Heather Frost's Blog, page 2

Royal Rebel - Read Chapter 2

I thought we needed to see chapter 2 as well . . . Enjoy!

If you missed chapter 1, you can read it here: https://www.heatherfrost.com/post/royal-rebel-read-chapter-1

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Chapter 2

Grayson

Grayson took slow, measured breaths through his nose. The right side of his face was an inferno, but as long as he didn’t move abruptly or stretch the burn, it was only a throbbing agony. He’d been talking too much, which had pulled at the wound. Kissing Mia probably hadn’t helped, but he had no regrets on that score. After being separated for so long, he’d needed her in his arms. Needed to feel her mouth against his so he could finally breathe.

His newest scar would be impressive. He knew that, even if he hadn’t been able to study the damage yet. He wanted to. He wanted to know if it looked as terrible as it felt. But he didn’t want Mia to see him looking, so he avoided the mirror by the wash basin while he got ready to meet his father and brothers in the courtyard. Whenever Henri summoned them all together, bad things followed. At least Mia wouldn’t be left in the castle with any of them. Especially Tyrell.

Grayson picked through his old weapons, grimacing at his options. His best weapons had been taken when he’d been thrown into that cell downstairs. He didn’t know if or when he’d get his sword back, or his favorite daggers. While their loss was the least of his worries right now, he still missed them. His weapons were a part of him, and he hated being without their familiar weight.

Buried among his old weapons, he spotted a worn pair of black leather gloves. The sight made him pause.

When Imara had packed his things in Duvan, she hadn’t grabbed his gloves. He’d gotten used to not wearing them, but in this moment, knowing he had to be the Black Hand one last time . . .

He lifted the gloves and tugged them on, then belted on some knives. When he stood, Mia handed him a clean shirt. Grayson murmured his thanks as he carefully shrugged out of his bloodstained one. He could feel Mia’s eyes on him, her worry like a physical vice around his lungs. Seeing his scarred body probably wasn’t helping.

I can protect you. That’s what he wanted to say. He wanted to reassure her that he was strong enough to keep her safe. He was stronger than Tyrell.

He didn’t say a word, because there was a knock on the door.

Mia moved to answer it, but Grayson caught her arm. “Let me.”

“It’s probably Fletcher or Rena,” Mia said quietly.

“It might not be.” Grayson tugged the clean shirt over his head, careful not to let the fabric brush the right side of his face. He pulled the hem down as he strode to the door.

Three people stood on the other side of it. Grayson noticed Tyrell first, since his brother was the biggest threat. But since he hung back, Grayson took in the others.

Fletcher stood in front, the old guard’s eyes rounded as he took in Grayson. “Fates,” the man breathed. “You really are back.”

An unfamiliar woman hovered beside Fletcher. Grayson assumed it was his wife, Rena. She had graying hair, and light wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She was pale as she stared at his jaw, her lips parted in shock.

Grayson’s grip tightened on the door’s handle. He spoke directly to Fletcher. “Keep Mia safe while I’m gone.”

“Of course.” There was pity in the man’s eyes as he stared at Grayson, along with a hundred unspoken questions.

Grayson twisted to Mia, who’d come to stand beside him. He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I’ll return as soon as I can,” he whispered.

Her eyes battled worry, but it was clearly not for herself. “Please be careful.” She darted a look at Tyrell. “Will you watch out for him?”

Grayson clenched his teeth.

Tyrell’s eyes were as dark as ever, but he tipped his head in answer to Mia’s question, his attention not leaving Grayson.

They were two predators, circling each other. Waiting for the other to make a fatal mistake. Searching for an opening. Salivating for blood. Fates, they’d been here before. So many times. But never quite like this—not with quite so much to lose.

Not with Mia standing between them.

“We should go,” Tyrell said. “Father won’t want to be kept waiting.”

Grayson bent, ignoring the ripple of fire across his jaw as he brushed a kiss against Mia’s surprised lips.

From the corner of his eye he saw Tyrell twist away.

The predatory beast in Grayson growled in satisfaction.

When he drew back, Mia’s lips were pursed, her expression troubled. “You don’t need to torture him,” she murmured.

Those admonishing words shredded something inside him. He hated that Mia had seen his pettiness. More than that, he hated himself for deliberately using Mia to hurt Tyrell.

He also hated that her words—spoken with a pang of hurt—meant she did care about Tyrell.

His gut clenched. “I love you.” Fates, the words shouldn’t sound so desperate.

Mia gazed up at him, and he didn’t think he imagined the edge of censure there. “I love you, too,” she said softly.

Thoroughly chastised, he swore to himself he would never use Mia like that again. It didn’t matter if it hurt Tyrell—not when it hurt Mia, too.

He stepped into the hall, ignoring the stares of the Fletchers. They made his skin itch. He strode after Tyrell, who must have been measuring his steps carefully, because Grayson caught up with him at the top of the stairs.

As Grayson made to pass him, Tyrell said, “Don’t. We need to talk.”

“We really don’t.”

Tyrell matched Grayson’s pace, keeping them even as their boots clipped down the stone steps. “This concerns Mia’s safety.”

His spine stiffened. “Is that a threat?”

Tyrell gritted out a curse. “I’m not the one endangering her.”

Grayson spun to face his brother. Tyrell tensed, but didn’t strike, so Grayson also checked himself. His fists opened and closed at his sides, and they stood glaring at each other on the otherwise abandoned staircase. “I’m not a threat to Mia,” Grayson finally growled.

“Aren’t you?” Tyrell’s words were as sharp as the knives they both carried. “You’re clearly not sane. You’ve held a blade to Father’s throat twice now, and you’re bristling with so much rage, I’m not convinced you won’t attack Father when you see him.”

Mia was the only thing holding him back on that score. If he didn’t need to get her safely away from his family and back to Desfan, he would have killed Henri already.

“You’ve fallen out of his favor,” Tyrell continued. “We all know it. He blames you for Liam’s death, whether it was your fault or not. If you so much as twitch in a way he doesn’t like, he will punish Mia.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” Grayson said, his voice pitched low. “I’ve lived with that sword hanging over me for years.”

The skin around Tyrell’s eyes tightened—probably at the reminder that Mia had been in Grayson’s life far longer than she’d been in his. “She doesn’t know who you really are, but I do. And I’m telling you, if you put her life at risk, I will kill you. That way, Father won’t have any reason to punish her.”

Grayson edged out a bladed smile. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“She’d be better off without you.”

“You think she’d be better off with you?”

Tyrell glared. “At least I wouldn’t let her suffer. I’m not stupid enough to rebel against Father.”

“You’re his slave.”

“I’m his soldier. And because I serve him well, Mia has thrived. She got out of that cell because of me. She’s been happy. Safe. She hasn’t been a prisoner. I gave her that, Grayson. What have you given her? Years in a windowless cell. Fear and panic. Caretakers who hurt her—tried to kill her.”

Grayson’s body was wound with so much tension, he couldn’t breathe. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You might have convinced Mia that you’re something other than the Black Hand, but you and I both know you’re not. And as long as you can’t control your anger and your impulses, she’s in danger. Don’t do anything that could cause her harm, or I will end you. That is your warning, and the only one I’ll give.”

Grayson teeth ached, he was grinding them so hard. “Are you done?”

“No. Because as much as I hate you, I think you care for Mia. It might be in your twisted way, but you do care.”

He could barely hide his snort. The irony of Tyrell speaking those words to him . . .

Tyrell ignored him. “I’m giving you a chance to prove it. Distance yourself from Mia. Let Father see that distance. Let her be under my protection, at least until Father’s anger with you has passed.”

“Your plan is utter rot. He knows I would never turn away from Mia.”

“So you won’t consider trying? Not even for her sake?”

“No.”

Tyrell’s dark brows slammed down. “She doesn’t belong to you.”

That was a kick to the gut, because it was true. Not in the possessive way Tyrell meant it—Grayson knew he’d never owned Mia; if anything, she’d owned him—but the reality that he wouldn’t be in her life once he got her back to Mortise hit him hard.

