Samantha MacLeod's Blog, page 8
December 31, 2018
Happy New Year!
The perfect time to gather around in our pajamas, drink tea, snuggle the pets, and fall asleep before 9. Oh, and write a self-indulgent blog post (like this one, and this one).
That’s right, I party like a rock star, people!
2018 has been a great year for the world of Samantha MacLeod. I’m still gainfully employed as a writing and philosophy teacher, still the mother of two not-so-small children (4 and 8), and still churning out the mythology-inspired smut!
Publishing
I released two novels in 2018, both part of The Loki Series .
The Wolf’s Lover, my paranormal romance set in Yellowstone National Park, came out in February.
The Trickster’s Song, a tragedy from Loki’s past that was inspired by the myth of Idunn’s golden apples, was released this fall.
You can also now buy The Loki Series in a nifty box set.
[image error]
I also released two short stories.
Both of which are now part of my first ever short story collection, Legends and Lovers!
[image error]
And I published a poem!!!!
Medusa’s Song, the rage poem I wrote during Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation hearing, was accepted into Blunderwoman Production’s Nevertheless We Persisted Me Too Anthology. I’ll be shouting that from the rooftops next year, I promise.
Two novels, two short stories, a box set, and a short story collection.
Good show, 2018!
Now, I’m off to bed. Happy New Year’s, my virtual friends! 
December 28, 2018
Who is Fenris?
The first book in The Fenris Series comes out on January 21st.
But you can add it to your Goodreads TBR list today!
Promised to cruel King Nøkkyn’s harem, Sol Eriksen is out of options, and nearly out of time.
When she meets a distractingly handsome stranger in the Ironwood Forest who claims to be a legendary monster, Sol thinks he must be a madman, or a demon. She knows she shouldn’t listen to him. Or trust him. And she should not, under any circumstances, kiss him again.
As King Nøkkyn’s grip around her tightens, Sol finds her last chance at freedom may lie with her mysterious new lover, the man who calls himself Fenris.
Click here to find The Monster’s Lover on Goodreads!
[image error]
Like what you’ve read? Join my newsletter and I’ll send you a free copy of Tam Lin, my sexy modern take on the Scottish folktale.
December 26, 2018
“A perfect escape from a cold winter night.”
Whatever you celebrate during the darkest time of the year, I hope it’s lovely.
December 17, 2018
Pa rum pum pum pum…
I am officially Not a Holiday Person. (Click here for more about that.)
But right now, I am so totally feeling the holiday spirit. Why?
Because last weekend my husband took me to Lava, a fondue restaurant and show lounge, for their Jingle Boobs Burlesque. And trust me, it was AWESOME!
[image error]Yes, the entrance is hidden behind a bookcase
A few takeaways…
I have a new favorite Christmas song: I Know What You Want for Christmas (But I Don’t Know How to Wrap It, Dear) by Kay Martin
Wearing reindeer antlers while dancing to Nine Inch Nail’s Closer is f’ing brilliant
The Grinch song makes a surprisingly good striptease anthem
And, finally, what they did with The Little Drummer Boy made my bitter little Grinch-like heart swell a whole three sizes.
[image error]
If you’re ever in Maine, my virtual friend, you owe it to yourself to check out Lava. 
December 14, 2018
The New Priest of Dunquin: First Chapter
Oh, he had such a wonderful laugh! He had a great many wonderful things about him, understand, but that laugh! It was like angels singing, like all the bells of heaven rang just for me. He laughed easily, my John, and far more often than was proper.
I was prepared to hate him. Hating came easily when I was sixteen and filled with the useless rage of poverty. The Church in their infinite wisdom decided to send one John Calhoun, young, handsome, and brimming with potential, to the far end of the Dingle Peninsula.
Now the Peninsula’s a bit of a tourist destination, I understand. It was not at the time. It was the end, the very far ends of the earth.
Our last priest died unexpectedly the previous autumn, so the flock in our small town had been without a shepherd for several months. That was, my parents assured me, why I’d gone so wrong. Why I raged against life on the Peninsula, which had been good enough for them, saints bless it, and good enough for my grandparents and my great-grandparents and my great-great-grandparents.
And the lack of a priest was the only reason Ma and Da could imagine why I’d refuse to marry Patrick Dougal.
It could have nothing to do with the fact that Patrick Dougal seemed one step away from a simpleton, always answering any question with a long pause and then, “Huh,” a sound so close to a sheep’s bleat it made me imagine the Dougals had bred with mutton somewhere far back in the line. Or the fact that young Patrick’s face was pale and lumpy, like bread still rising, or that, if we married, I knew we’d be living with his witch of a mother, whose shrieks the entire village could hear rising over the cliffs like the evening mist.
