlorians used to excel in a craft they called mechanical science, and though the constructs they’d made were rare these days, Avera always kept an eye out for new ones to add to her collection, which now spanned several shelves in a storage room turned workshop. She quite enjoyed opening up the contraptions to study the cogs within, marveling at the intricate work, doing her best to understand how they worked. The tinkering kept her entertained seeing as how she didn’t have much else to do with her time.

Despite being almost thirty, and a princess, Avera didn’t have any assigned duties. Only direct heirs had expectations and tasks. Rather than languish with boredom, Avera spent most of her days playing with Verlorian devices, riding her steed, exploring the marketplace, or reading. Not exactly the most exciting life, but she had little choice. A princess wasn’t allowed to strike out on her own. A princess, even a forgotten and neglected one, was expected to live in the castle with the other royals. To present herself when necessary for special functions. To behave as befitted her role. At least, unlike her older siblings, she’d not been forced to marry to cement an alliance.

As Avera strolled the market, Luna trailed alongside her, used to the early jaunts. After all, they’d been companions for years now. The Volaqu-bred horse, a breed known for their intelligence and temperament, imported from Pequilh, was a surprise gift from her mother, the queen. Ironically, despite the lavish present, Avera felt closer to Luna than her own family. Then again, Luna actually liked her. More than once Avera had wished she could escape the castle where she’d been raised. She’d even asked her mother on more than one occasion about relocating and been firmly refused. A princess, even one far removed from the throne, apparently required constant protection. An explanation that never satisfied since no one had ever attacked the royal family.

For example, at this very moment, she was in alone in the marketplace, not a guard in sight. As she wandered, her gaze locked on a familiar shape on one of the vendor tables. She quickly headed for the item, bending her head to examine and confirm she’d found a Verlorian artifact. It appeared as a simple box of carved wood but when the lid flipped open, a figurine sprang upright and twirled as music played. A fascinating feat that some would call magic, but she could hear the whirring of gears making it a machine.

Before Avera could ask the vendor how much he wanted for it, a strident voice yelled down the main boulevard, “The queen’s been murdered!”

At the impossible statement, her heart stuttered to a stop and she dropped the box back on the table. Surely, she’d misunderstood. Avera turned to see Lord Gendry, his florid face even redder than usual as he hustled into the market square. People stopped and eyed him as he struggled for breath.

The merchant selling meat pies was the one to shout, “What’s that, again, milord?”

Lord Gendry composed himself enough to huff, “There are assassins in the palace. They’ve murdered the queen and the First Prince, as well as his consort and their child. The Tiara in Waiting and Spare Tiara are also said to be dead.”

Dead?

Avera blinked. That simply wasn’t possible. Her family, the royal family, had guards and security that were supposed to prevent incursion at the palace. It should have been impossible for anyone to get close enough to strike one member of the family, let alone all of them. Not to mention, Daerva didn’t have assassins. They were a peaceful country that rarely dealt with crime, let alone murder.

“Who’s responsible for hiring them?” asked a different merchant as he stood in front of his stall full of brightly colored scarves.

Lord Gendry shrugged and mopped his sweaty brow. “I don’t know. Once I heard about the massacre, I left.”

Someone in the listening crowd muttered, “Coward.”

They weren’t entirely wrong. Who ran when strife struck? A man who was more farmer than soldier. The Gendry family was the largest producer of crops in Daerva and rarely visited the capital. Rumor had it the lord preferred the company of his sheep to people. The gossip mill also said other much more disturbing things about Lord Gendry and his love of animals.

“If the queen and all the heirs are dead, who will rule us?” the pie seller lamented, wringing his hands.

“What of the youngest? The bastard? Was she killed too?” a woman wearing an apron asked.

“Didn’t she die of the pox?” someone ruminated.

“I hear she’s hideous which is why the queen keeps her hidden,” another commented.

Kind of hurtful. Avera didn’t consider herself ugly, and the queen didn’t so much hide her as just not involve her in matters of state.

“Oh, I forgot about the girl. What’s her name? Valerie?” the pie seller mused.

“No, you idiot, it’s Valera,” the aproned matron retorted.

Both wrong, something Avera had gotten used to given she was the unneeded fourth child the queen had born. At twenty-nine summers, she was younger by a decade than her sister with fifteen years between her and Aldrich, the First Prince. While her three siblings shared one father, Avera came about while the queen was between consorts. No one knew who’d fathered her. Not even Avera. The queen never said, and Avera had given up asking as her mother always muttered, “Nobody important.”

There was much speculation, however, because with her coloring—dark brown hair, lightly tanned skin, and brilliant mauve eyes—she resembled no one in the capital. The populace tended to have blonde and auburn hair with skin tones ranging from pale white to pink, or red-cheeked, if exposed to the sun.

While her appearance shouldn’t have mattered, nor the method of her conception, Avera never felt like she belonged to her family. She lacked any kind of bond or relationship with her siblings, though not for lack of trying when younger. She’d been rebuffed at every turn because they hated her. Aldrich especially enjoyed torturing her until Gustav put a stop to it. Being outcast by her brother and sisters might have been bearable if her mother would have granted Avera some attention. However, the busy queen never paid her youngest daughter much mind, which made her refusal to let Avera live elsewhere all the more maddening.

While it would sound horrible if spoken aloud, Avera felt no grief at the passing of her siblings. Shock, yes, though a shock that had more to do with possibly being the only heir left and she’d never been interested in ruling. Please let Lord Gendry be wrong.

As Avera debated returning to the castle, a cadre of soldiers came galloping into the marketplace, their tunics of blue and gold layered over their metallic armor identifying them as palace guards. And they’d come for one reason only.

Sir Gustav, the Grand Rook in charge of the Queen’s security—and the only positive influence in Avera’s life—held his stallion in place as he pointed at Avera. “There’s the First Princess. Protect her.”

First Princess? The words turned her blood cold. Gustav always called her by name not by title, and she’d never imagined that she’d be called first anything.

This can’t be happening.

An urge to flee struck Avera, and she eyed possible escape routes.

None existed as the people in the marketplace packed in tightly around her, drawn by the morbid news, although they did part to allow passage to the knights with the Grand Rook at their head.

Sir Gustav eyed her through the holes slotted in his helmet. “First Princess, there’s been an incident.”

Why so formal? Then again, they had an audience.

“Is it true my family is dead?” Avera asked.

“The queen yet lives, however, the assassins were thorough. Everyone else is dead.”

“All of them? Even baby Kona?” A sweet, chubby-cheeked girl who was always smiling.

“It was a massacre,” Sir Gustav rumbled in a low tone. “And very well planned. You’d have been dead too, had you told anyone where you went. The assassins tried your room only to find you gone.”

Because Avera had slipped away just before dawn, dressed in simple clothes because she preferred anonymity.

“You knew where to find me,” Avera pointed out.

The grizzled soldier’s lips twisted beneath the nose guard of his helmet. “Because you are predictable. A new shipment for the market always draws you in search of something interesting.”

A curiosity that saved her life.

“Am I in danger?” Avera asked as the soldiers spread out to form a circle around her and Luna.

“The assassins are still at large.” An answer of sorts. “Quickly now. Mount up and let’s return to the castle.”

Despite her annoying skirts, Avera required no help into her saddle and soon they trotted away from the marketplace, Avera boxed in on all sides by soldiers. She did her best to ignore the stares and whispers of the townsfolk they passed. Not easy since she heard someone exclaim, “That’s the First Princess? Does she not know how to dress?”

More like Avera preferred simple and comfortable garments to the intricate ruffles and layers the other ladies of court tortured themselves with.

The Grand Rook sat stiffly in his saddle as he kept pace with Luna’s quick step. He said nothing and so Avera murmured, “You said my mother lives?”

“For the moment,” Gustav stated. “The wound she took to the belly is a bad one. She only survived because she cut the assassin’s throat before he could stab her again.”

“Mother killed her attacker?” It shouldn’t have surprised. The woman had ice in her veins, but since when did she carry a weapon? Avera had never seen her mother armed and wasn’t even aware she could fight. It has always been odd to Avera that she’d received lessons in combat, but her sisters hadn’t. She could even say without lying that she’d become quite proficient with a blade, probably because she’d spent a lot of time practicing, given she had little else to do.

“Your mother has always been adept with a dagger. Once she killed her assassin, she sounded the alarm, but it was too late. The rest of the royal family had already been slain.”

“What happened to the soldiers guarding them?” The heirs had their own personal cadre of protectors and never went anywhere without them.

“Their guards were slaughtered. The assassins hit just before dawn as everyone slept.”

“I must have just missed them,” Avera mused aloud. She’d risen well before the sun and hit the kitchen for a fresh baked roll with jam as well as some carrots for Luna before heading to the market to be there when it opened.

“The killers were well coordinated. They came in unseen by any, killed everyone, and fled as quickly as they arrived. If it weren’t for your mother taking one down, we’d have never known who was responsible.”

“Who?” Avera asked, expecting him to blame the marauders to the west. The Okkilamian had a thing for attacking their ships, although they’d never been brazen enough to cause trouble in Daerva.

To her surprise, Gustav said, “Judging by the appearance of the one your mother killed, Verlorian.”

“How? They’re all dead.” Verlora and its people had essentially ceased to exist after a catastrophic event. Ships stopped sailing between their lands because those who went to investigate never returned.

“Not all of them perished. A few that weren’t in the country at the time of its demise did survive and, from what I’ve heard, turned to pirating and apparently now murder,” was Gustav’s grim reply. The grizzled soldier had long been in the crown’s service. In his sixties—as old as her mother—and yet still fit and sharp. He could be demanding and quite stern when he gave Avera lessons in swordplay, but at the same time, he’d always been kind to her. She knew when he praised her that she’d earned it. In many respects, he was like a father to her, not that he was ever so bold as to show her actual affection. But the fact he didn’t ignore her helped.

“How did a group of Verlorians manage to get past our port authority without notice?” Avera asked.