He’d known his fate before he’d left Duvan. Desfan had done nothing to hide it. Once Grayson returned Mia to the palace, he would be arrested for his crimes against Mortise, Devendra, and Zennor. It didn’t matter that he’d ultimately betrayed Liam, or that he’d been coerced in the first place by Liam’s threat to kill Mia. In the end, that hawk-sent message had called for Mia’s abduction, rather than her death. Grayson still wasn’t sure why his brother had lied to him about that. Threatening to kill her was more compelling, of course. And if Liam knew who Mia was, it made sense he wouldn’t want to kill her; he would have wanted to use her.

Regardless, Grayson knew he would stand trial beside his brother, and he had no illusions as to how that would end. He would be executed for his crimes—at the very least, imprisoned for the rest of his life.

He couldn’t think about this now. Getting Mia home safely was all that mattered. And part of that meant keeping Tyrell away from her.

He stared at his brother, his voice pitched low. “She doesn’t belong to you, either.”

The air between them pulled taut. The stairway was still empty of anyone else. They were alone—completely. Injured as he was, Grayson honestly didn’t know if he’d win if Tyrell chose to pull a knife.

But he would certainly try.

Tyrell’s jaw worked, then he folded his arms across his chest. “Mia has claimed us both. Neither of us have to like it, but we do need to accept it. That means I won’t kill you—unless I have to.”

Grayson didn’t verbalize the same promise, even though he knew he would honor it. For Mia. “Are we done?”

Tyrell’s mouth curled derisively. “I don’t know what she sees in you.”

Grayson’s eyes grew slitted. “Fates only know how you managed to manipulate her into forgetting the fact that you beat her. But I assure you, I will never forget.”

A ghost rose in Tyrell’s eyes. “Neither will I.”

He bristled, though he wouldn’t have been able to verbalize why; Tyrell’s guilt just felt wrong.

Grayson turned on his heel and continued down the stairs. Each step reverberated pain across his face, and he knew riding a horse was going to be excruciating.

Tyrell followed, and when they reached the bottom of the stairs he said under his breath, “I’m sorry.”

Surprise—and wariness—pierced him. “For what?”

Tyrell’s gaze dipped to Grayson’s cheek. “For a lot of things.”

The unexpected words stole every thought from his head. He had no response.

He watched Tyrell’s expression harden, determination etched in every line of his face. “For her sake, I won’t fight you. But let me make this clear—I am fighting for her.”

***

Tyrell’s words continued to ring in Grayson’s ears as they entered the courtyard. It was autumn in Ryden, and the morning air was crisp. Snow capped the steep mountains to the north, and while the pines remained green, the other trees that dotted the lower hills and castle yard were turning vibrant shades of red, orange, and gold. Some had already browned, and he knew death was coming for the other leaves as well. The sun blazed in a blue sky with hardly any clouds, but the heat didn’t quite make it to earth. Despite the chill in the air, Grayson knew his shiver came from the men standing in the courtyard.

Henri stood near his bodyguards, his saddled horse waiting behind him. Grayson’s father was a handsome man, with rich brown hair and a confident stance. The strong planes of his face were unbroken by scars, and he wore an emerald green tunic that looked very much like a soldier’s uniform. He also wore his golden crown, decorated with emeralds and rubies. For all the excess that Queen Iris eschewed, she had never said anything about that heavily jeweled crown.

Peter’s tunic was similar to their father’s, though the dark green fabric strained over his shoulders. He’d been training while Grayson was gone. He also wore a gold crown, thinner and less decorated than Henri’s. It marked him as the heir to the Rydenic throne. He was already mounted on his horse, and he flicked an impatient hand at the servant who had just handed him the reins. The signet ring on his forefinger caught in the meager sunlight—twisted snakes with ruby eyes. Grayson was very familiar with the bruising weight of it.

Beside Peter, also astride his horse, was Carter. The second oldest Kaelin prince had thick dark hair that brushed his shoulders, and his long, thin face made him look rather like a weasel. He was not as physically strong or as intimidating as the rest of them, but he had a knack for poisons that made him indisputably dangerous. He caught sight of Tyrell and Grayson first, and he murmured something to Peter.

Peter twisted to look at them, and Grayson didn’t miss the play of emotions across his oldest brother’s face. The quiet speculation as his eyes slipped between Tyrell and Grayson—arriving together, which was unusual. The hint of satisfaction as he studied the burn on Grayson’s face. The twitch of his lip that betrayed his annoyance with Grayson. That look promised retribution.

Grayson had not accomplished the mission Peter had set for him in Mortise. He’d wanted Grayson to abduct Princess Imara and bring her to Ryden so Peter could marry her and force an alliance with Zennor.

I was never going to bring her to you, Grayson thought as he stalked down the castle steps. Not even before he’d met the princess, who had unexpectedly befriended him. His list of allies in Eyrinthia were few, but he knew Imara Buhari was one.

Peter’s eyebrows drew together, as if he could read Grayson’s defiance.

When Henri turned toward him, Grayson forced his face to go blank. Because out of all the nonsense Tyrell had spewed in that stairway, one thing was true: he couldn’t afford to show any rebellion to Henri, or Mia would suffer. So he became nothing. Nothing except the Black Hand. A beaten dog who returned to his master’s harsh hand again and again, no matter how painful the abuse. One day, Grayson would bite back.

But not today.

Henri’s mouth curved into a slow smile as he regarded Grayson’s newest scarring. “Mount up,” he ordered.

Grayson’s horse was waiting with a stable hand. The boy looked terrified to be so close to the Black Hand’s horse—let alone the Black Hand himself—but he only flinched a little when Grayson took the reins from him.

Mounting the horse proved to be less painful than expected, the practiced motion hardly stretching his cheek at all. But the wound still throbbed, and the chill air sliced against the open wound. Grayson only breathed a little sharper, not letting any other sound escape his clamped lips.

His horse tensed beneath him, as if sensing his pain. Grayson brushed his fingertips over the animal’s neck, and the horse settled.

The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Feeling eyes on him, Grayson straightened slowly, his head turning carefully until he spotted his mother standing on one of the second floor balconies that overlooked the courtyard. With one hand on the stone railing, Iris peered down at him, a slight smile tipping her lips. Her gray eyes were unreadable at this distance, but a chill raced down Grayson’s spine.

She thought he’d killed Liam. She thought her control over Grayson was complete. She had no idea he’d betrayed her—that Liam still lived, locked in a Mortisian cell. He’d lied about Liam’s death for several reasons. A strong one had been so he could use his mother as an ally.

Now, pinned by her stare, he wasn’t sure he wanted anything from the Poison Queen.

“It’s time for each of you to learn your role in the great war,” Henri said, drawing Grayson’s attention. The king of Ryden was seated on his own horse, his fist wrapped around the reins as he surveyed his sons. “We ride to Northland Barracks.”

Just the name of the military outpost threaded unease through Grayson. It was primarily a place to house an army close to Lenzen, where soldiers could also receive further training. Everyone who served in the king’s military spent time stationed there, including each of Henri’s sons.

The camp was brutal. Rations were strictly limited to teach moderation. Soldiers were sent into the mountains to live for a week with nothing but their sword to teach them resourcefulness and endurance. Impossible games of war were played to remind them that not everyone survived battle. Excuses were found to punish them so they would learn the futility of defying authority.

Grayson had spent varying amounts of time at the camp over the years. When he was fifteen, Henri had decided he’d learned enough, and he was no longer required to go. He hadn’t stepped foot in Northland Barracks since.

Henri and his guards led the way to the gate. Peter followed next, leaving the other brothers to nudge their horses into line. Grayson took up the rear, dread curling low in his stomach. His unease increased with every mile they travelled north. A biting wind funneled down from one of Lenzen’s many canyons, but that wasn’t what chilled him.

Whatever waited for them at Northland Barracks, it wouldn’t be good.

Two hours of riding later, this was confirmed. In fact, it was so much worse than he’d feared.

As they rode into the valley that held Northland Barracks, Grayson’s blood ran cold.

Thousands of uniformed men ran drills and milled about camp. The drills weren’t new; men had been training here long before Grayson’s birth. But the ranks had easily tripled since he’d last been here, and that was just the men.

Then there were the boys.