Oh no, my flat-out ungodly refusal to marry could be laid squarely on the shoulders of our winter-long lack of a proper priest. And so, when John Calhoun finally came to tend to the faithful of Dunquin, my parents marched me there straight away.
The new priest was not what I expected. He’d arrived late in the night, taking the train to its very last stop and then meeting old widow O’Conner to travel the rutted roads in her ancient Rover. By daybreak, there was already a line of parishioners waiting to unburden their sins in the ancient stone church. Apparently, it had been quite an eventful winter. By the time Ma and Da finally dragged me into his study, it was getting on tea time.
Father John. How can I describe what waited for me inside that door? He’d come all the way from seminary in Dublin, and he looked like the city. He was elegant where everyone around me was coarse, and delicate where everything in my life seemed so harsh. I’d never before known a man could be beautiful, but Father John was beautiful, even more so than red-haired Meg, the darling of all the boys in Dunquin and the envy of all the girls.
I tried not to stare at him as Da explained the problem.
“So, Father, if you could find it in your heart to, well, explain things to her,” he said, fumbling with the words as his cheeks flared red.
“It would be my pleasure,” the priest said, without so much as a glance in my direction. He made a careful note in the book on his desk. “Please send the young lady in my direction next Wednesday.”
[image error]
Enjoyed the first chapter?
You can read all of The New Priest of Dunquin in the short story collection Legends & Lovers, which comes out on 12/18.
Click here to pre-order for $2.99!
Like what you’ve read? Join my newsletter and I’ll send you a free copy of Tam Lin, my sexy modern take on the Scottish folktale.
December 7, 2018
Tempting Fenris Wolf: First Chapter
“You’re feeding the monster tonight?”
I jumped. As usual, Óðinn had managed to sneak up on me. Not that I’d been doing anything suspicious, just filling a bag with loaves of bread in the middle of Val-hall’s expansive kitchens, but still. My father always made me feel like I’d been caught in the middle of something humiliating.
“I am,” I replied.
Carefully, I settled a thick, dark round of rye on top of the pile of bread in the sack. Only once I’d knotted the top together did I turn to face Óðinn.
“We’re still bringing him mead?” Óðinn asked. His one pale blue eye glinted like flint in the torchlight.
“Yes. Of course.”
Óðinn grunted. That low rumble was the closest he ever came to approval.
“He’s quite a drinker,” Óðinn said. “You bring him a big barrel?”
I nodded. We’d started with the bread, after I’d reached out and established a relationship with the legendary monster wolf of the Ironwood forest. After a few years, Óðinn told me to start pushing the mead. It’s easier to control a man with mead than with bread, Óðinn insisted. I knew better than to disagree. Óðinn was, after all, an expert in controlling men.
So, once a month when the moon was full, I traveled alone to the Ironwood forest with a sack of bread and a big barrel of Val-hall’s mead. And, once a month, I collected the previous month’s barrel from Fenris.
It was always full. Perhaps Fenris had been a drinker in his previous life, before he ran away from his mother’s castle to live by himself among the trees of the Ironwood, but I’d never seen him drink more than one horn when we shared our meals, and that was frequently much less than what I drank when we got together. Before I returned to Asgard each month, I opened the tap on the big barrel and poured the golden mead of Val-hall into the swirling darkness of the Körmt river.
My father didn’t need to know everything.
“His wolf shape is getting bigger?” Óðinn pushed.
At this, an entirely inappropriate image of Fenris’s lean, muscular torso flashed through my mind. I shoved it away.
“Slowly,” I said, watching my father closely.
Óðinn has had a lifetime of guarding his emotions. Still, I thought I saw his lone eye widen slightly as I spoke. He still feared the monster of the Ironwood, then. I stifled a sigh. They all feared the monster wolf Fenris.
That’s how I’d ended up with this job, after all. It was my own damn fault. Many years ago, as we talked about the Fenris wolf from the safety of Val-hall, I laughed at my father and brothers’ fear. I wasn’t afraid, I told them all. In fact, I’d prove it.
That night I drank enough mead to drown a horse and marched into the Ironwood alone, calling the name of the legendary monster wolf of Jötunheimr. It wasn’t the stupidest thing I’d ever done in my long life, but it was probably in the top ten.
Looking back, I’m not sure what I’d expected to find when I staggered down the Bifröst and into the forest, drunk off my ass, waving my sword around and screaming at the top of my lungs. I spent almost an entire night stumbling beneath the trees, throwing rocks into the bushes, and screaming “Fenris! Show yourself, monster!”
Finally, when the mead’s warmth had started to wane and the growing realization of what an ass I’d made of myself had grown as inexorably as my hangover, something crashed in the woods behind me. I’d staggered into a warrior’s pose and pulled my sword from its scabbard. A moment later, a man had walked out of the trees, as naked as the day he was born, with both hands empty and upraised.