“That is a question we’re all asking.”

“Do you think the port inspector was bribed to look the other way?”

“Most likely. The question being, which port?” Gustav mused.

Daerva, a continent that sat high above sea level with dominating cliffs all around, had only two bays where ships could anchor. Horizon’s End was only a day’s ride from the capital city of Velunda, and Seaserpent Bay took a week or more of travel overland. If the killers came through that far port, they could have chosen to save time by crossing the Lake of Tears, but that would have required the assassins hiring—or stealing—a vessel capable of handling the lake’s poisoned waters. Only the most daring ever attempted to cross.

“You said only one of them was killed. So where did the rest of the assassins go?” Avera mused aloud.

“We don’t know,” Gustav growled. “It’s why the queen sent me to find you. Currently, we have knights and pawns searching the castle top to bottom.”

Apparently, they should have been searching the city because as she and her soldierly escort cantered into the last street—one lined with three-story houses inhabited by the richest and most favored noble ladies and lords—they were attacked!

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Magic and Kings Collection One (Books 1 – 3)

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Book Cover: Magic and Kings Collection One (Books 1 - 3)
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Part of the Magic and Kings series:
  • The Barbarian King’s Assassin
  • The Desert King’s Spy
  • The Pirate Queen’s Captive
  • The Warlord’s Lady
  • Magic and Kings Collection One (Books 1 – 3)
Enter a world where sorcery and monsters exist. This romantasy bundle will please those who love an intricate fantasy world where romance blossoms between royals and their foes.
This collection includes previously released titles:
• The Barbarian King’s Assassin ~ Rather than kill the King, an assassin finds herself working for him. Their unexpected alliance unravels secrets from their past, but also forges a path to love.
• The Desert King’s Spy ~ When Asharee is asked spy on the king, she discovers more than expected. For one, Daksh sees right through her deception - and still wants her.
• The Pirate Queen’s Captive ~ Zora is a Queen without an island to rule. Cast adrift, she turns to pirating to feed her people and as luck would have it, has captured her biggest prize. The man she never forgave for breaking her heart.
Immerse yourself in these action-packed adventures where danger lurks around every corner, but love prevails.

 

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Published: 2024-08-01
Cover Artists:
SLM Creations
Genres:
anthology/boxset/collection, epic fantasy, Fantasy Romance, killer hero, killer heroine, magic and sorcery, pirate romance, Romantasy, royalty romance
Tags:
english
If you like Magic and Kings Collection One (Books 1 - 3), you might be interested in:
Book Cover: Lazy Son

Lazy Son

Book Cover: Lion's Quest

Lion's Quest

Book Cover: Mr. Peabody's House

Mr. Peabody's House

The Warlord’s Lady

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Book Cover: The Warlord's Lady
Find a StoreAmazon/KindleApple BooksBarnes and NobleGooglePlayKoboAudiobook
Part of the Magic and Kings series:
  • The Barbarian King’s Assassin
  • The Desert King’s Spy
  • The Pirate Queen’s Captive
  • The Warlord’s Lady
  • Magic and Kings Collection One (Books 1 – 3)

This warlord doesn’t believe in magic - or love - until he meets a very special lady.

Something evil is lurking in the mountains and Kormac doesn’t know how to fight an enemy that can’t be seen or touched.

While a warlord hates asking for aid, he can’t allow his pride to get in the way. He requests assistance from the witch queen—in secret, of course, because magic isn’t real. Or wasn’t in his corner of the world, until now.

Fionna, the witch who arrives to evaluate the situation, is unlike anyone he’s ever met. Bold. Fearless. Beautiful…

He didn’t count on how much she would test his patience—and his control.

As they work to squash the danger spreading from the mountains, and she impresses him with her skill and courage, he starts to wonder if she’s the lady he’s been waiting for. His mother certainly doesn’t think so, but Kormac didn’t become warlord by allowing others to make decisions for him.

However, taking her as his wife will depend on them surviving the machinations of the evil entity that’s returned to take its vengeance.

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Published: 2024-09-26
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
epic fantasy, Fantasy Romance, forbidden love, killer hero, killer heroine, magic and sorcery, Romantasy, royalty romance, Witch Romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Prologue

Fionna splashed in the puddle by her house. Mama had told her to stay inside while she ran errands, but the sunshine beckoned, as did the hollow in the yard, full of water from the rain.

Splash.

The stomp of her foot shot up water that soaked her tunic, but she didn’t shiver in the warm fall sunshine. Her little feet stamped, and she wondered why Mama had forbidden her to be outdoors. She’d tucked Fionna away ever since those men on big horses had ridden past their home the day before.

Speaking of which, one trotted into view. A large male with a full beard riding a brown horse with white spots.

“Hello there,” he said with a smile that showed yellow teeth.

“Hi.” Mama had told her to not talk to strangers, but she’d also taught her to not be rude.

READ MORE

“Are your parent’s home?” he asked, glancing at the hut where she lived with Mama. Papa had been put in the earth in the spring, taken by a fever that also claimed her younger brother.

She shook her head.

“Well then, I should keep you company,” he stated, sliding off his horse.

At his wide grin, a frisson of unease went through Fionna, and she took a step back. “I don’t need company. Mama will be back soon.”

“Then we best be quick.” He lunged and she shrieked, darting out of his reach, racing for the hut. Her fast little legs got her inside and she slammed the door shut but couldn’t get the bar across in the hooks. The door was kicked open and the big man stood in the doorway, his smile no longer friendly.

Fionna retreated, but there was nowhere to flee in the small space.

“Be a good girl now. Don’t make me hurt you,” he cajoled.

“Get out of my house!” Mama’s shriek from outside relieved Fionna who didn’t understand what the man wanted.

The big fellow whirled. “Mind your business.”

“Excuse me? This is my home, and you have no right to enter it.”

“And who’s going to stop me?” The man stepped out of the doorway and Fionna crept forward to watch.

Mama stood a few paces from the man, her market basket hanging from her arm, looking fierce, but also frightened. “The Duke won’t—”

“Won’t know a damned thing because you’ll keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.”

“Leave and I won’t have to say anything.” Mama’s chin tilted.

“I’ll leave when I’ve done my business.”

“You have no business here,” Mama insisted.

“Will you shut up for a coin?” The man held out his hand and Mama recoiled.

“What kind of demon are you? Trying to buy a child?” Mama screeched. “Wait until the Duke hears.”

“Oh no he won’t,” growled the man. “Nattering nag.” The man lunged for Mama, who swung her basket. It connected with the man but didn’t stop him from grabbing her by the neck and lifting her.

Mama’s eyes bulged. Fear filled them and she gasped, “Run, Fionna.”

Fear froze Fionna in place.

Crack.

Mama went limp and the man dropped her and then turned to face Fionna. “Where were we?” The expression on his face terrified.

Once more, Fionna went running, her little legs pumping, and she might have made it to the woods if she hadn’t tripped.

The man fell on her, grabbing at her tunic with one hand, grunting as his other fumbled at the rope holding up his britches. Sheer terror had Fionna trembling, but also fighting like a feral cat. She clawed and thrashed, but he was stronger. As he held her down and tore at her clothing, he told her what he would do.

Awful things.

Cruel things.

Fionna felt her emotions boiling, hot and cold as fear, anger, and desperation churned.

And exploded.

Literally.

The man turned into chunks of bloody meat.

A shocked Fionna lay on the ground, wide-eyed. It took her a moment to realize the threat was gone. She raced back to her mother’s body, but the unseeing eyes brought a wail to her lips.

Mama was dead.

A passing neighbor found her sitting on the ground, holding her mother’s lifeless head. They also saw the remains of the man who’d killed her.

“Come with me girl,” he muttered.

Fionna went in silence with Horatio who brought her to the town magistrate. When questioned, she told them what happened, about the man who’d killed her Mama, and how he’d tried to hurt her but exploded.

“How did he explode?” asked the magistrate.

Fionna shrugged. “Perhaps it was Mama’s ghost protecting me.” What else could it be?

They placed her in a room used for the storage of linens and kept the door locked. She saw no one except the magistrate’s wife, who brought her meals but didn’t speak. She’d open the door, slide in a bowl, and shut it quickly.

Five sleeps later, the door opened, and a woman strode in, her skin the rich brown of the trees in the forest, her hair a lustrous black. Her eyes were a startlingly beautiful shade of green that matched her cloak.

“Hello, Fionna,” the woman greeted her softly.

“Ma’am.” She gave a curtsy to the fine-looking lady.

“I hear you ran into some trouble.”

Fionna bit her lip. “A man killed my Mama.”

“And what happened to the man?” asked the woman.

“He exploded.”

“So I hear. Do you recall how you felt when it happened?”

She shrugged. “Scared. Angry.”

“Has that kind of thing ever occurred before?”

She shook her head.

“May I hold your hand?”

Fionna hesitated only a moment before sliding her small fingers into the woman’s palm. Heat emanated from the woman, a tingle that felt good and brought a smile to her lips. Colors danced before Fionna’s eyes, wispy tendrils that she wanted to pluck.

“That tickles,” she giggled.

“Aren’t you a lovely surprise,” the woman murmured. “Tell me, would you like to leave this room and come with me to a place where you won’t have to be afraid?”

“Is it far?”

“Yes, but we shall ride a horse.”

“I’ve never ridden a horse,” Fionna admitted, wondering if the lady would change her mind.

“Then you shall learn. The place we shall go to has teachers.”

“A school?” Her eyes widened. She’d heard of them. Places of learning for those who could afford it.

“Of sorts. We teach more than just your letters and numbers, though. In addition to lessons, you will have your own room. Proper meals. And fine clothing to wear. What do you think?”

It sounded like a dream. She nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Fionna left with the woman, whom she noticed everyone kept a wary distance from. The horse was huge in her eyes, but the woman had no problem lifting Fionna to sit before her on the saddle.