Sectioned off from the rest of the army was a camp for the youngest soldiers Grayson had ever seen. Some of the boys looked to be as young as eight years old—perhaps even younger. They wore emerald as well, but their uniforms weren’t fitted. Why bother to do that, when it was clear their sole purpose was to fill out the ranks, surprise the enemy, and then die on some battlefield of Henri’s choosing? It was clear from their gaunt cheeks that Henri barely deemed them worthy of the food it took to keep them alive.

Grayson’s gut rolled. There were at least a thousand boys down there—probably more.

Commanders shouted orders, and soldiers of all ages came to attention, most looking fates-blasted terrified.

The Kaelins rode into the heart of Northland Barracks, passing tents, training grounds, cooking sites, and finally wooden outbuildings that housed the higher ranking officers and meeting rooms. When they finally stopped and dismounted, Grayson eyed the men and boys that filled the camp.

Fates, those boys. They were bloody and haunted, with swords that were too big for them. They stared at the Kaelins like they were seeing their own deaths.

They probably were.

When Grayson looked at his father, it was just in time to see Henri grin.

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Royal Rebel - Read Chapter 1

Royal Rebel is out on April 21st! Check out the blurb and chapter one below. And don't forget, you can preorder on Kindle now: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BRPRPPQ1

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A PRINCE fighting to save a princess

A SERJAH torn between duty and desire

A PRINCESS willing to sacrifice everything

A DECOY with nothing to lose

A WORLD about to be torn apart

After his father’s latest punishment, Grayson isn’t at his full strength. Trapped in Ryden and surrounded by enemies, he knows escaping with Mia will be more complicated than anticipated. Tyrell is determined to claim Mia for himself, and Henri’s plans for the rest of Eyrinthia are more horrific than Grayson ever imagined. Despite the increased danger, he and Mia must return to Mortise and warn Desfan of what’s coming—even though it may already be too late.

In Mortise, the palace is still reeling from the brutal attack that left many dead and even more wounded. Regardless of the chaos, Desfan is determined to continue with his coronation. As serjan, he hopes to bring stability to his country and solidify the peace with Devendra. But things in Eyrinthia are always complicated. When Prince Liam reveals they may be facing dangers from old enemies, Desfan will have to decide what kind of ruler he will be.

Devastating news from home has left Clare broken. Despite her heartache, she must once again be Serene’s decoy when a terrifying report sends the princess on an unexpected mission to Zennor. Left at the palace, Clare helps Desfan build trust with the elite in Mortise while guarding a treasonous secret. Because as her grief transforms into a burning desire for vengeance, she is finally ready to embrace a new role—rebel.

Eyrinthia is consumed by uncertainty. Duty. Desire. Sacrifice. Every rebellion has its cost.

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Chapter 1

Mia

Silence rang in Mia’s ears, nearly as sharp as Grayson’s screams had been last night.

Fates, she had never heard him scream like that.

She sat beside him on the cold stone floor of the cell, grateful he’d finally managed to fall asleep and escape the pain.

Tears stung her eyes, and her fingers dug into her crossed arms. The pressure kept her grounded. Kept her breathing. Kept her from falling into one of her panics. It kept her from banging on that locked door until Henri Kaelin himself came, and she could smash the glowing lantern into his face and make him burn.

A tear tracked down her cheek. She had never felt so helpless. So useless. Not during the shipwreck that had stolen her life, or during her nine years of imprisonment. When Grayson’s father and brothers had entered the room, she knew it was going to be bad. She’d thought for one horrifying moment that Henri had come to hurt her.

She wished he would have hurt her.

Mia's ears roared, and the horrific memory swallowed her. “What is that?” she’d asked, her fingers strangling Grayson’s hand in hers.

Henri’s soulless brown eyes flicked to her. “A reminder. Grayson can choose who will wear it.”

Grayson stiffened. “Me,” he said, his voice clipped. “Not her.”

Mia’s heart pounded. She didn’t know what was in that vial. She only knew that it was bad. Very bad.

And, once again, Grayson was protecting her.

“You’ll prove your choice by not fighting it,” Henri said to Grayson, his words echoing strangely in Mia’s ears—as if all of this was happening far away. Or like she’d been swallowed by a roaring ocean. “If you attempt to remove it before it has run its course, she will receive the same.”

“I understand.”

Mia glanced between Henri and Grayson, and fear made her throat almost too tight for breath. “Grayson . . .”

He didn’t look at her. His focus was solely on his father. “She doesn’t have to be here. I won’t fight.”

“For her sake, I’m glad to hear it.”

Her body was still bruised from Carter’s crushing hold. She’d fought, but he’d held her firmly while Grayson was forced to kneel before his father. When Tyrell followed Henri’s orders and rubbed that white powder on Grayson’s already injured jaw, all she could do was scream as Grayson’s entire body went rigid.

At first, he’d tried not to make a sound, but he hadn’t been able to burn silently.

She’d been utterly helpless. She couldn’t even hold him while he burned.

When it was finally over, Grayson breathed raggedly on his side, his body drenched in sweat. His bleeding fingers clutched the rough grooves in the stone floor, and his upturned cheek was bright red along his jaw. Fates, his jaw . . .

Her stomach had heaved, but she’d swallowed back bile. She was shaking so hard, she didn’t know how Carter still managed to hold her.

Henri had straightened. “I trust that will serve as a reminder of your failure. I think a night in this cell will also help. You’ll receive nothing for the pain. Only seek help if infection sets in.” With that, he strode from the room. Peter was on his heels, and Carter finally released Mia so he could follow.

Her legs trembled, barely holding her as she darted to Grayson’s side. She crashed to her knees, her hands fluttering uselessly before she grasped his shoulder. “You’re all right,” she whispered, throat pinched and eyes stinging. “You’re going to be all right.”

Grayson’s breaths were labored and rattling. His teeth were clenched, his gray eyes fixed on her. The agony in them broke her heart.

Her free hand stroked dark locks off his sweaty brow. “I’m here,” she breathed, blinking rapidly as she tried to banish her tears. “I’m right here.”

A boot scuffed behind her.

Tyrell.

Grayson’s pained gaze snapped over her shoulder, and she felt his entire body tense, preparing to spring. To attack the one who tortured him, or shield her as he always had? She honestly wasn’t sure.

She tightened her hold on him. “Don’t move.”

He stilled, though tension still thrummed through his bunched muscles. His sharp gaze didn’t leave Tyrell.

Mia looked over her shoulder, following Grayson’s stare.

Tyrell stood there, the thick leather gloves that had protected his skin from that accursed powder dangling from one hand. His dark hair—so like Grayson’s—was also falling across his brow, casting his eyes in shadow. His expression was locked, but his shoulders were low. “What can I do?” he asked her.

There were so many things she wanted to say. She wanted a physician for Grayson, though she knew he couldn’t bring one. She wanted Grayson moved to his room—that also wouldn’t happen. She wanted to hit Tyrell. Scream at him.

She thought, in this moment, he would let her.

“Leave,” she said, her voice cracking.

A muscle jumped in Tyrell’s cheek.

She hated what he’d just done. Hated that he’d hurt Grayson so deeply—so permanently. Even still, a voice deep inside whispered that he’d had no choice. None of them did. Not here.

Grayson’s stiffness mounted. Mia squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, Tyrell,” she begged. “Go.”

Silence. Then a whisper of sound as Tyrell left.

When the door closed and locked behind him, Mia opened her eyes and twisted back He didn’t speak. She doubted he’d be able to without horrible pain. Even from the corner of her eye, she could see the ruined skin along his jaw was mottled, covered in blisters that bubbled across the deep cut.

She wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t know how. She didn’t dare move him, even to cradle his head in her lap. She couldn’t bear the thought of causing him any further pain. All she could do was twine her fingers through his and hold on.

Time passed. She didn’t know how much. She stroked his hair and squeezed his hand. She pressed close to his body, so he would know he wasn’t alone.

Eventually, Grayson shifted, and she helped roll him onto his back so he could be more comfortable. Even those careful movements made him flinch. He sucked in a breath when he turned his head, and even though he clenched his teeth, his nostrils flared and his gray eyes flooded with misery. Moisture had leaked from his eyes, and she brushed the tears before they could dash down his cheek and fall into the raw wound.