“Yes?” he’d said.
“Who the fuck are you?” I’d demanded.
An entire night wasted in the Ironwood with nothing to show for it, and the beginnings of yet another brutal hangover biting at my temples, had done nothing to sweeten my disposition.
The strange, naked man had run his fingers through a tangle of long, auburn hair as he’d grinned at me. “Well, you’ve been yelling my name all night. Was there something in particular you wanted, or do you just like screaming?”
I’d blinked as I tried to decide if he’d just insulted me. Yes, damn it, now that he stood in front of me in the thin, green-tinged light of the Ironwood’s canopy, I could see the man’s resemblance to Loki, Fenris’s sire. And it made sense that the monstrous Fenris wolf would have a man shape. He’d lived his entire childhood in Angrboða’s fortress, after all, and we’d never even heard rumors of any magical inclinations.
The naked man had rubbed the back of his neck as he tilted his head, examining me. An entirely inappropriate shiver of arousal had trickled down my spine, the first of many I’d try to supress around Fenris; Loki was damned handsome, after all, despite his oily personality. His son seemed to have inherited those incendiary good looks.
“You’re a little smaller than I expected,” I’d said.
The naked man had shrugged. If I’d offended him, he didn’t let it show.
“And I thought an envoy from my mother would be a bit more dignified,” he’d replied.
“Your mother?” I’d frowned, processing that one. “I’m not here for Angrboða.”
His eyes had widened. “Really? Then who are you here for?”
I’d laughed at that one. After hours of staggering drunkenly through the Ironwood, someone had finally asked me what the fuck I was doing.
“Trying to be a badass, I suppose,” I’d sighed. My sword had given a satisfying hiss as I sheathed it.
Our eyes had met just as dawn stretched its first golden fingers through the feathery branches of the Ironwood’s pines.
“Would you like something to eat?” he’d asked.
I’d wiped my hand across my mouth, which had begun to feel papery and thick. “Yeah. I would.”
A shadow had passed across his face, and he’d hesitated. “You’re truly not from Angrboða? If you are, I’ll give you a head start before running you out of the woods.”
I’d held my hands up in front of my chest, showing my open palms. “No, I’m not. I’m Týr Óðinnsen, of the Æsir.”
He’d whistled, and I’d felt absurdly flattered. “The Æsir don’t usually come to the Ironwood.”
“Yeah. I know. I’m…” I’d hesitated, but the truth of it had spilled out before I could stop myself. “I’m a fucking idiot.”
He’d laughed again, and I’d found myself smiling in response. The rest of the story had came so easily I might as well have been confiding in a friend.
“So, you got drunk and decided to hunt the Fenris wolf? Alone?” he’d finally asked, once I’d finished.
By this time he’d led me to a clearing next to a stream, where I’d washed and drank cold water to quench my headache while he’d built a fire and set a haunch of venison to roast.
“Pretty much,” I’d admitted.
“That does sound rather stupid.” He’d grinned as he’d twirled the venison spit above the fire. Grease dripped into the flames, crackling and hissing.
“They call me Týr the Brave,” I’d replied. “Not Týr the Clever.”
We’d both laughed again, and the scent of roasting meat filled the night. For a moment it was all so damned pleasant it had made my chest ache. For all the warriors in Asgard, at that moment it had occurred to me that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed this much without being drunk.
“Well, you found me,” Fenris had said as he pulled the spit closer to examine the meat.
He’d sunk his teeth into the meat and pulled off a strip before handing the wooden spit to me.
“Yes, but I was looking for a monster,” I’d replied.
His eyes had flashed, and for a moment I’d worried I’d said the wrong thing.
“Watch,” he’d said.
He had stood and stepped away from the firelight. A helpless sort of panic had risen in my throat. Damn it all, I’d liked him. What in the Nine Realms had I done to fuck things up this time?
“Wait—” I’d said, but my words had evaporated as a swirl of golden sparks began to obscure his tall, muscular body.
Inside the sparks, something grew. Something dark. I’d dropped the spit of venison and staggered to my feet, my heart hammering wildly between my ribs. By the time my sword was free of its scabbard, the thing had grown to half the height of the trees.
“Holy fuck,” I’d muttered.
The beast’s head had swung down, and pale eyes the size of cannonballs narrowed as they found me. Dark lips curled back to reveal jagged white teeth the length of my broadsword.
It was horrific.
I’d laughed at the cowardice of the Æsir and Vanir, those brave warriors who were too scared to venture into the Ironwood, but I hadn’t laughed then, as the monster stared at me beneath the trees. The numbed, calm detachment of the battlefield had settled over me, and I’d realized that I may have been staring at my own death.