The journey was wondrous, and she learned much. Such as the woman’s name—Amelia—and the fact she was a witch who sought out children with the gift of magic like Fionna. They travelled to Mystic Keep, the home of the reclusive witches in the Acca marshes, a stone fortress with many hidden passages and secrets.

What began as a tragedy turned out to be the best thing for Fionna. She became a novice who caught on to her lessons quickly. As a teen, Amelia took her as an apprentice. By the time she’d turned twenty-one, she’d become a full-fledged witch with a strong gift in all of the elements. When Amelia ascended to the throne, Fionna was by her side, glad to serve the woman who’d changed her life for the better.

She would have most likely never left the Keep if evil hadn’t emerged to plague the world. A world that suddenly had a use for witches.

Chapter 1

Decades later…

 

The soldier arrived in Kormac’s war room dusty and exhausted. According to a whispering Lomar—Kormac’s general who had eyes and ears everywhere—the soldier’s steed collapsed the moment the man slid from its back. Judging by the marks at its mouth and the cold sweat sheening its body, the horse had been ridden hard.

The soldier, unshaven and smelly even from a distance, staggered in Kormac’s direction. The guards he passed did not offer any aid. To do so would be an insult.

Sitting on his throne carved from a single piece of obsidian, Kormac studied the weary man and wondered what had befallen him. He didn’t recognize the fellow, but that didn’t surprise. His horde numbered in the thousands.

“Warlord.” The man dropped to a knee and thumped his chest while dipping his head in respect.

“Your name?” Kormac asked while wondering why his forearms tingled where his long sleeves hid the bracers he wore tight to the skin. An odd sensation that he’d never experienced before.

“I am Ioan, formerly of Greenhead Valley, Warlord. I come bearing grave news from the garrison at the Risead Pass.” A pass to the far east of Kormac’s territory, eternally guarded despite the lack of civilization past it. The Andeir mountain range separated them from the valley of mist beyond it.

Many didn’t understand why the warlords—not just Kormac, but those who came before him, as well—kept sending soldiers to the Risead Pass to stand watch. It seemed pointless and yet “Guard the Risead Pass” was part of his oath when he took command. That was it. No reason given as to why, but out of respect for his ancestors, he still did it to this day.

Kormac’s brow arched. “A long journey. You’d best have a good reason for abandoning your post.”

“Not abandoned, Warlord. Sent by Lieutenant Khaal, the garrison commander, due to an emergency.”

“An emergency that merited you travelling leagues and days rather than sending a message by bird.” The fort at Risead kept a coop of kalmais, birds trained to fly back and forth between the Wexkord, the capital of Srayth, and whatever garrison they were assigned. Using the birds avoided delays in imparting important developments.

“The kalmais are dead, Warlord. Everyone is,” Ioan blurted.

The news rocked Kormac, and it took him a second to control his reaction. His nearby general didn’t hide his expression of shock.

“Everyone?” Lomar asked in a low tone.

The soldier nodded.

Disturbing news, and not something that should be common knowledge until Kormac knew more.

“Lomar, clear the room,” Kormac ordered his second as he eyed the guards at the far end of the room manning the doors. Far enough they shouldn’t have heard, and even if they had, they knew better than to talk. Still, best to not test them. He’d hate to have to make an example because of loose lips.

Lomar shooed the guards from the room and barred the doors to avoid interruption. As this occurred, Kormac stared at the soldier who’d left his post to bring this dire news in person. Stared long enough the man fidgeted. He should, after claiming to be the sole survivor of a garrison a hundred men strong.

Once Lomar reached his side, Kormac growled, “Explain.”

“The troubles started with Peol. He was the first to go missing. Went on patrol in the Pass and never returned. We assumed one of the maakath got him.” Aggressive creatures that were part bear, part feline, and lived in the higher elevations.

“You didn’t find a body?” Lomar clarified.

Ioan shook his head. “Haag and Wexl went looking for him and never reported back. Neither did the next pair of trackers. which led to Lieutenant Khaal doubling up the patrols from two to four men.”

Kormac said nothing and waited for the man to take a breath.

The soldier’s voice dipped. “Even with four men, it didn’t stop the disappearances. We lost two more groups before Lieutenant Khaal suspended the patrols.”

“Suspended the patrols? The whole point of the garrison is to watch over the Pass,” Kormac remarked. Never mind the fact nothing but maakath and other high-altitude beasts had ever been seen in that cold and barren gash through the mountain.

“The lieutenant knew you’d be displeased but he didn’t want to lose more men. He decided to set baited traps at the entrance to the Pass and around the garrison. Freshly slaughtered lamb along with live ones. Whatever took out the missing soldiers didn’t take the meat. Rather, it toyed with us by tossing the bait aside and replacing it with those who went to check in the traps.”

Lomar interjected, “Replaced? That kind of action doesn’t sound like an animal.”

“And yet, what was done…” Ioan swallowed hard. “I saw the bodies. They’d been strung in the snares, heads cracked open, innards pulled from their stomachs.”

Savage, but most definitely not the actions of an animal. Hungry beasts ate what they hunted.

Kormac tapped his fingers on the armrest of his throne. “So many dead and yet I never heard anything? Your tale seems unlikely.”

“Up to this point, Khaal still assumed we dealt with a maakath or another beast gone rabid. The display made of those men forced the lieutenant to realize we might be dealing with something more. He wrote a missive to you.” The man fumbled at his jerkin, leading Lomar to put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “However, he couldn’t send it. When he went to the aerie, not only were the birds all gone, Unwe—their keeper—was dead, too.”

“Something infiltrated the garrison.” A quiet statement.

“That’s what we all assumed even as we couldn’t figure out how. There’s only one door to get in, and it was never left unguarded. The lieutenant doubled the garrison perimeter guards. Ensured the entrance was secured. It didn’t help. Every night after, we lost several men.”

“Several?” Lomar burst out. “And you’re telling us you found no culprit? Bullshit.”

“It’s the truth,” Ioan insisted. “It was eerie as none of those killed screamed or even struggled. The next morning we’d just find them, some killed in their bunks, others left eviscerated on the parapets.”

“Always killed in the same fashion?” Kormac asked to clarify.

“Mostly. Slices to the gut were the most common. Some got it across the neck, too. A few had their heads caved in.” Ioan paused and took a breath before continuing. “After the third night of losses, and down more than thirty soldiers, Khaal ordered us to saddle up and ride out.”

“Abandoning his post rather than digging out the root of the problem.” Kormac’s lip curled. He had no patience for cowardice.

Ioan tried to defend his lieutenant’s actions. “What else could he do? We couldn’t figure out how and who was killing us.”

“So, you deserted and what? Knowing of their disgrace the rest of the garrison fled, leaving you to be the only messenger. Brave of you to volunteer.” Kormac’s smile had the soldier quaking.

“No, it wasn’t like that. We were supposed to leave together. The night before our departure, whatever hunted us went after the horses. We woke to find them slaughtered in the barn. The soldiers guarding them, more than a half dozen, left in pieces.”

“And yet you arrived on a horse?” Lomar pointed out.

“By chance. A mare running a fever had been housed separately in case she proved to be contagious. With only one steed left, and no birds, Khaal entrusted me with his messages explaining what happened and told me to bring them directly to you.”

“You said earlier everyone died. How would you know that if you left?” Kormac questioned, clenching his fists. His arms still tingled, and he wondered why but couldn’t exactly pull up his sleeves in the middle of an audience for a peek.

“I don’t know for sure.” Ioan’s lips turned down. “Khaal was supposed to have those remaining barricade themselves in the watchtower. He promised to light the signal every night at dusk. On my third night of travel, it failed to appear.”

Dire news if true. What could have killed an entire garrison of soldiers? And how could it have been unseen?

Kormac stared at Ioan before asking, “What do you think attacked them?”

“The puuka.” The fabled ghosts that lived in the land of mist beyond the mountains, not real, and yet some believed in their existence. Blame the stories passed down through generations, speaking of monsters and magic, neither of which existed.

Ioan’s reply led to Lomar blustering, “That is superstitious nonsense. Most likely either a stealthy invader or a wild animal.”

“Animals that can open locked doors without leaving a trace? Animals that can sneak up on a man and kill him without a single scream escaping?” Ioan became agitated.

“Probably asleep at their posts.” A denigrating reply from Lomar, but in his defense, those sent to the garrison were the weakest of the horde. The slovenly, the poorer fighters, the disgraced. A posting to the Risead Pass was the ultimate insult to a soldier as it meant they were deemed not good enough to defend the citadel or their borders.

“Who else have you told about this?” Kormac asked.

“No one, Warlord. I rode straight and hard here to give you the news.”

“Where are the other missives Khaal entrusted with you?”

The man dug in his tunic and pulled out a parchment, rolled and bound with wax. Kormac gripped it but didn’t open it to read. First, he had to deal with the soldier.

“Lomar, have Ioan escorted to a cell. One away from the others. He is to speak to no one.”

“You’re punishing me?” The man seemed shocked.

“As if I’m going to believe your wild tale without confirmation. Lomar is right. It is implausible that an entire garrison would be wiped out without a single sign of the enemy.”

“But it’s the truth,” Ioan exclaimed.

“Then you won’t mind sojourning in a cell while I verify it.” He glanced to Lomar. “Ensure no one is allowed near him. I don’t need him spreading rumors and panicking the populace.”

“As you command, Warlord.” Lomar stepped forward to grab Ioan by the arm.

Ioan didn’t go quietly. “You have to listen to me. There is a grave danger brewing in the Pass. My great-grandmother lived her whole life in Greenhead Valley only a day’s ride from the garrison and she used to tell stories of a monster that lurked within the caves of Andeir.”

“There are no caves and stories are just that, stories.” As a young man, Kormac’s father had taken him to their eastern mountain and shown him the Pass saying, “We don’t know why the oath insists we guard Risead Pass but our ancestors must have had their reason and so we honor their wishes.”

“What if it’s true? What if that’s why the garrison is there, to protect against monsters?” Ioan shouted as Lomar dragged him away.