She couldn’t take away his hurt. She couldn’t even ease it. She could do nothing but hold his hand until eventually his ragged breathing turned less sharp, and finally his rigid body slumped in sleep. She could tell the rest was not deep, but it was a reprieve.

With Grayson unconscious, she finally studied the damage to his face.

The burn was on his right side, swollen and angry. It followed the cut his father had given him. That slice went deep, hitting bone, and it spanned nearly the entire length of his jaw—from below his ear, almost to the point of his chin. The blisters that mottled the edges of the cut made it clear that Tyrell had rubbed the powder into it, making the wound larger, the damage deeper. The redness of the burn spilled over onto his cheek, and a little under his neck—places the powder had touched. Those places, she thought, would heal in time, like the burn marks on his fingers from years ago. But his jaw . . . Would it ever heal? Would he even have feeling along the worst of the burn? Would he be able to fully smile?

Fresh tears clouded her vision, and she forced herself to stop. He was alive. That’s what mattered. Everything would always be all right, as long as Grayson still breathed.

The night dragged on in horrible silence. Grayson slept.

Mia did not.

If Henri had wanted them dead last night, there was nothing—nothing—either of them could have done. If he’d given Tyrell a knife instead of the powder, Mia would have had no choice but to watch Grayson die.

She had lost nearly everything in her life, but Grayson was the one thing she knew she couldn’t survive losing. They had to leave. No matter the risk, they had to escape.

Grayson had said a boat was waiting for them at Porynth. From studying her maps, she knew where the port city was. It would take them about three weeks to get there, and Grayson had said the ship wouldn’t wait much beyond that.

A ship.

A shiver wracked her, but she forced that particular fear away. She had more immediate concerns than stepping back on a ship. Besides, they wouldn’t make it to Porynth in time to catch that ship. They were locked in a cell, with no idea how long Henri would keep them there. And even if they were released soon, Grayson needed time to heal. They couldn’t leave right away, which meant the ship would be long gone. They—

The lock for the door grated.

Grayson jerked awake at the sound and instantly rolled. Breath hissed out of him, agony fracturing the sound, but he didn’t stop moving until he was crouched in front of her, angled toward the door. The muscles in his shoulders bunched, his body coiled for a fight.

Mia’s heart pounded. She braced a hand on Grayson’s back as the door swung open.

Tyrell stepped in, not bothering to close the door behind him. The lamp in the cell had burned low, and the torches in the corridor behind him were blinding. “Father wants you in the courtyard,” he said without preamble, his tone clipped.

“What about Mia?” Grayson’s voice was guttural, roughened by sleep and a little slurred—probably because he was trying not to move his mouth too much.

Tyrell’s lips thinned, his eyes darting to Mia as he answered his brother. “She can remain in your room, or wherever she chooses to be within the castle.”

Grayson said nothing, but Mia stood, her eyes on Tyrell. “He can’t go anywhere. He needs to rest.”

“Orders have been given.” Tyrell looked to Grayson. “I don’t know where we’re going, but Father said we’d be back by nightfall.”

“We?” Grayson asked in a low growl.

“Peter, Carter, and the both of us.” Tyrell paused, then added, “Mia will be safe. Fletcher will guard her, and I can put some of my men on her as well.”

Grayson pushed to his feet. Mia was quick to grasp his hand, though he was surprisingly steady. He squeezed her fingers as he faced Tyrell. “We don’t need an escort.”

Tyrell snorted. “Perhaps you shouldn’t dismiss me until you know you can make it up the stairs.”

Mia’s heart rate quickened as Grayson stiffened beside her. “I don’t need anything from you.”

Tyrell’s eyes narrowed.

Fates, he looked nothing like the Tyrell she’d befriended these past ****months. Even after their fight, when things were uncertain between them, he’d never felt so distant and cold. And Grayson . . . the animosity emanating from him was understandable, but so potent it was strangling.

Mia took a small step forward, still holding Grayson’s hand.

The two brothers looked at her, and her cheeks warmed. Being the sole focus of both Tyrell and Grayson Kaelin was unnerving. “There’s no need to fight,” she said, hating how quiet her voice was. “Please.”

Adding that word seemed to have a special effect on them—they listened.

Tyrell led the way out of the cell, and Grayson moved just slightly in front of her, their hands still joined.

No one said anything as they trekked up the stairs and through the quiet halls of the castle. They passed several servants and guards, all of whom stared at Grayson. One maid even gasped.

Grayson tensed. He believed his scars made him lesser; that they made him ugly.

Mia hated his scars, but only because of the pain they represented. Grayson was beautiful to her—he always would be. She wanted to attack anyone who ever made him feel any different.

She scowled at the maid, and the woman hurried away.

When they reached Grayson’s room, they all paused at the door. It took a moment for Mia to remember she was the one with a key. She released Grayson’s hand and dipped her fingers into her pocket, overly conscious of the fact that Grayson and Tyrell were both watching her. It made every movement feel stiff and awkward.

Once she’d fitted the key in the lock, Tyrell spoke over her head. “I’ll get Fletcher and be back for you.”

“Fine,” Grayson said—also over her head. “But I don’t want your men guarding her.”

Tyrell’s jaw flexed. “Mia’s safety is more important than your pride.”

Grayson’s brows lowered dangerously.

Mia twisted the door open and faced them. “Please don’t fight.”

“We’re not,” Tyrell said. The yet was heavily implied in his dark tone.

Grayson’s eyes narrowed. “Mia, go inside.”

Obviously, please had lost its power. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried a different tactic. “There’s no point in fighting. It will only bring Henri’s attention back to us.”

The two youngest Kaelin princes eyed her, but she refused to back down—or acknowledge the silent message they were both sending with their hard expressions.

Logic alone would not work on them. She sighed, and let honesty ring in her voice. “If you hurt each other, you’ll only be hurting me.”

Tyrell’s teeth clenched.

Grayson looked just as unhappy. He breathed out slowly and took Mia’s hand, tugging her into the room without another word.

Tyrell remained in the hall. When Mia glanced back at him, a fissure of emotion cracked in his eyes as he stared after her.

Grayson closed the door.

Mia swallowed roughly. Her voice was low as she said, “I’m not in any danger from him.”

Grayson met her gaze. “You said you weren’t sure if he was still your friend.”

Fates, that last word was spoken heavily. Not that she could blame him. And he was right; she didn’t know what relationship she and Tyrell had now. He had declared his love for her, and she’d told him there could only be friendship between them. He’d lied to her about sending her letter to Grayson, and she’d yelled at him. He’d saved her from Mama’s abduction attempt—then Grayson had returned.

Things were complicated with Tyrell, but she knew one thing, so she repeated it: “He won’t hurt me.”

The hard planes of Grayson’s face revealed nothing, but a hundred questions lurked in his eyes. He didn’t voice any of them. She’d told him she wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened between her and Tyrell, and she knew Grayson wouldn’t press.

But, fates, he looked exhausted. And he was clearly in pain.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes darting to his jaw.

His expression locked. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, his words a little rough as he tried not to move his newest scar. “What happened in that cell had nothing to do with you.”

But it did.

He wouldn’t have even been in there if not for her. He’d come back to Ryden to rescue her. And that burn . . . he’d taken it for her. Grayson had allowed himself to be tortured—without being restrained—so she wouldn’t have to wear that burn.

Her heart squeezed painfully. Fates, it was always the same with them. He sacrificed everything for her, and she could do nothing to protect him.

“Mia?”

She startled from her thoughts. Grayson watched her with concern, his head ducked slightly so he could catch her eye.

Moving slowly, with infinite care so she wouldn’t jostle him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and eased herself against him, her cheek pressed to his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered.

His arms locked around her shoulders, pulling her even closer. “For what?”

“For protecting me. Again.” Her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue. “I’m sorry you had to. I’m sorry your father hurt you again, because of me—”

“No.” Grayson leaned back, one hand shifting to curve against her cheek. His thumb grazed her jaw, coaxing her to lift her head. “There’s no guilt for you to carry. My father has never needed an excuse to hurt me.”