“This monster?” the thing had growled.
Its voice was like a dark echo of the handsome, naked man’s. I’d straightened my back and stood tall before the monster. If I was about to die, I’d wanted to die as Týr the Brave. The beast stretched its neck to the sky, and I’d pulled in a deep breath, steadying my sword arm.
But, instead of lunging toward me, the monster’s body had shivered with another flurry of golden light. Tiny, dancing sparks had filled the air, drifting upward to join the pale stars. I’d narrowed my eyes, trying to focus on the creature behind the glimmering lights, but the looming darkness above the trees had emptied.
“What did you think?”
I’d snapped my attention to the far side of the fire. The naked man stood there, wearing a smile that was almost apologetic as he tilted his head to one side.
“It’s gotten a lot bigger since Angrboða’s castle,” he’d said. “But was it… I don’t know. Did it look like you expected?”
I’d let the breath out of my lungs in a huff. “Oh, fuck! I thought you were going to kill me!”
He’d frowned, then glanced at my feet. “What? Because you dropped the meat in the fire?”
I had laughed. The whole fucking thing was just so absurd, I couldn’t stop myself. I’d laughed until tears rolled down my cheeks, and then I’d slapped Fenris on the back and told him his monster wolf was the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen in my life. He’d told me they might need to stop calling me Týr the Brave then, and we’d both laughed together.
That night, after we’d roasted a second leg of venison but before I pulled myself together enough to use my meager magical talents to summon the Bifröst, I had asked if I could see him again. He’d said of course, that I’d always be welcome in the Ironwood. That one night was the foundation of my monthly visits. Not the bread I brought with me, or the mead of Val-hall. One night spent around a fire, laughing like old friends.
Yet another thing I saw no reason to share with my father.
“How big is he?” Óðinn asked suddenly, interrupting my thoughts.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Another image of Fenris’s handsome face, his long, auburn hair and high cheekbones, flickered across my consciousness, followed by the curve of his back, the way his hips—
I sank my teeth into my bottom lip and tried to force myself to concentrate. Fenris’s wolf form had grown larger and stronger, and my burgeoning attraction to Fenris’s wry sense of humor and brutal honesty only made it more difficult to ignore the way his lean, muscular body looked as he moved in the firelight before me.
“The wolf form is almost as tall as Val-hall’s roof,” I said. It was a bit of a stab in the dark, as I usually saw Fenris shift forms in the darkness of the Ironwood with no real frame of reference nearby.
Óðinn frowned and pressed his lips together in a tight, white line. Damn. Perhaps I should have said Fenris was smaller. I laced my fingers around the knot of the bread bag as I waited for Óðinn to say something. And waited. The silence between us pinched until it became almost painful.
“Well,” I finally said. “I’d better get going. We’re meeting at dusk.”
Óðinn’s pale eye snapped up to my face. “Týr,” he said, making my name sound like a curse. “Don’t get attached.”
My fist tightened around the laces of the bag.
“I’m not!” I snapped. “I don’t get attached. I’m a warrior, not a fucking poet.”
I pulled the bag of bread over my shoulders and marched out of the kitchen, giving my father a very wide berth. Oddly, Óðinn followed me as I went. His footsteps thudded behind me for several paces. I swallowed hard.
Val-hall’s mead was kept in the main feast hall. The barrels lined the wall; Óðinn made sure they were always full, and always in view. The mead cured hangovers and war injuries, both of which were common enough on Val-hall, but I knew their ready availability was about more than just their curative properties. Bread and mead are instruments of control, as my father had just said. And who would ever want to leave the plentiful mead of Val-hall?
I took a deep breath when I reached the last barrel and closed my eyes to focus on the strands of magic humming through Asgard. Magic doesn’t come easily to me. Unlike my brothers Baldr and Thor, I have to fucking work at it. But a full barrel of mead was far too heavy for me to lift by myself, and no one dared accompany me to the Ironwood, so I needed to use what magic I could muster to float the damn thing.
Unless. Shit. Óðinn had followed me all the way from the kitchens. Was he planning on following me into the Ironwood tonight? The feast hall suddenly felt cold. I lost my tenuous grip on Asgard’s magic and huffed in frustration before turning to face Óðinn.
“Yes?” I asked. “Is there something more?”
My father was still scowling as if he had some further reprimand in mind. His mouth moved behind his closed lips, almost as though he were chewing his words instead of spitting them out.
“You meet him in the woods?” Óðinn finally asked.
“Yes, of course,” I snapped. “And I’m supposed to be meeting him right now. So, unless you have any further comments—”
“Don’t scare him away,” Óðinn said.
I stopped, my mouth open, my mind scrambling to make sense of his words.