“Then you failed, and you know what the punishment for that is.” There was no mercy for deserters.

“And you’ll fail too,” Ioan snapped. “It’s easy for you to judge. You weren’t there.”

Kormac’s lips pinched at the insult. Lomar took it even worse. He knocked the pommel of his sword against Ioan’s temple and the man collapsed.

“Mouthy coward,” the warlord’s second muttered.

“All the more reason to keep him separate. Make sure you tell no one,” Kormac advised unnecessarily.

“No shit,” Lomar muttered. “Imagine thinking ghosts and monsters are real.”

“They aren’t, but I’ll still want you to head out and make sense of the situation.”

“Aye, Warlord. I’ll leave for the garrison in the morning.”

“Excellent.”

Lomar left with a limp Ioan slung over his shoulder. Once the door shut, the odd sensation in his arms disappeared. Kormac still pulled up his sleeve but there was nothing to see. Just the dull metal of his bracers, intricate in appearance, inherited from the last warlord, their version of a crown.

He pushed the fabric back over his arms before opening the first missive Khaal supposedly meant to send. It held a brief recap of what Ioan told him.

Warlord. This is Lieutenant Khaal of Risead Pass informing you we’ve lost some soldiers in the line of duty. I’ve included the names so you can compensate the families. Most likely a maakath is to blame. They’ve been nosing around the garrison of late instead of staying in the mountains. I’ve assembled a hunting team. Expect some skins if successful.

Maakath fur made great winter cloaks.

The first note seemed normal, advising him of the deaths so the families could be notified. The second, though, seemed as if written by a different person. Khaal’s usually tight and concise writing, a shaky scrawl. It began with an apology.

Sorry Warlord, I have failed you. The garrison is just about lost to an enemy we cannot detect. If you receive this, then Ioan will have told you of the deaths. Or should I say, the slaughtering of the soldiers in my care. I should have sent you notice with the first kill, but I thought I could handle it. Whatever hunts us is wily. It leaves no trace. No tracks. It can enter rooms with closed doors. Awake or asleep, it does not seem to matter. We have locked ourselves in the tower and will take turns keeping watch. I still have hope we can stop whatever is killing us. If we fail, tell my family I love them.

There had to be an explanation. Something that vicious and wily didn’t suddenly start murdering. Whatever the case, Lomar would sniff it out and when they found out who dared to attack Srayth, he’d bring the horde down on their head and make them regret ever being born.

Chapter 2

Dinner time passed normally, the snippets of conversation Kormac overheard—and those Lomar spied upon—made no mention of the soldier from the Pass. Despite the flirting from several of the women in attendance, Kormac was not in the mood for company and ended up going to bed alone.

Perturbed by the day’s events, he found himself wondering what could have happened to the garrison. If Ioan could be believed, then it seemed unlikely a wild animal had killed all those soldiers. So what did that leave?

Most likely a new enemy. Many envied his territory, rich in metals mined in their numerous mountains, and an exporter of the best horses in the world. But it had been more than two decades since anyone last raided one of the outer villages in the north. While some tried to sneak in via the northern bluffs hundreds of feet above an angry sea, most vessels sank before any managed the long climb. Those that did attempt the treacherous ascent were easily picked off by Sraythians who guarded their northern coast.

To the south, Srayth’s relationship with Ulkruuba had been good for more than a century and their trading strong.

West lay Acca, the land of the supposed witches who’d spent centuries keeping to themselves, most likely because their kind were executed until recently, as Srayth took a hard line against charlatans who pretended to do magic.

That left the east, past the Andeir mountains, which he would have thought impossible. The mists beyond that range were known to swallow people and never spit them out.

No likely scenarios. Still, a complacent warlord wasn’t a long-lived one.

Given the decimation of the force watching the Pass, he’d have to replenish the garrison, perhaps with a better cadre of soldiers, until they’d assessed the threat.

The severity of the situation meant Lomar would be taking some soldiers with him. Perhaps Kormac would visit as well. It had been a while since he’d been to the Pass. His duties kept him tied to the citadel more than he liked. He missed the freedom of being his father’s heir and second, riding out to inspect garrisons, quelling disputes, conducting drills close to the border to remind their flanking neighbors not to tangle with them.

The more he thought of it, the more a trip sounded like a fine plan. His mother would most likely argue. His father, who’d retired from the warlord position, would understand, though. Sometimes a leader had to act in person instead of via an intermediary.

With that decided, Kormac fell asleep, a dreamless state that should have taken him to morning, only he woke suddenly. That never happened without reason.

He noticed the tingling in his arms had returned. Could that have been what woke him?

A still Kormac pretended sleep, keeping his breathing even, and listened, not just with his ears but with instincts honed by years of his father’s lessons, some of which included nighttime attacks. Nothing like being suddenly roused in the night at a tender age and expected to fight off a man twice his size. But his father never did anything without reason, and those lessons paid off.

Move. Now!

He rolled almost too late. The dagger swiped down and plunged into the pillow where the indent of his head still showed in the strange purple glow emanating from his bracers. Odd, they’d never illuminated before. But forget his ornamental armor. An assassin, how exciting. It had been ages since anyone tried to kill him in person.

Kormac bounded out of bed, his hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade he slept with. Without pause, he swung.

There was no sound as his sword slashed the assassin across the torso, a killing blow, the only kind anyone should ever use in a fight. His father always said, “Dead men can’t stab you in the back.” Good advice, except for the part where they couldn’t answer questions after.

As the figure slumped to the floor, Kormac leaned over and struck the flint attached to the lantern kept by his bedside. The oil within ignited, illuminating the glass. He saw the identity of the assassin: none other than the garrison soldier, a man who should have still been locked in a cell. Someone must have released Ioan since those cells were escape-proof. In the decades they’d been using them, no one had ever broken free, meaning the citadel had a traitor. Kormac would enjoy seeking them out and making an example of them.

He wiped his blade on the body and readied to call someone to remove it when the limbs twitched.

Probably death throes. It happened sometimes. What didn’t usually occur with corpses? The mouth opening to whisper, “This is not the end, descendent of Airiok the Destroyer.”

The sibilant words almost brought a shiver because dead men didn’t talk, and Ioan was most certainly deceased. Between the gaping wound across the torso that exposed the guts, and the copious bleeding that left a huge puddle around the body, there should have been no way Ioan could speak.

Tell that to the dead man whose lips remained parted but didn’t move as it murmured in a raspy voice, “You cannot kill me. My imprisonment is about to end. My spirit set free—”

Smash. The pommel of his sword crushed the skull and silenced the eerie voice. A chill breeze swept past him, bringing goose pimples to his flesh before warmth returned. The bracers on his arms also stopped tingling and glowing.

Hmm. Could they be linked? His bracers had never reacted in such a fashion before. Nor had his father ever mentioned it when he passed them on along with the warlord title. It should be noted, his father had only done so after Kormac proved himself worthy, fighting in the competitions that helped them choose their strongest leader. It just so happened he, like his father and his father before him, was the worthiest. Some claimed Kormac’s family inherited their strength from their ancient ancestor, Airiok, a man who’d supposedly fought monsters and vanquished a great evil. Or so the storytellers told the children. Strange how the dead man had spoken his name.

Kormac stared at the body, which now lay unmoving and unspeaking, but he didn’t trust it and sliced off its head for good measure.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The pounding at his door led to him bark, “Come in.”

A grim Lomar burst into his room, sword out, exclaiming, “The prisoner escaped.”

Kormac nudged the body with his foot. “I found him.”

“Son of a whore,” Lomar swore. “He came after you?”

“With a knife, and he might have killed me, too, if I’d not woken.”

“I wonder if assassination was his intent all along.” Lomar scowled but not as mightily as Kormac.

“Someone let him loose. I want them found.”

“It’s hard to imagine anyone helped him,” Lomar stated with a shake of his head. “The guard who had the key to the cell is dead. I found him in the cell after Melody woke me in hysterics.”

“Melody?” Kormac questioned.

“Kitchen maid. She was bringing the night guards their meal and came across the carnage. It seems Ioan left a string of bodies on his way out of the dungeon. Every single guard in Ioan’s path is dead.”

“All of them?” Kormac couldn’t help his surprise. Ioan hadn’t seemed like the most adept of fighters.

“Yeah. Hence why Melody came screeching to find me. The moment I saw what happened, I came to find you.”

Kormac debated mentioning the voice but decided to keep that information to himself. Dead men didn’t talk.

“Given what the traitor attempted, I’m now more curious than ever as to what really happened at the garrison.” Kormac headed for his wardrobe to change from his nightclothes.

“You think Ioan lied?”

“I think the traitor found a convenient excuse to get inside the citadel.” Already bare-chested, Kormac slid on a shirt, the sleeve catching on the bracers wrapped around his forearms. While ornamental in appearance, they also offered protection when used to block a blow and apparently now occasionally glowed. Why? What about Ioan triggered them?

“I can leave now instead of dawn,” Lomar offered.

“Dawn is soon enough since I’m coming with you,” Kormac stated, ditching his breechcloth for britches.

“Is that wise? We don’t know what we’ll find.”

“Which is why we’ll bring a battalion with us. I want fifty men ready to go by first light.”

They actually set out earlier, the selected soldiers eager to ride, especially since they might get a chance to fight. Peaceful times led to bored soldiers.

Kormac led the battalion with Lomar keeping watch at the rear as they galloped on their war horses, fully outfitted in battle gear. Everyone came armed to the teeth: swords, daggers, bows, axes. Better to be prepared than caught off guard.

It took them several days of hard riding before they came in sight of the mountain named Andeir that stretched as far as the eye could see, impassable due to its height and sheerness but for a single pass. The fort sat on a gravel road a few hundred yards from the passage through the high peaks, the building made of stone blocks, sturdy and old. Very old. Also, highly defensible with only narrow window slits, perfect for firing arrows. A single massive gate at the front led inside to a courtyard and even if someone breached that, the fort itself had a portcullis that could be dropped over its entrance, making it virtually impenetrable. The walls had a slight lean outward, making them difficult to scale. From the base of the path going up, they could see the peaked roof of the watchtower which faced the Pass.