Henri didn’t need an excuse, it was true. But he’d been hurting Grayson and manipulating him for years by threatening her. That truth was inescapable, and it hurt.

I’m your weakness.

She couldn’t even make herself say the words, and that made her a coward. But resolution burned in her heart. I won’t always be your weakness.

Grayson studied her, his gray eyes unwavering. “I would make the same choice again,” he told her. “To protect you, I would do it again—a thousand times, without hesitation.”

She felt those words to her soul. Her eyes stung. “I don’t deserve you.”

He exhaled sharply, the sound disbelieving. “Fates, you’re . . .” His voice drifted, as if he couldn’t manage to find the words to describe what she was. Something in his gaze changed. Solidified. He leaned in, and her stomach fluttered.

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, the gentle contact making her heart race. She didn’t dare kiss him like she yearned to; she didn’t want to cause him pain. But her mouth moved with his, following his lead. The brush of his lips was coaxing. Comforting.

Warmth flooded her veins, and her pulse kicked. Her fingers curled in his shirt, keeping him close. She had lived without him now, and she never wanted to do so again. New urgency filled her. A desperation to make him understand just how much she loved him. How much she needed him.

Grayson deepened the kiss, and Mia sucked in a breath as his fingers knotted in her hair. He turned, guiding her until her back pressed against the door. His chest rose and fell against hers, both of them breathing quickly.

He changed the angle of their kiss, and a shudder went through him.

Afraid she’d hurt him, Mia jerked back. “Careful. Your jaw—”

“I missed you,” he rasped, emotion tangling in his hoarse voice. “So fates-blasted much.”

Her heart clenched. “I missed you, too. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

He made a sound in his throat. “You aren’t hurting me,” he assured her.

Her face heated, but she couldn’t stop her smile.

Grayson kissed one corner of it, and the simple action made her chest swell. “I couldn’t breathe without you,” he whispered.

The admission caught her off-guard, melting her. Before she could respond, he claimed her mouth again.

She tried to move with care, but Grayson only grew more insistent. Almost frantic, like he worried she would vanish.

The same desperate edge rode her, but she didn’t want him to aggravate his wound. She pulled back. “Tyrell will be back soon.”

Grayson stilled, just as she’d known he would. But instead of drawing back completely, he set his forehead against hers, their heavy breaths mingling. His eyes squeezed shut. “You’re right. We don’t have long, and there are things we need to discuss.”

She pressed a final kiss to his unmarred cheek before he eased back, giving her space. She grasped his falling hand, refusing to lose all contact with him.

He squeezed her fingers.

“Are you well enough to go with your father and brothers?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”

Obviously, he wasn’t fine, but she knew what he meant. He didn’t have a choice, so he would force himself to be fine.

She pursed her lips. “I can ask Devon to—”

Grayson shook his head; a grimace sliced across his face, so he abruptly stopped moving. “It’s not worth it.”

“You need a physician.”

“My father gave orders. I need to follow them. It will make getting out of here easier.” He glanced around the room, clearly noting some of her things scattered among his own belongings. A sketchbook on his otherwise neat desk. A dress discarded over a chair in the corner. Some paintings propped against the far wall. “Pack whatever you need, but only one bag. The nights will be cold, so pack something warm. We leave tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow?” Fates, that was too soon.

“We can’t delay,” Grayson said. “The Seafire won’t wait forever. When I get back tonight I’ll sneak into the kitchen and get supplies.”

She forced aside her unease at how quickly things were happening, so she could focus on his plan. “You won’t need to steal everything,” she said. “Before you came back, I was planning to escape.”

He froze. “You what?”

She bit her lower lip. “I was going to come to you in Duvan. I got maps from the library. I gathered food and blankets. I even asked Tyrell to teach me how to ride a horse.”

His focus remained trained on her. “You were plotting an escape?”

He seemed quite stuck on the idea. “I needed to come find you. I didn’t want Henri to use me against you ever again.”

Grayson’s unreadable eyes softened. “Thank you. I have to admit, though, I rather hate the idea of you trying to escape on your own.”

“To be perfectly honest, I didn’t like the idea either. But I needed to reach you. Especially because you were in Duvan, and . . .”

“I was with Desfan.”

Her brother’s name punched her with painful force, and she couldn’t hide a wince. Her family, her life before . . . all of it had been obliterated by the pain of Papa’s beatings when she was seven years old and newly imprisoned. Fear, panic, and even guilt had kept it at bay ever since. Sometimes she dreamed of home, but they were such painful dreams, they were really nightmares. Usually they were just visions of a life she’d never have again. A father who held her. A mother who sang to her. A sister who played with her hair. A brother who taught her to swim.

The knowledge that Grayson had seen Desfan, spoken to him . . . it was almost too much to comprehend. Her feelings were too complex to sort through. Grayson had been in Mortise—in the palace that had once been her home. He knew who she was; a secret she’d held for nine years, because the truth was too painful, especially since her caretakers had beaten her whenever she talked about who she really was.

Grayson had figured out the truth. And he’d gone to Desfan—her brother. Desfan had sent Grayson to bring her home.

Home. She didn’t even know what that was anymore. Not with their parents dead, and Tahlyah, too. And Desfan didn’t know the truth. He didn’t know Mia was responsible for their sister’s death. That horrible night, she’d lost Tally in the water. No matter what reassurances Grayson had given her when she’d admitted her deepest secret, she knew it was her fault Tally was dead. Desfan would never forgive her when he learned the truth.

Her heart pounded, and panic spiked.

“Mia?” Grayson stepped closer, his voice pitched low. “Are you all right?”

She pinched her eyes closed and took a deep breath, ignoring the tightness in her chest. Denial had saved her so often during the past nine years, and she clung to that now. She couldn’t think about Tahlyah, or Desfan—she couldn’t think about who she’d once been.

The tension inside her settled. She opened her eyes and met Grayson’s worried gaze. “I never did make a solid plan for getting out of the castle, but we can use the supplies I gathered. I suppose we may need more, since there are two of us.”

It was clear Grayson didn’t want to follow her subject change, when she remained troubled by something. But—as always—he deferred to what she needed. He glanced around the room. “Where are they?”

A small knot tightened in her chest. “Oh. They’re in Tyrell’s room. Under his bed.”

Grayson shot her a look.

She hurried to explain. “After Tyrell killed Papa, he carried me to his room. It was closer than the physician’s ward, and I was . . .” Dying. Probably best not to tell him that; not when he was looking at her so intensely. “I was hurt very badly,” she said instead.

A muscle ticked in Grayson’s jaw.

Mia continued quickly. “Tyrell let me have his room while I healed, and then I was quite settled there, so I stayed.”

“But you moved to my room later?”

“Yes. Tyrell and I . . . we had a fight.”

Grayson’s throat jumped as he swallowed. His voice was painfully measured. “Did he hurt you?”

He’d asked that before. She gave him basically the same answer, because she really didn’t want to dwell on this right now. “Not physically.”

Something sparked in Grayson’s eyes—something she couldn’t interpret.

She hurried on. “I don’t know if I have enough supplies for both of us, but I can get into Tyrell’s room while you’re gone and bring everything here.”

“I don’t want you taking any risks.”

“There won’t be any risk. Tyrell will be gone with you, and any guard will know I used to stay in there—I’ll tell them I left something behind. They’ll let me in. Trust me.”

“I trust you,” he whispered.

She felt a comforting weight in those words. “Thank you.” She hesitated. “I still hadn’t managed to get warmer clothes. A cloak. A tent. I read that snow can come early to Ryden, so I wanted to be prepared.”

“I’ll secure everything we need when I get back. I can sneak into the laundry to find a thick cloak for you.”

Mia shifted on her feet. “Or . . .”

One questioning eyebrow lifted.

She swallowed back her hesitation. “We could ask for Fletcher’s help. And his wife—Rena. She’s worked in the castle for years, and—”

“No.” His tone was even; uncompromising. “We can’t risk telling anyone our plans.”

“Grayson, just listen to me.” She squeezed his hand, her voice low and intent. “You’re not at your full strength.”

Something flashed in his eyes.