“Act like his friend,” Óðinn continued. “But don’t push him. I want the monster dependent on us. On you. I don’t want him bolting from the Ironwood.”
“Fine,” I said. “I won’t push him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a monster to feed.”
Óðinn raised his hands in front of his chest and stepped back. It looked like surrender, but I knew my father better than that. The All-father of Asgard never surrendered. He just lulled you into a false sense of security.
Still. My heart rattled against my ribs, and my clothes felt clammy with sweat. That had been damn close. I closed my eyes again and willed myself to breathe slowly, to focus on the magic, to lift the damn barrel and get out of here.
Because I wasn’t meeting Fenris in the forest.
Not tonight.
[image error]
Enjoyed the first chapter?
You can read all of Tempting Fenris Wolf in the short story collection Legends & Lovers, which comes out on 12/18.
Click here to pre-order for $2.99!
Like what you’ve read? Join my newsletter and I’ll send you a free copy of Tam Lin, my sexy modern take on the Scottish folktale.
November 30, 2018
COVER REVEAL: Legends & Lovers
A passionate one night stand sparks a struggle between two worlds.
A young Irish priest meets his match in the spirited woman he’s sent to tame.
And the Norse trickster Loki finds more than he bargained for when he partners with Thor to retrieve the Thunderer’s lost hammer…
[image error]
Sensual and poetic, this spellbinding collection of erotic stories and poetry from Samantha MacLeod transports you to a world where gods walk among mortals, the long-dead return to embrace the living, and the fires of passion burn bright enough to transform even the immortals.
[image error]
Legends and Lovers comes out 12/18, but you can pre-order now for only $2.99!
Click here to pre-order on Amazon
Click here to pre-order elsewhere
Like what you’ve read? Join my newsletter and I’ll send you a free copy of Tam Lin, my sexy modern take on the Scottish folktale.
November 20, 2018
Legends & Lovers Lineup Reveal!
A passionate one night stand sparks a struggle between two worlds. A young Irish priest meets his match in the spirited woman he’s sent to tame. And the Norse trickster Loki finds more than he bargained for when he partners with Thor to retrieve the Thunderer’s lost hammer.
Sensual and poetic, this spellbinding collection of erotic stories and poetry from Samantha MacLeod transports you to a world where gods walk among mortals, the long-dead return to embrace the living, and the fires of passion burn bright enough to transform even the immortals.
Legends & Lovers , my first short story collection, is coming soon!
[image error]
Here’s what you’ll find in Legends & Lovers:
Chastity
The New Priest of Dunquin
Other Highways
Persephone Remembers the Pomegranates
Don’t Look Back
The Trickster
The Betrothal Gift
Winning Freyja’s Cloak
Being with You
The Little Mermaid
The Ballad of Tam Lin
300 Days
Tempting Fenris Wolf
Going Home Again
Claiming Thor’s Hammer
Legends & Lovers comes out in December.
Stay tuned for more!
Like what you’ve read? Join my newsletter and I’ll send you a free copy of Tam Lin, my sexy modern take on the Scottish folktale.
November 14, 2018
The Loki Series Box Set
Until the Norse god Loki appears in her bedroom.
[image error]
Yes, you can now order ALL THE LOKI in one place!
The Loki Series Box Set includes three novels (The Trickster’s Lover, The Wolf’s Lover, and The Trickster’s Song); three short stories (Claiming Thor’s Hammer, Winning Freyja’s Cloak, and The Trickster); and one novella, The Trickster’s Honeymoon.
That’s over 300,000 words of Norse-inspired steamy urban fantasy romance.
[image error]
And it’s damn near everything I’ve written since 2016, bundled together in one big, beautiful box set.
Right now, you can pre-order the last two years of my life for $2.99, but the price is jumping up to $9.99 as soon as this behemoth goes live on 11/28.
Click here to pre-order The Loki Series on Amazon
Click here to pre-order The Loki Series elsewhere
Order now, and plan to spend your holidays with Loki…
[image error]
Like what you’ve read? Join my newsletter and I’ll send you a free copy of Tam Lin, my sexy modern take on the Scottish folktale.
November 9, 2018
The Night Watch: First Chapter
“Your Highness? It’s time.”
Prince Liam put down his book and nodded at the sailor in the doorway. He’d have to be completely deaf, and a total idiot to boot, to not notice the ship was approaching port. Sailors had been calling down the gangway all morning and pounding over the roof of his cabin. Still, he had to keep up appearances. And perhaps one of those appearances was being a total idiot.
“Thank you,” he said, coming to his feet.
Liam ducked his head to follow the sailor out of his cabin and up the steep, narrow staircase to the main deck. After nearly two weeks at sea, he could actually smell land—the tang of pine resin, smoke from the city of Cyon. His city.