“Leave the horses here,” Kormac ordered, not liking the treacherous look of the road slicked with ice.

Five men were left behind to watch their steeds. The rest of the battalion, led by Lomar and Kormac, set out on foot. The mid-afternoon sun provided a bit of warmth, and yet they’d neither seen nor heard any signs of wildlife. No scampering squirrels or birds. Not even a breeze to rustle the branches. The eerie stillness had them all on edge, the soldiers finding reassurance in gripping their weapons.

Kormac, though, pursed his lips as he glanced around. No sign of anyone or anything.

As they plodded slowly up the road to the gate, Lomar pointed to the ground. The light dusting of snow was undisturbed. “No tracks,” he remarked.

“If it fell overnight that’s not surprising,” Kormac murmured. As they neared the garrison, he noticed the lack of soldiers manning the ramparts. Heard not a single challenge to their approach. To his disquiet, the gate had been left slightly ajar.

Before Kormac could say or do anything, Lomar bolted past, axe in hand. His second wasn’t about to let his warlord walk into an ambush. At least that would be his claim. More likely he wanted first shot at any threat.

Kormac followed more cautiously. His tread crunched in the snow that had crystalized in the sun.

“Seems deserted,” a disappointed Lomar stated as he reappeared.

“Could be they’re hiding.” A glance at the parapet didn’t show any arrow tips or movement but that didn’t mean no one watched. His nape prickled in warning.

“I’ll grab some men and do a sweep,” Lomar stated.

“Take half. I want the rest to do a perimeter sweep,” Kormac commanded as he strode through the gate.

The stench of death hit him immediately and he glanced at Lomar. “When you said deserted…”

“I meant I found no signs of anyone living.” Lomar pointed. “The smell appears to be coming from the stable which would match Ioan’s claim the horses were slaughtered.”

“And left to rot?” Kormac’s brow rose.

“So it seems.”

“Disrespectful,” Kormac grumbled. His people had long valued the stallions and mares that they caught running in the wild and tamed. They were their greatest pride—and their most expensive export. To have them not only slaughtered but then left to rot? Khaal had much to answer for.

Kormac strode into the barn and the smell turned his stomach. Not that he gagged. A warlord couldn’t show weakness.

He glanced inside the stalls to see the remains of the once fine steeds lying where they’d died, their flesh ribboned. Why hadn’t Khaal had them removed?

The courtyard held no bodies. Neither did the main chamber once he entered the fort. The long tables, flanked by benches, held dishes, the food on them moldy. Further investigation resulted in them finding some bodies in the barracks, the soldiers murdered in their beds, the blood long dried, the bodies rigid.

Kormac’s lips tightened at the sight.

Lomar leaned close to murmur, “Think Ioan did this?”

“I don’t know what to think.” Ioan hadn’t seemed strong enough to be able to cause such carnage, but he only had to remember the dungeon to wonder if they’d underestimated the man.

Kormac pointed to some of his soldiers. “Clear the dead.” By clear he meant remove and burn. In his culture, they didn’t bury those who passed. Burying trapped the soul. Only fire could release it from its fleshy prison. The morning they’d left, Ioan’s body had been put on a pyre—a small one made up of trash and not the fine wood used for the soldiers—because even a traitor didn’t deserve to slowly decay.

“Only one place left to check,” Lomar murmured.

The watchtower where Ioan claimed Khaal had barricaded those who’d survived. He didn’t hold much hope for those men, not with the deep silence they’d encountered thus far.

The watchtower sat at the rear of the garrison, facing the pass it guarded. It went a full two stories higher than the fort and had a large window-like opening at the top where not only could someone watch, but a fire could be burned to provide a signal. At least, that was the original intent. The watchtower three days ride away that would have seen it had collapsed during a tremor more than thirty years ago and never been rebuilt. Why bother when they had the birds to communicate? In retrospect, not too smart since whatever enemy they dealt with had eradicated them early on. If not for Ioan, it might have been months before they noticed a problem with the garrison.

The door at the base of the tower, the only entrance, appeared barricaded from the inside. The exterior of the portal was untouched, no scratches on its surface, also no reply to their pounding.

Kormac glanced at Lomar with his massive axe. “Take it down.”

“If I must.” Lomar grimaced. “My poor blade.” He complained but he swung.

Thunk, thunk. His strong strokes splintered the seasoned wood. The thick panel took some time to penetrate and the moment Lomar created a small hole, they could smell it.

Death.

COLLAPSE
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The Barbarian King’s Assassin

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Book Cover: The Barbarian King's Assassin
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Part of the Magic and Kings series:
  • The Barbarian King’s Assassin
  • The Desert King’s Spy
  • The Pirate Queen’s Captive
  • The Warlord’s Lady
  • Magic and Kings Collection One (Books 1 – 3)

Tragedy forged her, but love tempered her steely heart.

There aren’t many choices for a child arrested and charged with murder. When a mysterious stranger asks an imprisoned Ilyana to be his apprentice, she accepts.

Fast forward a few decades and she’s an expert in her field, an assassin for hire with special skills, and an uncanny affinity for weapons. Her newest bounty requires her to eliminate the Barbarian King, only for the first time in her career, she hesitates.

Turns out she and the monarch from the west might have a common enemy in the Grand Vizier, a highly placed official for a rival country. He’s the one behind the bounty on Konstantin’s head, and the person responsible for the death of Ilyana’s parents.

Rather than kill the King, she finds herself working for him. Together, they form a plan for revenge. What they don’t expect is the ensuing tempest of secrets.

A betrayal and a capture might spell the end for the Barbarian and the Assassin unless they’re willing to fight not only for survival—but love.

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Published: 2022-03-08
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
epic fantasy, Fantasy Romance, killer hero, killer heroine, magic and sorcery, Romantasy, royalty romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Prologue

Mother had just tucked me into bed when they kicked in the door to our house. It was a distinctive sound, the bang loud as it hit the wall. Impressive, given Mother had dropped the bar in the bracket for the night.
“Is it brigands?” I asked, thinking of the stories I’d heard whispered.
“Worse,” Mother muttered. “You must hide, Ilyana.”
My lips parted to protest. “Why should I hide? This is our house.” Despite my tender age of nine, I should be by her side as she confronted the rude intruders stomping about on the floor below us.
The wide-eyed countenance of my mother and the way she bit her lower lip stole any complaint I might have uttered. Not much scared my mother. She laughed at bugs, even the hairy, many-legged scuttling kind. Unlike our neighbor, Dame Feelly, whose shrieks could be heard even with windows closed. Mother didn