Fates. That probably wasn’t the best thing to say. She changed tactics. “You told me the ship in Porynth will only wait for three weeks. We can’t delay, and there’s too much to prepare. You can’t do it all, and neither can I. If we’re going to leave tomorrow night, we need Fletcher’s help. And he can fight, if it comes to that. He’s not truly loyal to Henri. We can trust him.”

She could see the indecision in his eyes.

He was considering it.

She pressed harder. “Henri knows how close they are to me. He’ll think they played a part in our escape, and . . . I can’t let them be hurt because of me. Please.”

His mouth tightened. “Fletcher could be on the grounds at night without rousing suspicion. He could get horses from the stable.” Something they clearly wouldn’t be able to get on their own, though it would speed their journey. Grayson’s gaze turned calculative. “We could each take a different route out of the castle, and we could meet outside the city with the horses and supplies.”

“Rena used to work in the laundry,” Mia said, not even trying to hide the eagerness in her voice. “She could get clothes, boots, and blankets for all of us.”

Grayson eyed her. “It could work.”

“I can talk to them while you’re gone.”

“No. Wait until I’m with you. Just in case.”

In case Grayson didn’t believe in Fletcher’s willingness to help them, and he had to silence the old guard.

She hated the mental image that inspired, but she agreed with a nod. “We should bring Devon, too.”

His expression turned long-suffering. “Mia—”

“You’re going to need him. And I’ve known Devon for years—he hates Henri, just like the Fletchers do. None of them would betray us.”

Grayson exhaled thinly. “Fine. We’ll approach him tonight, with the Fletchers.”

She swallowed. A voice whispered she should be done, and not push him any further. But . . . “I think we should consider asking for Tyrell’s help.”

His expression closed down. “No.”

Her stomach lurched. “I think he’d come with us. And he would be an asset.”

“No.”

“I know you don’t trust him, but—”

“I can’t ever trust him,” Grayson cut in, his words as sharp as blades. “Especially not with you.” Pain sparked in his hooded eyes. “Mia, he beat you.”

She winced. “I know. I remember.”

“Then you can’t believe for one second that I’d ever trust him with you.”

“I know you two have a horrible history, but he’s not who you think he is.”

“I know exactly who he is,” he argued. “And I would never trust him with your life.”

“He saved my life while you were gone. Twice.”

“And I’m grateful for that. Truly. But I can’t trust him. Not with you. Please don’t ask me to.”

Mia looked down, her thoughts racing. Tyrell had terrified her once, so she understood Grayson’s distrust. But the Tyrell she knew now was not the same Tyrell who had beaten her. Grayson didn’t know this version of Tyrell—just as Tyrell didn’t know the version of Grayson that she did. Both brothers were fierce, deadly, and unflinching, just as they’d been raised to be. It was only with her they showed a gentler side; a vulnerability that came through trust.

She wanted to fight for Tyrell. But, deep down, she felt a whisper of doubt. He had betrayed her once, with Grayson’s letter. She might dare to trust her life with Tyrell, but she wasn’t sure she trusted him enough to risk Grayson’s. Not when the brothers were such bitter enemies.

She didn’t want to leave Tyrell behind. But she’d resolved to leave him once before, hadn’t she? At least this time Henri couldn’t blame him for her disappearance; it would be clear she’d left with Grayson. Tyrell would be all right. He’d be angry she’d left, and hurt—the thought made her chest ache—but she didn’t have another choice.

“All right,” she whispered.

Grayson’s fingers touched her chin, coaxing her eyes back to him. His were full of love and promise. “I will get you home,” he said. “Everything you’ve had to endure here . . . I swear, all of this will be behind you soon.”

She didn’t know why, but his words—meant to be comforting—brought a strange chill to her skin.

----------------------------

Royal Rebel releases on April 21st

Pre-order on Kindle now!

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Pre-order Royal Rebel and fill out the gift form to receive an EXCLUSIVE short story:

The Princess and the New Bodyguard

Here's the blurb:

Serene knows things have been strained between her parents since the civil war ended. She hopes a trip to Lambern Lake will bring her family back together. What she doesn’t expect is to grow closer to her new bodyguard, Cardon.

Serene is about to learn that one day can irrevocably change the course of a life.

The Craethen Empire Map

Explore the Craethen Empire - the world of ESPERANCE!

Map designed by Kevin Frost - 2022

Esperance Blog Tour Schedule

I've teamed up with some amazing book reviewers, bloggers, and bookstagrammers to create this media tour to celebrate the launch of Esperance, book 1 in my New Adult fantasy romance trilogy! Scroll down for links and the full schedule!

Twelve strangers. Six marriages. One year in Esperance.

Amryn has many reasons to hate the empire. Her latest is her forced marriage to General Carver Vincetti, better known as the Butcher. If he learns even one of her secrets, he will kill her. And Amryn has many secrets. Not only is she an empath with forbidden magic, she's also a newly recruited rebel intent on destroying the empire—starting at Esperance.

Carver knows the rebels have infiltrated the remote temple of Esperance. His job is to hunt them down before they can wreck the emperor’s new peace. Despite the demons that haunt him, Carver is intent on his mission—but he’s not prepared for Amryn. From her fiery red hair to her surprising wit, his new wife has captured his attention. The attraction that flares between them is undeniable. Now he just has to determine if she’s the enemy.

When the newly married couples become targets in a violent game, Esperance becomes more dangerous than anyone anticipated. Carver and Amryn are about to discover that no one is exactly who they appear to be—especially each other.

------------------------

ENTER ESPERANCE ON NOVEMBER 18th

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Paperback coming soon!

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MONDAY, Now 14th

I Love Books and Stuff - Book Review + Excerpt: https://ilovebooksandstuffblog.wordpress.com/

@amartinez8877 on Instagram

Batty and Anjali - Book Review + Character Interview with Amryn: https://www.instagram.com/cherumanalil/

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Booked By Tea - Book Review: https://instagram.com/bookedbytea

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C. A. Neville - Book Review: https://www.instagram.com/ca.neville/

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TUESDAY, Nov 15th

Books For You 2 - Book Review + Excerpt: https://www.instagram.com/books.for.you.2/

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Bookworm Lisa - Book Review + Excerpt: http://lisaisabookworm.blogspot.com

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Jennie And Books - Book Review + Excerpt: https://www.instagram.com/jennie.and.books/

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WEDNESDAY, Nov 16th

Darkest Sins - Author Guest Post: https://darkestsinsblog.com

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One More Book - Book Review + Excerpt: https://onebookmore.com/

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Mattie's Manuscripts - Book Review + Author Guest Post: https://www.instagram.com/mattiesmanuscripts/

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Books Less Travelled - Author Interview: https://bookslesstravelledreviews.wordpress.com

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Books Read By Tracy - Author Interview: https://www.instagram.com/booksreadbytracy/

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THURSDAY, Nov 17th

Literary Time Out - Book Review + Excerpt: https://literarytimeout.blogspot.com

@Literarytimeout on Facebook and Instagram

That's So Romantical - Book Review + Excerpt: https://www.instagram.com/thatssoromantical/

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Alice Xaphan - Book Review: http://www.instagram.com/misss3lfd3strukt/

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Singing Librarian Books - Book Review & Excerpt: https://www.singinglibrarianbooks.com/teens

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FRIDAY, Nov 18th

Min Reads and Reviews - Book Review: https://minreadsandreviews.blogspot.com

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Why Not Because I Said So - Book Review + Excerpt: https://whynotbecauseisaidso.blogspot.com

@ssdawn2002 on Instagram

Getting Your Read On - Book Review + Excerpt: http://gettingyourreadonaimeebrown.blogspot.com

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Diary of a Wannabe Writer - Book Review: http://diaryofawannabewriter.blogspot.com/

Stars Books and Tea - Book Review + Character Interview with Carver: https://starsbooksandtea.com

@starsbooksandtea on Instagram

Book Briefs - Book Review + Excerpt: https://www.instagram.com/bookbriefs/?hl=en

@Bookbriefs on Instagram

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A huge thank you to all the bloggers and reviewers who participated and made this virtual tour possible!

Read The First 3 Chapters of Esperance

Esperance is my New Adult fantasy romance coming out November 18th! I've got the blurb and the first 3 chapters for you down below. Enjoy!