Liam knew it was an inconvenience for him to be above-board at this time; docking was a delicate procedure. But still. He had to know. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes adjusted to the glare off the ocean, slowly bringing Cyon’s harbor into focus. A line of knights on the dock waited for him, their white pennants waving in the offshore breeze. He squinted, but it was impossible to recognize anyone from this distance.
Five years. It’s been five years.
When he left Cyon, he’d been fifteen. A boy, scarcely more than a child, fighting tears as he said good-bye to everything he’d ever known and stepped on the ship bound for the Academy of Alexria.
He didn’t come to see me off, Liam remembered. It still hurt, even after five long years. They’d grown up together, crown prince Liam and Cerdec, son of the First Knight. They’d been inseparable, playing together, training together, getting into trouble and trying to escape the punishment together. And the last time I saw him, we fought. Liam bit back a sigh.
“Your Highness,” Captain Roberts said, joining Liam on the railings. “I trust the voyage was to your liking?”
Liam nodded silently.
“Ah, she’s a beautiful city,” the captain said.
“Thank you, Captain.” Liam allowed himself a small smile. As though I’ve done anything to make the city beautiful. All I’ve ever done is cower in my father’s shadow. And leave.
“And it’s been a lovely voyage,” Liam said. I’ll give you credit for the weather, just as you gave me credit for the city.
Captain Roberts grinned, more than willing to accept the credit. “Of course, of course. It’s been an absolute pleasure having you on board. We’re more than happy to accommodate you again.”
Oh, I’m sure, thought Liam. He’d noticed the sailors grumbling as he was given the best food, the first pick of their wretched rotgut wine. And he was sure the captain had been positively thrilled to give up his own quarters to the spoiled blueblood from the Academy.
“I’ll give my father a most favorable report,” Liam said, extending his hand. “And there’s no one else we’d consider for our future transportation needs.”
Captain Roberts gave Liam a wide smile as he kissed his hand. Then, lies and formalities completed, he stepped away to supervise the docking. Liam leaned forward, shielding his eyes to scan the shore. His hands clenched he polished wood of the railing, his knuckles turning white. The ship was still too far to be certain, but Cerdec had been massive five years ago, when he was only sixteen. By now his curly blond hair would stand a full head above the other knights.
If he were there.
Liam was horrified to feel the hot prick of tears behind his eyelids. He spun away from the railing and almost smacked a sailor scurrying across the deck.
The sailor’s face dropped and he paled. “Your Highness!” He bent low, almost scraping the deck. “My apologies!”
“Oh, stop it,” Liam snapped. “I ran into you.”
The sailor stood frozen in place as Liam walked around him, heading below deck. He suddenly did not want to see any more of Cyon.
He didn’t have much to pack, but Liam busied himself with his suitcase, rearranging his books and folding his tunics with painstaking care as the ship creaked and shuddered through the harbor.
Not a single one of his father’s letters to the Academy mentioned Cerdec. After the first year passed, Liam grew too terrified to ask about him. It wasn’t unheard of for knights-in-training to leave the kingdom as hostages or tokens in a peace treaty. Or even to seek their fortune elsewhere, to swear fealty to some other sovereign.
And sometimes there were accidents.
Liam squeezed his eyes shut, bringing the palms of his hands to his eyes. I am to be king. My citizens will not see me cry.
“Your Highness?”
Liam turned to the door. It was the same sailor who fetched him earlier, a mere slip of a boy, barely older than Liam had been when he first left Cyon.
“The ship is secured. They’re, uh, ready for you. Your Highness.”
Liam cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
The sailor ducked out of the way and Liam followed, pulling his shoulders back, raising himself to his full height. He forced his face into a pleasant, unapproachable smile. And he prepared to meet his subjects.
Liam’s first thought was that nothing had changed. Even the damn horse looked familiar, his hooves clattering nervously along the splintering wood of the docks. He’d left this city a boy. He’d returned an educated man, a future sovereign, and the city hadn’t changed an iota.
The townspeople had strung flowers around the posts and over the walkways. Pretty, although they did nothing to combat the stench of fish guts and tar hovering over the harbor. They waved and cheered from the windows; Liam smiled at them all, raising his hand and nodding as he walked down the gangplank, his heart a vast, aching emptiness in his chest.
Cerdec’s father Zander waited for him. The white in his hair was more noticeable now, and his shoulders were perhaps slightly more bent. Still, he looked so much like Cerdec that Liam’s stomach curled in on itself. The one person I wanted to see is absent, and instead, I get this ghost. The reflection of Cerdec in the face of his father.
Zander bowed low and brought his fist to his forehead. “Your Highness. Welcome home.”
“Thank you, First Knight Zander. It’s good be home,” Liam lied.