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t hike her skirts when the rats swarmed from the cellar after the floods but rather chased them with a butcher knife. They made fine stew, and their fur kept my hands warm in winter.
“Quickly now. In the cubby,” she admonished before leaving me alone. Trepidation blanched her features as she went to confront the invaders, rendering me terrified, too.
I couldn’t lose her. With Father dead and the creditors, those scavengers, stripping our things one by one to pay a thing called debt, she was all I had left. Her and the leaky roof over our heads. Perhaps that was why the intruders banged around so much downstairs. Even tucked in my room with the door closed, I could hear things breaking, the distinctly male voices cursing and yelling, the softer murmur of my mother as she tried to calm them.
Poor Mother. Nothing had gone well since Father’s untimely demise. I should be by her side, supporting her.
Despite her warning, I exited my room and crouched at the top of the stairs, pausing first for a listen.
A gravelly male voice barked, “Where is the brat?”
They had better not be speaking of me.
“She is not here.” My mother lied to protect me, and I eyed the door to my room. Perhaps I should return and hide. The cubby I could access by wiggling under my bed would be tight but secure.
All thought of hiding fled as the sharp crack of a hand slapping flesh brought a sharp cry from my mother. They’d hit her!
“Let’s try that again.” The man’s voice might sound calm, but I could hear the menace. “Where is the brat?”
“Sleeping at a friend’s house.”
“I don’t believe you. Check upstairs.” The male in charge snapped the order, but before anyone could even take that first step, my mother reacted.
“Leave us alone. Isn’t it enough you killed my husband?”
My eyes widened. Why did Mother claim that? She’d told me Father had died in an accident.
“I’m told he died because he got greedy.”
“I’ve kept to my part in the bargain,” my mother exclaimed.
“The terms of it have changed. Where is the child?”
“I’ll never tell you.”
“You will. People always talk with a bit of fisted persuasion.” I could hear the cold glee in his words. “Restrain her.”
My mother cried out again, and despite her last command to me, I had to help her. I flowed down the stairs, the hem of my nightgown fluttering. I paused at the bottom as I took in the scene I burst upon. There were two men, both bigger than me and my mother, not brigands but soldiers of the emperor. I recognized the black and silver livery. My gaze focused on my mother, her arms yanked behind her back by a soldier with a beard. “Let Mother go.”
Mother saw me, and her eyes widened. So much terror in them. Not for herself but for me.
The man in front of her turned and noticed me standing there. “You must be the brat.”
My chin lifted. “My name is Ilyana. Release my mother.”
“You don’t get to give orders, brat. Especially not in this matter. Your mother lied to an emissary of the emperor.”
My young age didn’t make me stupid about the events unfolding, but I remained immature enough to think my two clenched fists and stubborn demand might sway them. “She lied to protect me. I am here now. Let her go. You’re hurting her.”
“You will come with us.” The man reached for me, but I retreated. I didn’t like being touched. Only Mother ever hugged me.
“We’ve done nothing wrong,” I insisted. Soldiers only arrested bad people. We weren’t bad people.
“I have my orders.”
A grunt from behind had me half turning to see my mother struggling in the grips of the bearded one. She yelled, “Run, Ilyana. Run and don’t look back.”
Leave her? I couldn’t—
The dagger that slid across her throat had me gaping. The blood spilled in a thick torrent that couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be hers.
Her lips opened and shut, not a vowel escaping. Then stopped moving entirely. The soldier holding her released her body, dead before it even hit the floor.
He killed her.
Shock. Anguish. Anger…
He killed Mother.
Inside, something burst, and I launched myself at her killer. I don’t think he expected my attack and so I hit him full speed. He didn’t even wobble. I attacked like a creature frenzied, screaming and clawing, a wild thing with no reason, just grief to fuel the violence.
The soldier yelled, “Get off me!” He shoved me away with enough strength I sailed until I hit the counter where I’d prepped many a meal with my mother. The impact caused a grunt, and pain bloomed through my torso. I hit the floor in an ungainly heap.
“Grab her!” the leader commanded. “Don’t let her—”
The leader never did finish that sentence because, without thinking, I’d grabbed a kitchen knife and ran at him, plunging it where I could reach, which proved to be a rather unfortunate location.
For him.
He squealed, much like the pigs under the butcher’s knife. I felt no remorse.
An arm wrapped around me and lifted me off the ground. I kicked my feet, twisting as best I could in the grip of the man holding me. I couldn’t fight the strength of that arm. It banded me too tight. It left only my sharp teeth to tear into flesh. I bit hard enough to taste blood.
A shrill scream accompanied my sudden drop to the floor, where I dove for the fireplace poker. My fingers scrabbled to grab, and I swung wildly. The rod connected, and the soldier I’d hit smirked, unimpressed with my feeble blow.
He tore the poker from me and advanced with an ugly scowl. “Stay still and this doesn’t have to hurt.”
If I listened, I’d be dead. Not today.
I darted to the left, but he proved quicker than expected. He grabbed hold of my hanging braid and my feet jerked out from under me. I gasped at the sharp pain in my scalp. Tears pricked my eyes as he dragged me upright. He dangled me and leered. “Maybe I’ll take a minute to show you what it means to be a woman before I send you on your way.”
I was beyond the point of terror and desperate for a way to survive. “Please,” I begged, needing more time. A chance.
He threw me to the floor, and upon impact, I lost my breath. I’d landed beside my mother, and I couldn’t look into her lifeless face. I turned my head as I rolled and got to my knees. The killer grabbed my ankle and dragged me closer.
My fingers dug uselessly at the floor, looking for something, anything, to help. The kitchen knife remained buried to the hilt, out of reach, and yet I stretched my fingers as if it would magically get closer.
Rough hands pushed at my nightgown, exposing my legs. I ignored the touch and kept staring at the knife. If only I could grab it. It would give me a chance. I could fight.
The hands disappeared only because they worked the fabric of his trousers. I’d run out of time.
I needed the knife.
Now!
Inside my head I screamed and closed my eyes as my legs were wrenched apart.
A hilt hit my palm, and the moment my fingers curled around it, I swung. The blade entered the man’s side, but I didn’t stop with just one puncture. The soldier threw himself away from me, but I followed, driving the knife into his body again and again.
By the time I’d stopped, he lay across the ruined threshold of the door, bloody, his eyes unseeing.
Dead, just like my mother.
I crawled to her and cradled her head in my lap, sobbing. I was still sobbing when too many soldiers to count filled the room and took in the carnage.
I was arrested. A mere child of nine. And I couldn’t even deny the crime, not with the blood on my hands and spattered on my face.
They threw me into the dungeon along with the other criminals, hardened men and women who eyed me with curiosity. With an intensity that made my skin crawl and my gorge rise, one whispered, “Ain’t you a pretty thing. I think I shall play with you.”
I didn’t think I’d enjoy his idea of fun. Perhaps I should tell him what happened to the soldier that just tried to force me. It proved to be unnecessary. For all his subtle threats, he remained far from me, most likely because one of the women—older than the rest and missing most of her teeth—murmured something to him.
The bells outside tolled the late hour, and one by one, the prisoners slept. All but me. I sat huddled, my arms around my bent legs. Shivering. Not so much in cold but misery.
Mother was gone. Killed before my very eyes. It would forever haunt me. I’d loved her, unlike my aloof father who’d rarely had a kind word for me. She was my everything, and without her, I had no one. Not that it would matter. I’d probably hang for killing the emperor’s men.
No one around me stirred when the soft scuff alerted me of someone’s approach. A single torch remained burning, only barely enough light to make out the person that arrived swathed head to toe in a voluminous cloak. They stopped in front of the bars and said nothing, but I could feel the stare despite the deep cowl.
The voice emerged distinctly male and smooth. “You are the Jaamanian girl who killed two soldiers.”
Should I deny it? Not much point since I was the only young child in the place.
I nodded.
“How?”
“I stabbed them.”
“Two grown men?” he questioned.
I shrugged. “They killed my mother.”
“What did she do?”
As if she’d have broken any laws. She’d always been strict on obedience. “Nothing. They wanted me.” Or so it seemed even as it made no sense.
“And yet you foiled their kidnapping.”
“And rape,” I interrupted softly. I’d not forgotten that terrifying moment.
“You pose an interesting dilemma. Do you want to live, child?”
Stupid question. “Of course, I do.”
“What if you had to leave this place, this country, and never return?”
“I have nothing here.”
“Are you willing to work hard?”
A burning curiosity filled me. Better than the apathy I’d been sinking into. I stood and approached the bars. “Who are you?”
“A man in need of an apprentice.”
I stared upward and shivered. Not in fear but sudden anticipatory hope. “What’s your trade?”
“Death.”
Receive death or deal in it. Those were my choices.
“I accept.”

Chapter One

Decades later, far from Jaaman, in the country of Zcania …
The rooftop gaped empty and unguarded, which, given the sizeable bounty on the wharf-master’s head, surprised me. But I wouldn’t complain, as it would make collecting easier. These days we were fighting for jobs, with me completing most of them. My fellow assassins hated that I kept beating them to the kill. Too bad. I saw no reason to downplay my skills. They should take it as an indication they should improve.
My soft-soled boots made for a quiet tread across the clay-baked tiles, still warm from the day’s sun. The winters were as cold as the summers were hot, hence the massive chimney that serviced the large building consisting of warehouse storage on the main level, living quarters on the second.
I’d scouted ahead of time and knew exactly which window the wharf-master slept behind. Indiscreet idiot had messed with the wrong nobleman’s son.
Not my problem.
The rope with its clawed end wrapped around the chimney, and I used it to drop down over the edge of the roof until my feet found purchase on the sill outside the window. The shutters had been left open, as had the glass-paned window, to take advantage of any breezes coming off the sea.
Not even a squeal warned of my entry into the bedroom. My feet landed with the barest of thuds. I paused and listened, only to hear the distinctive snores of two people.
With a soft tread, I made my way to the side of the bed and saw the two huddled shapes. The description I’d gathered made it easy to know which of the two required killing.
Unfortunately, the one I didn’t eliminate slept light and woke as I wiped off my dagger. I hated sheathing bloody weapons. It took forever to clean the leather.
“Who are you? What are you doing?” The young man’s query led to me eyeing his lover, a woman who could have been his grandmother. No wonder his parents were upset.
“Taking care of business.”
“You killed her!” A high-pitched panicky huff. “Are you going to kill me, too?”
“I am only being paid for her. I don’t work for free.”
The young man clutched the blanket as if I would ogle his skinny chest. “What will happen to me?”
“Nothing because you’re going to go home and I will collect my payment.”
“I am never going home. They want to force me to marry some simpering girl.” He grimaced as if it were the worst thing in the world.
“So what if they do? Easiest solution for you is to marry a girl they like, put an heir in her, and have your old mistress on the side like normal married couples do.”
“But—”
I waved a hand. “Figure it out. I’m done here.” I left the same way I arrived, climbing the rope back to the roof and only managing to barely miss the swinging sword.
“That was my prize,” complained an idiot named Zherman. A recent addition to the guild, he thought himself more talented than he was.
“Too late. I took care of it.”
“Did you? Because if you’re dead, then it could easily be me collecting.”
He lunged, and I swayed to the side, using his momentum to toss him over the edge of the warehouse. The water, while filthy, wouldn’t kill him—although if he swallowed it, an infection might.
I coiled my rope. The thin, yet strong spider silk cost me a pretty coin. As I walked the length of the building, a motion distracted me. I glanced to see something fly across the moon.
Could it be one of the famed fire salamanders? Supposed winged lizards that lived on the volcano islands far out to sea. An unverified legend since no one actually went out that far and returned to tell the tale.
A whistle of wind had me looking around, left, right. Too late I glanced upward just as something large slammed into me and knocked me off balance.
I fell from the building and landed with a splash.