Twelve strangers. Six marriages. One year in Esperance.

Amryn has many reasons to hate the empire. Her latest is her forced marriage to General Carver Vincetti, better known as the Butcher. If he learns even one of her secrets, he will kill her. And Amryn has many secrets. Not only is she an empath with forbidden magic, she's also a newly recruited rebel intent on destroying the empire—starting at Esperance.

Carver knows the rebels have infiltrated the remote temple of Esperance. His job is to hunt them down before they can wreck the emperor’s new peace. Despite the demons that haunt him, Carver is intent on his mission—but he’s not prepared for Amryn. From her fiery red hair to her surprising wit, his new wife has captured his attention. The attraction that flares between them is undeniable. Now he just has to determine if she’s the enemy.

When the newly married couples become targets in a violent game, Esperance becomes more dangerous than anyone anticipated. Carver and Amryn are about to discover that no one is exactly who they appear to be—especially each other.

Pre-order now on Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BDK388D6?ref

----------------------------

Chapter 1

Amryn

Carver Vincetti. The name rang in Amryn’s ears as the tall double doors swung open, revealing a long aisle that stretched the length of the vaulted chapel. Bright tropical flowers and emerald fronds in large gold pots brought splashes of color to the otherwise dull, tan stone room. Wooden pews creaked as spectators craned their necks to look at her, though her eyes were drawn to the altar at the end of the aisle, and the dark-haired man who stood waiting for her. She had only learned his identity a moment before those doors opened, but Carver Vincetti was about to become her husband.

If he didn’t discover her secrets and kill her, she just might live long enough to see him die.

In the corner, a string quartet played the empirical anthem, the notes resonant and strong as they echoed against the stone columns that ringed the chapel.

She hated every note.

Sheathed in her wedding dress, beads of sweat gathered along her spine. Even this deep in the temple, surrounded by stone, the oppressive heat of the jungle was stifling. The style and weight of her gown was impractical in this climate, and the humidity had wreaked havoc on her hair. Her maids had made a valiant effort to tame the uncontrollable crimson waves, but they’d soon had no choice but to admit defeat. Instead of the Ferradin bridal tradition of loose hair, they’d twisted and pinned until her flaming locks were piled into an elaborate bun atop her head. In truth, it was a mercy; she wouldn’t have been able to stand feeling anything against her neck when it felt like her skin was melting. The fitted bodice was too tight across her chest, and the very air felt different as it entered her lungs. Nothing like the cool mountain air of home.

If she’d been getting married in Ferradin, she would have held wildflowers in varying shades of purple, blue, and white. The bouquet she held instead was filled with tropical flowers with sharp edges, in vibrant colors of pink, orange, and yellow. The foreign flowers trembled in her hands. She tightened her grip until her knuckles were as white as her dress.

She could not afford to show weakness.

Amryn lifted her chin. Despite the pounding of her heart and the twisting in her gut, she forced herself to step forward. The thinly carpeted floor was cold and hard beneath the thin soles of her elegant shoes, and her long gown dragged at her legs, but she kept moving.

Behind her, the chapel doors thudded softly closed. The sound was hauntingly final.

Too many emotions churned in the room for Amryn to decipher anything specific, but she felt a familiar pulse from her uncle Rix. He was the only face in the crowd she knew, and she picked him out easily. He sat about halfway down the aisle on the left side of the chapel. His green eyes were fixed on her, and though he was only in his late thirties, his brown hair had been rapidly replaced by gray when the emperor’s edict had arrived. He wore the expected empirical black, but a sash of blue, white, and gold plaid draped over one shoulder and across his chest. It was a little bit of Ferradin, and Amryn needed that reminder of home.

Her focus shifted to the front pew, where four couples sat side by side. That meant, after Amryn’s wedding, there would be only one more today.

Twelve strangers. Six marriages. One year in Esperance. That was the emperor’s decree, and none of them had any choice in it.

Amryn was halfway down the long aisle now, and she could no longer avoid studying her future husband.

Carver Vincetti stood at strict attention before the altar, his feet planted shoulder-width apart and his spine rigidly straight as he faced the room. He was younger than she’d expected, probably twenty-five or so—only a few years older than her twenty years. He looked as dark as his reputation, though, with black hair that fell over his brow and bronzed skin that hinted at his southern heritage. His nose was long and straight, his jaw angular and covered with dark stubble. That shadow of a beard seemed at odds with his military uniform, which was empirical black and immaculately tailored to fit his wide shoulders, long arms, and tapered waist. While he had no visible weapons, there was no doubt he was a capable killer. Even from this distance she could see the piercing blue of his eyes—the lightest of his features by far. And when those aquamarine eyes sharpened on her, raking her from head to toe and marking every detail, every hair on her body lifted.

Then their gazes locked, and there was no fighting her shiver. In the coldness of his eyes, she saw the Carver Vincetti that was whispered about throughout the empire. The emperor’s favorite general. The heir to the throne of Westmont. The man that many simply called the Butcher.

She refused to break this stare. Instinct screamed that doing so would be a critical mistake. So, even though her pulse skipped faster, she didn’t look away.

Carver’s expression didn’t alter, which made it impossible to guess his thoughts. And with so many people in the room, Amryn couldn’t get a read on his emotions.

If the man even had any.

Finally—and yet far too soon—she stood before him. He was taller than her by nearly a head, but she lifted her chin in order to keep his gaze.

He held out a hand, and under the watchful eyes of the high cleric and a chapel full of witnesses, she set her palm against his.

Carver’s long fingers curled around hers, his grip strong, yet surprisingly careful. As if he feared his larger hand could crush hers. His skin was rough with callouses, and he wore a silver ring with a simple band on his forefinger. He smelled of warm sandalwood with a hint of spice. Standing this close to him, she could see a pale scar that traced over his chin, nearly hidden by the black stubble that coated the lower half of his face.

Carver turned, pulling her with him to face the altar and the high cleric. The older man had a shaved head, as all clerics did, though his robes were more elaborate and colorful than the simple brown ones the low-ranking clerics wore. He gave them a small smile, and gestured for them to kneel at the altar.

The music faded as they knelt together on the narrow cushioned bench, their hands still joined. The high cleric began to recite the marriage prayer. It was filled with promises of love, care, trust, and fidelity, and Amryn let the meaningless words float over her.

Now that she was closer to Carver, she might be able to discern his emotions from all the other chaotic feelings in the room. She glanced sideways, relaxing slightly when she saw his attention riveted on the high cleric.

His jaw was set firmly, but not harshly. A soldier, accepting orders. As she studied his profile, it truly appeared that Carver felt nothing. So she reached out with her empathic sense, gently probing the space between them until, finally, she felt him.

Carver Vincetti was not emotionless. Seething just below the surface of his unwavering expression, she felt frustration, surprise, irritation, determination, impatience . . . and fear.

Shock rippled through her, and she must have made some sound or tightened her hold on his hand, because his blue eyes darted to hers. This time, she was prepared for the intensity of his stare. But she was not prepared for the slight twist of his lips.

The smile was small, but it altered his entire bearing. The remoteness, the cold intensity—it vanished in an instant, replaced with a half-smile so devastatingly handsome, there was an unwanted flutter in her stomach.

Unwilling to process that, she sternly reminded herself who he was. The enemy.

Though she hadn’t returned his smile, his grew into a smirk, and Amryn felt his sudden spike of amusement. He was mocking her somehow, though she hadn’t done or said anything.

She jerked her eyes away, pretending to focus on the high cleric. But the color in her cheeks grew as Carver continued to watch her.

It was time for the oaths.

“Do you, Amryn Lukis, swear before the Divinities that you will love, protect, and cherish Carver Vincetti until death, and revere him as your husband?”

Her stomach cramped, and her voice came out a little hoarse as she responded to the cleric. “I swear.”

Carver still eyed her profile, and his hand tightened around hers; an unconscious tic, she thought.

“And do you, Carver Vincetti, swear before the Divinities that you will love, protect, and cherish Amryn Lukis until death, and revere her as your wife?”

“I swear.” Carver’s voice was deep and smooth, and without hesitation.

The high cleric easily continued his practiced words. “Then before the All-seeing Divinities and these witnesses, you are now married. Please rise.”