They brought horses, and Liam mounted first, his motions smooth and practiced. His blood bay danced beneath him as if ready to race away from the city streets. You and me both, friend, thought Liam with a wry smile.
The pain in his chest grew more acute as they trotted through the city, banners streaming behind the knights. Every curve in the street, every hidden alleyway, every glimpse of the hills beyond the walls reminded Liam of Cerdec. When they crested the rise of the First District, Liam had to struggle to catch his breath, and he wondered if he may actually be dying.
Beyond those hills, he thought, is the meadow. Our meadow.
****
He’d last seen Cerdec during one of the golden days of early autumn when the afternoons were warm but the nights held a hint of the cold to come. It was his last morning in Cyon; they’d ridden out of the city together, quarreling the entire way, and the lunch they shared in the meadow had done little to improve their moods.
“I don’t even want to go,” Liam snapped, irritated with Cerdec. Cerdec had been moody and irrational for weeks now, and Liam was reaching the limits of his patience.
Cerdec snorted. “Oh, I’m sure you put up a huge fight about it. Oh no,” he said, making his voice an irritating falsetto, “please don’t send me off to the Academy. I don’t want to learn all the forbidden secrets and visit all the whorehouses and—”
Liam’s body slammed into Cerdec’s, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Stop it!” Liam said, forcing Cerdec’s shoulders to the ground. “I said I don’t want to go!”
Cerdec’s legs wrapped around Liam’s, his hips throwing Liam off balance. “Oh, now you think you’re a better wrestler than me, great prince?”
“No, that’s not—I’m not better,” Liam gasped, struggling as Cerdec threw the full weight of his muscular body against Liam. Cerdec had always been bigger and more athletic, but Liam fought with grim determination, and they were usually evenly matched.
They rolled together in the dry grass, cicadas calling around them, the offshore breeze gusting through their hair and pressing their tunics tight against their bodies. Cerdec’s smell filled the air, his salty, masculine tang, and Liam was momentarily distracted, his grip around Cerdec’s shoulders loosening. Cerdec braced his feet against the ground and thrust his hips, rolling his body over Liam’s. In a heartbeat, Liam was pinned beneath him, his arms stretched over his head, Cerdec’s hands wrapped around his wrists.
“You think you’re better than me,” Cerdec growled, his voice low and thick.
“No,” Liam said, struggling under Cerdec’s strong body. “No, I—” Liam gasped as Cerdec shifted above him. Cerdec had an erection; Liam could feel the hard heat pressing against his stomach. His own cock surged, his body responding so quickly he felt dizzy.
“I’m not better than you,” Liam whispered. Cerdec leaned down to catch the words, his long, blond hair falling against Liam’s cheek. “I don’t want to be better than you. I just want—”
Liam’s voice failed. Their chests pressed together, Cerdec’s cock throbbing against his stomach, their mouths so close they were almost touching. If Liam just tilted his head, their lips would join.
A horn sounded from the city below, and Cerdec sprang away from him, blood coloring his cheeks despite his deep tan. Liam staggered to his feet and ran after him. By the time Liam caught him, Cerdec was struggling with the hobbles wrapped around their horses’ hooves.
“Cerdec,” Liam wrapped his hand around Cerdec’s shoulder.
Cerdec turned to him and Liam stepped back, shocked. Cerdec was crying. “They’re calling you,” Cerdec said. “The horn. It means the ship’s come in.”
“I know what it means!”
“Then go!” Cerdec snapped.
Liam backed away, his hands shaking. The horn called again. Cerdec handed Liam the reins of his horse, his eyes rimmed with red. “Go,” Cerdec said. “Go!”
Liam went, mounting his horse and cantering across the field. He did not look back.
In the years to come, he would regret not looking back almost as much as he regretted not tilting his head, not meeting Cerdec’s lips in the tall grass of early autumn.
****
“Your Highness?”
Liam shook his head and shifted his weight in the saddle, turning away from the hills above the First District and back to Zander. “My apologies,” he said. He was appalled by the waver in his own voice. “I haven’t seen Cyon in years. It’s a bit…emotional.”
The hard lines of Zander’s face allowed a small smile. “Of course, Your Highness. Take all the time you like. Your father is in no hurry.”
Your father. The words moved through Liam’s body like ice, shoving memories of Cerdec aside. “How is my father?”
Zander’s forehead creased. “Alive.”
“And your son?”
Zander chuckled. “Ah yes, you remember Cerdec. You two were thick as thieves, not so long ago. He’s—Well, you’ll see for yourself, I suppose.”
Liam’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in days as he let go of the worst fear that had haunted his last five years. He must be alive. Cerdec is alive.