Chapter Two

My dip in the wharf didn’t kill me; however, it left me in a sour mood. Especially since I had to do an embarrassing squish-walk back to the guild because I’d lost a boot. My favorite boot, custom made, comfortable, practical, and difficult to replace. At my age—thirty-three years and with three plucked gray hairs that I’d told no one about—it was less about style and more about comfort.
At least no one bothered me as I stomped into the building wet, very annoyed, but, at the same time, triumphant. After all, I had accomplished my task. As I entered the guild, I slapped the massive desk to the left of the entrance.
Despite wanting to ignore me, Benji, the guild’s notary and accountant, couldn’t without looking like a horse’s ass. Sporting an expression of disdain, he glanced at me, his spectacles perched on the end of his nose. Lips pursed in disapproval.
“You’re dripping on the floor,” Benji complained.
“Glad to see you’re concerned about my wellbeing. I’m fine, thank you.”
“My only concern is if we’re going to be presented with a bill for damages.” Benji only paid attention to the financial bottom line, tight-fisted to the extreme, but I could grudgingly admit he managed the almost impossible and kept us afloat.
Times were tough these days, hence why I was killing people whose only crime was falling in love.
Hmm. When thought of in that respect, that made it sound tawdry.
Beneath me.
I’d get over it. The coin I’d earn would vastly help in that area.
I reported. “The wharf-master is dead, as per the contract request. Although a certain lord’s son might be traumatized.”
The most dramatic sigh surged from Benji. “Why must you insist on being indiscreet?”
“First off, the parents were supposed to have locked up the young lord. And second, if I’d not done it, it would have been someone else.”
“I’d have preferred anyone else, because then I’d not have to deal with the lord who is supposed to be paying us. You’ve probably cost us a portion,” he rebuked with a scowl.
“Only if the little lord complains.”
“I’ll send someone to waylay and remind him how foolish he’d appear if word were to get out he’d done nothing to protect his lover.”
“Cheaper I assume than what daddy lord would cost us?”
“Much.”
“You always find a solution to ensure we can enjoy a lavish lifestyle,” I complimented. We might not like each other, but I needed Benji to keep the funds coming.
“Speaking of lavish, you might want to tone down the spending. In case you haven’t noticed, the jobs are coming in less and less frequently.”
“I was thinking of that earlier. It’s been kind of quiet. Do I need to kill a few random people to cause some panic?”
“That would draw the sultan’s attention. You know he allows only very little crime to happen. Just enough to remind people why they still want his soldiers around.”
“They wouldn’t even know it was me. I could frame someone and really start some trouble to get business going.”
His lips pursed. “You’re too old to still be acting like this. And the only reason you’re getting away with it is because of your relationship to the master.”
I snorted. “The master hasn’t been around in months. Admit it, you love what I do because I am good for business. Speaking of which, has there been further talk about electing a new master?”
“No need since we already have one.”
My brows raised. Only one reason he’d say that. “Benji, you sly bastard. Is Jrijori back from his sabbatical?”
My teacher, the one who’d rescued me from a prison so long ago, had left months ago to reset his mind and spirit. Not the first time he’d done this. I had to wonder what he did during those excursions because, whatever it involved, he returned looking healthier, usually richer, and ready for life changes.
“Master Jrijori has indeed returned and is in his office going over the reports since his departure.”
I pushed away from Benji’s desk. “He’s probably anxious to see me.”
“The master asked to not be disturbed.”
“By everyone else. He won’t mind a visit from his top journeyer and adopted orphan. Don’t worry, I’ll put in a good word for you.” I winked. “Be sure to have my funds deposited in my account before morning. I might have some shopping to do.”
A caravan had recently arrived with goods. Maybe some new blades. I could always use more. Maybe some armor, too.
I could feel Benji’s glare burning into my back. The man never did like me even as he used me. He hated the master, too, because he’d been positioned to become leader until Jrijori arrived. He’d transferred from another guild and took over as master. Benji couldn’t rise any higher without fighting. He bided his time, which was why he didn’t deserve the position. Only the strongest should lead a guild of killers.
This wasn’t the first guild Jrijori took over since he’d rescued me. In the beginning, he’d freelanced in a city, only to realize the steady gig would profit us more in the long run. He joined a guild. Didn’t like taking orders so he rose in the ranks and took over. Once master, it wasn’t hard to transfer that reputation when we moved to new places. As to when and why we moved, it was random, with Jrijori suddenly announcing the relocation. Aluztha had been the place we’d stayed in longest. A steady home with a few friends. The ones I’d carefully allowed to get close had moved on from the bounty hunting and the assassination game to form families and start boring businesses. How did a man who could accurately shoot a bow farther than should be possible sell cheese and look happy?
I had no interest in settling down with anyone. No children desired either. They made me uncomfortable. Especially the small ones. I preferred the older ones, the teens who could understand if I gave them an order.
The main guild hall held a few long rows of tables and chairs. Most were empty, but not because the mercenaries living here had jobs. Recruitment numbers were down. Lack of work because the city had gotten too nice. Stupid sultan, bringing peace and order to the country.
My steps took me to the middle of the room, where a set of stairs rose, zigzagging to the next floor and the sleeping quarters for those who lived inside the guild. Not me. I had my own place rather than a closet-sized room.
The stairs went up another level, the third floor being turret-like with an excellent view of the city. But I eschewed the climb. Why knock on the master’s door like a normal person and wait for him to bid me entry? He’d expect better from me. After all, he’d taught me Don’t ever be predictable.
It reminded me of the first time we met in that dungeon.
“I accept,” I’d said with no hesitation. After all, he offered me a way out of that cell.
“It won’t be an easy life, nor a gentle one,” he countered.
“Still better than dying. And I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“You will have to work hard. There is much to learn when it comes to being an assassin.”
My eyes widened. “You kill bad people?”
Apparently not the right thing to say, which resulted in a chilly reply. “That would be a vigilante. I am an assassin.”
“What’s the difference?” I’d asked, curious because the two seemed the same.
“An assassin acts for money, not a cause.”
At the time, my nine-year-old self didn’t grasp the difference and didn’t care. I glanced at my hands, still stained in blood, my clothes crusted in it. I should probably feel remorse about what I’d done. I didn’t. Just wished I’d been faster so my mother didn’t have to die.
“Teach me how to kill,” I said. Because, while young, I understood only luck kept me alive.
“First lesson is that the meting out of death is an art.”
My nose wrinkled. “I’m not good at art.”
He actually chuckled. “And yet you painted a vivid canvas from what I heard. With my guidance, I’ll teach you how to conduct masterpieces using the right tools.” And as if to compound his point, he pulled free a short blade comprised of a strange, dark substance that didn’t glint despite the single torch left lit.
“What kind of metal is that?” I’d only ever seen the gray kind, dull or shiny depending on its use.
“It’s elekium, an element so strong it can only be forged in the heart of a volcano.”
“Is it sharp?”
“You tell me.” He’d swung his blade across the bars. Once high. The second time, low.
It barely made a sound, and nothing happened. “Did you miss?”
“Do you often ask stupid questions?” As if his disdain were a signal, the bars he’d sliced across fell out, tumbling to the floor in a clatter.
A glance over my shoulder showed everyone still sleeping. Odd. Then again, this entire evening hadn’t gone as imagined.
The hole, big enough for me, gaped in welcome, but I hesitated.
“What are you waiting for?”
I glanced upward, trying to see inside the cowl. “Who are you?”
“You may call me Master Jrijori. As my apprentice, if you work hard, one day maybe you’ll be as good an assassin as me.”
My thin chest puffed. “I’ll be better.”
He snorted. “Doubtful. Shall we, little blade?” He stepped aside and gave me room to emerge.
I followed and never looked back.
Almost twenty-five years later and we remained together, a master and his student, who not long after my rescue became father and daughter. He was a strict man who had me calling him “master” in public because he was perverse that way. He was lucky I tolerated him. Good thing I loved him. I especially loved trying to surprise him.
I eyed the closet in the room I entered on the second floor. It had a secret passageway in the space between the walls. I could have taken it to the closet that emerged in Jrijori’s private quarters beside his office. Too easy and not the only secret entrance the master’s office had. The plaster medallion in his office ceiling could swing down and offer a quick access to the crawlspace of an attic. Then of course there were the windows, which could be barred to secure the room as well.
Everything in the guild, in our lives, came with an escape route or defense plan. The life of an assassin meant sleeping with one eye open and trusting no one. Although it had been years since anyone tried to kill me. Used to be ours was a precarious profession. And then, between us, Father and I scared everyone into leaving us alone.
Be the best or be dead. The rule for anyone who dealt in a deadly currency. Now I killed boring folk in their beds.
I missed the days we went after pirates. I’d had a grand time for several years, sailing the seas and infiltrating the pirate settlements. Not only did we make a fortune off of the pirates, we collected a massive reward from the king for securing the seas. As a souvenir, Jrijori kept the eye patch he used to wear during those days.
The good ol’ days. I hadn’t gone sailing in a long time. Probably a good thing. Rumors indicated there’d been issues with boats disappearing. People claiming it was monsters suddenly rising from the deep. The sailors certainly claimed the waters had gotten more dangerous. Still, a tentacle wider than a man?
More likely a storm. And yet, I couldn’t help but recall the giant bird that slammed into me on the roof. Could it be some creatures thought extinct had returned?
That was as ridiculous as the rumors magic was now surfacing. I’d heard claims the Jaamanian emperor’s grand vizier wielded power. More like he knew how to manipulate events to his advantage. The rumors also stated the grand vizier had the emperor dancing like a puppet on a string. As if I cared. I’d left my homeland with Jrijori a long time ago and never looked back.
I glanced out the window of the room I’d entered and tilted to peek upward. The third floor, smaller than the second, was mostly office, with windows on three sides. The private bedchamber and bathing room were closed off on one side only. The roof and its chimney were my destination. To get there, I’d have to climb between the bedroom and bath area windows. So long as the master remained in his office, I’d not be seen.
I was counting on Jrijori not knowing about recent repairs. We’d had the chimneys rebricked, the new stuff a little more expensive but sturdier. Also less than half the size of the previous bricks. It added a bit more space around. Tight for a full-grown man, but someone slim like me? I inched partway down the chimney and then dropped, hitting the cold hearth with bended knees and dagger out.
The master had the tip of his sword at my throat even before I’d blinked. “About time you joined me, daughter.”
“Father.” I bowed my head in greeting as he pulled back his sword. I never did manage to surprise him. “I see old age hasn’t rendered you incapable yet.”
“More like you’re just too slow.” Pause. “Still.”
All my life he’d been telling me to go faster, and I improved at his urging, yet he always remained a little bit ahead of me. If I believed in magic, I’d think he used it.
My lips curved. “It’s nice to have you back.”
His craggy features twisted into his version of a smile. “Is it? I hear you’ve been taunting Benji again and that you embarrassed the latest recruits.”
I snorted. “Benji shouldn’t be whining, what with the percentage he gets from my profits. And as for the latest batch of newbies, they’re useless.”
“Surely there’s one with potential to be more than a mercenary?”
“Only if you want to be known for being sloppy.” I wrinkled my nose.
The guild my father currently managed was known as the Guild of Excellent Blades. Publicly, we hired out mercenaries to whoever had the coin: caravans, lords and ladies feeling a little targeted. Less well known, we also dealt in assassins. Not many since most didn’t live long. As to recruiting more, the skill set required was rare, and few recruits, if any, survived the training phase.
It was a source of pride that I was the youngest trained assassin of record, although Jrijori beat me on the longevity in the field.
My father drummed his fingers on his desk, agitated. “Today’s children lack the hard edge of yesteryears. The wars of their forefathers are too far away. There is plenty of food and shelter. The sultan is annoyingly good.”
“If you don’t mind a foppish fool.” I’d seen him a time or two, a jolly fellow who talked to everyone with a smile. One of his laws was that no one went hungry.
“The people like him. They enjoy living their lives without worry or strife. They’re happy, which means less work for us and the reason why we’re relocating.”
I blinked. “What?” Talk about sudden.
“As if you didn’t guess that was why I left. I was scouting out new possibilities, given the jobs we’ve been receiving of late have been mediocre and a waste of our talent.”
“We make steady coin guarding caravans.” I could also do it half asleep.
“Any idiot with a weapon can do that. You and I are too skilled to be content with that.”
“Because those trained in death can only be satisfied if they stalk the night.” An oft repeated mantra of my teacher. Jrijori taught the older ways of the assassin’s guild.
“You are not being fulfilled. Neither of us is.”
“Speak for yourself. I killed someone tonight.”
“That was a pathetic job, and you know it. There was a time we never would have entertained it.”
“Things are a little slow,” I admitted.
“We are wasting away. Which is why I am relocating. You coming or not?”
As if there was any question. He was my only family. Only friend. Only person I trusted.
“Where?” Because while a form of mercenary guild existed in practically every major city, only a few dealt in the deadlier arts. Some places, like Varyy, had banned assassins entirely. Even mercenaries could only visit with a contract showing their purpose, and it better be legitimate or they might find themselves arrested and sent to the mines.
“Varyy.” Stated, not asked.
“Is that your idea of a joke? It’s the one country in the center of three fighting factions that has a law against assassins and an instant death penalty to those caught breaking it.” A big reason why we didn’t do business there.
“Their very laws are why it’s perfect. Think of the advantages on all sides. The threat of skirmishes all around. Power plays and positioning. So much opportunity.”
“With a constant threat of arrest,” I added. How exciting. “When do we leave?”
“How long do you need to say goodbye?”
I snorted. “None since we’re going together.” There was no one else I cared about. The few friends I had were all retired or dead.
“Then we’ll leave within the hour.”
It didn’t take me that long. My saddlebags with my spare clothes, armor, and knives thumped down the steps, drawing eyes. It scraped as I dragged it over the floor. No one offered to help. They’d better not and imply I was weak. More like I’d accumulated a lot of stuff.
As I headed for the door, I realized there was one person I wanted to say goodbye to. Whirling, I marched over to Benji, grabbed him, and dragged him close enough to smash a slobbery kiss on his lips.
The man couldn’t stand bodily fluids of any type, which made his choice of where to work all the more confounding. He jerked away and rubbed his face furiously, cursing and spitting.
Jrijori stood cloaked by the door and shook his head slightly as I neared. “Was that necessary?”
“Totally.”
“Try to behave once we get to Feoria.” The capital of Varyy and soon to be our new home.
My lips quirked. “I thought the point of moving was to spice up our lives.”
“Preferably with our heads intact.”
We squabbled good-naturedly, but only where no one could hear us. Anyone looking would have seen two angry people waving around sharp knives. We did have an appearance to maintain after all.
Our horses stood saddled in the courtyard. I glanced down at my very heavy bags and the poor mare I couldn’t torture. I looked at the boy handling the reins to our steeds and heaved my belongings in his direction. “Have this sent to—” I eyed Jrijori. “Give him the address.”
“Sell it and get new stuff. We both know you’re wearing your best.”
True. I sighed. “Fine. Boy, tell Benji to sell this and keep twenty percent for his troubles.” I flicked him a coin, and we were on our way. As we exited the city walls, the traffic lessened enough to talk.
“Who’d you leave in charge?” I asked.
“No one. Thought we’d give ourselves a little time to fit in before we made our departure official.”
That roused a snort. “Please, we both know we’re not going back.”
He’d lowered his cowl so I could see his amusement. “True. Even living on the road would be preferable to that dull trap we fell into.”
“We were getting practically domestic,” I agreed. My sheets were laundered once a week. Cook served bacon every third day.
“We’ll have to be on our guard in Feoria. They are strict about enforcing their laws.”
“And yet people still commit crime.”
“Because it’s profitable,” he said.
“Meaning there are probably already assassins in the city.”
“Yes, but not many. Our services will be in demand.”
“Only if people know to hire us,” I pointed out.
“That won’t be a problem.”
It took a week of travel to make it to Varyy, a well-protected country comprised of a massive island surrounded by a sea of deadly tar. It bubbled too hot for flesh and too thick for boats. The only way to get there was via the single land bridge bisecting the boiling black pitch guarded by the Varyy army at both ends. A polite group of soldiers but nonetheless there to ensure we didn’t intend to cause trouble or bring trouble with us to the neutral country. I had to let them count and make note of all my weapons.
When the captain asked why a pretty girl needed so many knives, I held one to his chin and said, “Call me pretty again and I will show you.”
Lucky for him, he accepted Jrijori’s bribe rather than arrest us. We were granted passage with a warning about not starting trouble. As if. We usually were the people sent in to end it.
Once within the Varyy borders, it took several more days to make it to the capitol, most of it over flatlands so boring I snoozed in my saddle. I probably deserved being dumped out of it because I’d never heard Jrijori get close enough to shove. The easy life I’d been leading of late had ruined my natural instinct. I needed to hone it, or I’d be taken out by the first pickpocket.
When we finally arrived at the city of Feoria with its twenty-foot-tall and five-foot-thick walls, I would admit to being impressed. Not just at the sturdy construction of the palisade but the beautiful city within. White stone rose in fluting combinations that were graceful and worked harmoniously with the greenery prevalent on every street. There were cleverly disguised holes for archers and grates by front doors that sat above pits of spikes.
In Aluztha, where we’d spent the last decade, the homes were built to withstand the harsh storms that rolled in from the sea a few times a year. The exteriors, chewed by salty wind and rains, always appeared pitted and discolored no matter how often and brightly residents painted.
But Feoria didn’t appear to have the same natural disasters affecting it. Here was beauty and functionality in one.
Blame the mixture of people. Since our oceans disgorged nothing but marine life to eat, there wasn’t much diversity of origin, but a place built in the center of many distinct nationalities offered a pool of accents, appearances, and opinions, although everyone behaved in public, where the soldiers kept a close eye. Those with arguments did it away from prying eyes in buildings or alleys.
I took it all in as we made our way through the neatly ordered streets. Saw the wealth as we neared the center of the city where the nobles resided, including us, the merchant and his daughter.
Jrijori, dressed for his role, had to ditch his dark cloak and wore a rich blue jacket over dark pants a and dark shirt. My clothing was just as rich, if a dress, given that was what a proper lady would wear. I suffered the skirts but only because they had pockets for my knives and poison.
Eyeing my new home, a building of three stories with a shop on the main level, I smiled.
Here’s to a new and exciting life.