And then they stood before the broad, high oaken doors of the castle, and Liam’s breath caught in his throat. He felt strangely cold, as if he were a child again, called before his terrifying king-father. Liam bit the inside of his lip and pressed his calves into the blood bay, urging his mount forward.
“I am no longer a child,” he whispered, his horses’ hooves clattering over the small drawbridge.
The inner courtyard was filled with people, and a huge cheer greeted his arrival. Liam smiled and waved, recognizing most faces, noting the absence of only a few. His father’s physician Tlar had informed him about most of the deaths, births, and betrayals during the past five years. Still, it was a bit of a shock to see the courtyard without the gnarled, bald pate of his old trainer Syd.
He swung his leg over the bay and dismounted onto the straw-strewn cobblestones, handing the reins to an unfamiliar stable boy who gave him a look that edged disturbingly close to admiration. The courtyard echoed with the squealing creak of old hinges, and Liam’s stomach clenched. Conversation ceased as everyone turned to the castle, awaiting their king.
Tlar had done his best to keep Liam informed about the king’s status. But nothing could have truly prepared him for the first site of his father as the great doors swung open. By the gods, thought Liam, struggling to keep his expression neutral.
His father had shrunk at least three inches, and his remaining hair had gone completely white. The left side of his body seemed shriveled; even the left side of his face hung slack. His left arm was wrapped around a young woman dressed in an absurdly provocative outfit; one of the king’s courtesans, Liam assumed. His right hand clutched a cane. He seemed to pull his shriveled, damaged body into the sunlight through sheer force of will.
“My son returns,” the king said. His voice boomed across the courtyard as it always had, although Liam noticed the words were now slightly slurred. “Come here, boy. Let’s see what all that gold I sent to the Academy has bought!”
Liam pressed his lips together. That was, he had to admit, a brilliant way to debase all the accomplishments he’d made in the last five years. Still, this was his father. The king. And disrespecting his father would undermine the basis for his own authority.
The crowd moved soundlessly as Liam walked toward the stairs, and many of the men and women brought their fist to their forehead. Liam climbed the staircase alone, his steps echoing across the courtyard. At the top he met his father’s eyes for a heartbeat; he was nearly a foot taller, now, and this close he could see the trail of spittle running down the left side of the king’s face.
“Your Highness,” Liam said, bowing very low at his father’s feet.
His father’s laugh filled the courtyard. “You’re too damn skinny, boy. You look weak!” The king hit Liam’s arm with his staff. It hurt, but Liam did not flinch.
“The prince has returned!” the king called, raising the staff in his right hand. “Your prince has returned!”
The courtyard filled once again with cheers and smiles. Liam forced himself to smile benignly at his subjects. Give them what they want, Liam thought. Always give them what they want.
“Enough of this useless pageantry,” the king grumbled. “Get me inside, whore.”
The courtesan pressed her body against the king’s, supporting him as he pulled himself away from the open door and into the darkened hall. Liam suppressed the urge to help his father, suspecting his advances would not be welcomed.
“I’ve got a surprise for you, son,” the king wheezed as the doors closed behind them. “My son who is so—” he stopped, gasping for breath, and then resumed his torturous walk through the hall, “so interested in the knights.”
Liam nodded his head, his face betraying nothing.
“Just in…here,” gasped his father. Liam followed silently, careful to not walk faster than the king.
The banquet hall was decorated with more jubilation than Liam could remember. Flowers spilled from every surface, and the linen tablecloth was exquisitely embroidered. Fine beeswax candles blazed on the dais set before the two thrones at the end of the banquet table. Liam’s was, of course, smaller and lower than his father’s. Still, it was a throne.
The courtesan helped the king into his throne and tied a napkin around his neck, wiping the spittle from his face automatically. Then she stepped back, her hands crossed at her waist, her pretty face empty. His father coughed for a long time, then waved his right hand at the door. A well-dressed servant approached.
“Bellvue?” Liam asked, and the man’s face lit with a smile.
“Your Highness,” he said, obviously pleased to be recognized. “It is a pleasure to welcome you home.”
The king snorted. “Yes, yes, enough of all that. Bring them in, servant.”
Bellvue’s features stiffened, his face becoming a mask of formality. “Of course, Your Highness.”
The door opened a minute later, and the king chuckled. “Your letters were so damn concerned with the knights-in-training. I thought you’d like to see them yourself. The five new knights of Cyon. Sworn to me.”
Liam’s heart stopped as footsteps filled the banquet hall.
Cerdec was first in line.
* * * * *
Enjoyed the first chapter?
Click here to find The Night Watch on Less Than Three’s website.
Click here for The Night Watch on Amazon.
Like what you’ve read? Join my newsletter and I’ll send you a free copy of Tam Lin, my sexy modern take on the Scottish folktale.