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The Desert King’s Spy

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Book Cover: The Desert King's Spy
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Part of the Magic and Kings series:
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An epic fantasy romance with monsters and magic.

She was hired to spy on the King, not get dragged on a quest.

Asharee lost her family in a monster attack and learned to survive on the streets. It’s a hard life, so when she’s offered a chance to escape, she decides to look past the reputation of the person offering.

Best decision ever.

While a house of pleasure might seem like a bad place for a young woman, the truth is Asharee’s never been safer. The gradeenas protect their tizanas. And so she learns how to entice, to dance, to seduce with her eyes and a shake of her hips. But what happens later in the privacy of her room…

It’s only an illusion because Asharee’s mentor taught her alchemy. With her potions, she can make her clients believe the fantasy she weaves with words—and get them to spill their secrets.

When an old friend asks her to spy on the king, she must resort to a disguise to get close enough. Only he’s not as expected. For one, Daksh sees right through her deception.

And still wants her.

Together, they will travel to a place long forgotten to try and save a kingdom. They will face a peril unlike any. Be tested to their limits.

And if they prevail, they will have to figure out if there’s a future for a spy and her king.

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Published: 2022-08-30
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
epic fantasy, Fantasy Romance, magic and sorcery, Romantasy, royalty romance
Tags:
english
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The Pirate Queen’s Captive

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Book Cover: The Pirate Queen's Captive
Find a StoreAmazon/KindleApple BooksBarnes and NobleGooglePlayKoboAudiobook
Part of the Magic and Kings series:
  • The Barbarian King’s Assassin
  • The Desert King’s Spy
  • The Pirate Queen’s Captive
  • The Warlord’s Lady
  • Magic and Kings Collection One (Books 1 – 3)

Assassins aren’t supposed to be heroes.

It should have been a simple task: sail the ocean, dump some dangerous stones, and return to his daughter’s side—only Jrijori didn’t count on being abducted.
Kind of embarrassing given he’s supposed to be a renowned assassin, but he doesn’t mind once he realizes who’s taken him captive.
Zora never forgave Jrijori for trying to kill her father and fleeing. Now that she’s a Queen without an island to rule, she’s turned to pirating to make ends meet. However, what if she could free her home from the monsters infesting it?
Does she even want to?
She might not get a choice, as magical forces are at work, determined to use her whether she agrees or not.
Will she prevail, or will this pirate Queen lose everything?

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Published: 2023-01-03
Genres:
epic fantasy, Fantasy Romance, killer hero, magic and sorcery, older hero, older heroine, pirate romance, Romantasy, royalty romance, second chance romance
Tags:
english
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