They stood. Carver only released her hand long enough for them to turn to face the chapel, and then his fingers wrapped around hers once more.

Applause rang dully in the stone chapel, but the audience blurred as Amryn stared out at them. A tremble shook her legs, and her palms began to sweat as reality sank in.

She was married. And she was about to be trapped in this temple for a year—cut off from everything and everyone she had ever known.

Carver didn’t wait for the applause to die out. He tugged her away from the altar, and Amryn had no choice but to follow him. Her pulse thumped too loudly in her ears, and when they reached the first pew that held the other married couples, Carver withdrew his hand. She did not miss the way his fingers flexed—as if even the ghost of her touch bothered him.

They joined the other married couples on the first pew, and Amryn slid a fraction away so their shoulders wouldn’t accidentally brush. She wanted to bolt from the room, but instead she braced herself for the last marriage.

She was not prepared to see the man who took Carver’s place at the altar, though.

Prince Argent Vayne, heir to the Craethen Empire. She never would have imagined that he would take part in his grandfather’s scheme for peace. And she was clearly not alone.

Murmurs broke out as shock pulsed through the room, dominating all other emotions. Witnesses straightened sharply, and the whispering only died when the music started once more and the double doors swept open to reveal the final bride.

She was beautiful, with long black hair and rich brown skin. Her wedding gown was as long as Amryn’s, but her train stretched out far behind her. Her smile was shy as she met Prince Argent’s gaze across the chapel, and despite the sea of emotions that clouded everything, Amryn could feel the spark of the woman’s love and joy. And—surprisingly—Amryn felt it echoed in Argent as he grinned at his bride.

As the high cleric began the marriage ceremony for the empirical prince, dread rippled through Amryn. Had the Rising known he would be here? Did the rebels plan to assassinate the future emperor while he was stuck in Esperance with the rest of them?

She supposed in the end it didn’t matter.

The emperor had summoned them all to this temple in an effort to save the empire. Instead, Esperance would be its undoing.

Amryn was here to make sure of it.

Chapter 2

Carver

Carver stood on the edge of the large banquet hall, studying the milling crowd as he sipped his wine. The emperor’s guest list had been minimal, for purposes of security. Each of the newlyweds had been allowed only one escort and a limited guard for the journey to the remote temple of Esperance, and the rest of the spectators were made up of nobles, politicians, and key church leaders from the capitol.

Carver wondered how many of them were enemies.

Positioned by the towering archways that led to an open balcony, Carver could hear the sounds of the jungle that surrounded the temple compound. The screeching calls of birds, the chattering of monkeys, the chirp and thrum of countless insects. Rolling hills, thick vegetation, and distant jagged mountain peaks were all he could see. Gnarled vines strangled the tan stone railing of the balcony, which spanned the length of the dining hall. Sticky heat clung to Carver’s skin, but he wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. He’d been in jungles before. He’d fought and bled in them.

He’d never thought to be married in one, though.

His father came to stand beside him. The wineglass he held looked ridiculously small in his large hand. Cregon Vincetti, the High General of Craethen, was tall and imposing, but Carver knew the lines around his blue eyes were from smiling with his family, and that his booming laugh was louder than any shouted commands. He didn’t have a single weapon on his belt; every entourage had been thoroughly searched when they’d entered Esperance. Only the guards were allowed to have weapons.

Cregon looked just as strange without his customary blades as Carver felt without his own.

“Your mother may never forgive the emperor for this,” his father said. His voice was pitched low, though they stood apart from the crowd and the buzz of other conversations would drown out his words before they had a chance of being overheard.

Carver still forced a smile, just in case anyone was watching. “She did offer to be my escort.”

Cregon leveled Carver a look. “I wasn’t about to send your mother here.”

“You were worried about her if a fight broke out?”

“No. I was worried she might start a fight.”

Carver huffed a short laugh. His mother’s skills with a blade were rivaled only by her temper, once flared.

She didn’t approve of Carver’s arranged marriage, or of being cut off from him for a year. But then, she hadn’t stopped hovering since he’d returned from Harvari—bloody, broken, and barely alive. His parents worried that the wounds that had nearly killed him ran deeper that his skin.

They were right, though Carver would never admit it aloud.

Cregon Vincetti took a swallow of wine and winced.

Carver’s mouth curved. “Westmont’s orchards have spoiled you.”

His father grunted as he eyed the red liquid. “Nothing tastes quite as good as home.”

Home. The word elicited all sorts of conflicted feelings, and the stiff collar of Carver’s uniform was suddenly too tight around his throat. Family, duty, honor, war—they were all entwined with home. As was the feeling of being trapped.

When the emperor had summoned him to the palace weeks ago, he’d assumed it was to send him back to Harvari. And despite everything, he was itching to do anything after convalescing at home for six months. Even return to war.

He just hadn’t anticipated this particular war.

His eyes sought his new bride, who stood on the far side of the banquet hall. As if she wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

Amryn Lukis—Vincetti now, he supposed—was a puzzle. She had been his wife—Saints, that was a terrifying word—for nearly an hour, yet they hadn’t actually spoken to each other. The moment the ceremonies ended, they’d all been ushered from the chapel and into this hall. Amryn had stepped away from Carver without a backward glance and moved to stand by her uncle.

She was beautiful. There was no denying that. Carver knew he would always remember the moment those chapel doors had opened and he’d first glimpsed her. The fire of her hair paired with her porcelain skin was a striking contrast, and the stark white of her dress only enhanced the stunning effect. Her sea green eyes were pale and depthless.

She was moderately tall, and though her build was slender, the clinging dress revealed distracting curves. It wasn’t until she stood before him that he noticed the light dusting of freckles scattered across her pert nose and curved cheekbones. Instead of marring her beauty, the markings enhanced it. They made her look real. Her round face was softened further by the crimson ringlets that brushed her cheeks.

Saints, that hair. Even now, standing with a room between them, those locks were distractingly vibrant. He wondered how long they fell when unpinned.

A stupid thing to wonder, considering circumstances.

As if she felt his attention, Amryn’s focus slid to him.

There was nothing pale or delicate in the way she looked at him. Her strange green eyes bored into him, firm and unafraid. Few dared meet his gaze like that. Not with his reputation. But she didn’t flinch away. She challenged him with that stare.

For the life of him, he didn’t know why that made his pulse thrum faster. Or why he could still feel her hand in his.

“She’s very beautiful,” his father commented lowly.

“She might be a traitor,” Carver said. It was a good reminder for them both.

“There is that.” The corner of his mouth suddenly lifted. “A red-haired girl from Ferradin. I should have taken the bet when Ford offered it to me.”

Carver rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched, just as it had when the thought of his friend’s bet had crossed his mind at the altar. “You should never encourage Ford and his bets.”

“I didn’t. But I can’t speak for your brothers and sisters. Or your grandparents.”

Carver barely hid in a snort. His large family could be exasperating, but he would do anything for them. “I’m grateful my life can provide such entertainment for the family,” he said drolly.

“You’ve always been entertaining, Carve.” Cregon lifted his glass and took another sip of wine—and grimaced.

Carver chuckled while his father glanced around for a place to put the offending drink, but the servants were busy making final adjustments to the table settings. No one wanted to be the reason the wedding feast didn’t run smoothly. Not with the emperor reigning over it.

Cregon finally sighed in defeat and simply lowered his glass. “I’m not sure your pairing with Amryn Lukis was a good idea. Ferradin has many personal grievances against the empire—Westmont, specifically.”

Which was exactly why Carver had insisted the emperor match him with whoever the king of Ferradin chose to send. The kingdom’s troubled history with the empire made them a prime suspect for dissention.

They knew the Rising had planted rebels in Esperance; they just didn’t know who. Identifying their enemies was Carver’s first priority. Although, since his best friend had also insisted on coming to Esperance for a year, protecting Argent had also moved to the top of Carver’s list.

The prince stood with his new wife, Jayveh. They were grinning as they held hands and talked with the emperor. They were the only newly married couple still standing beside each other, and Carver couldn’t remember ever seeing Argent look so happy.

“If anyone needs your worry,” he said to his father, “it’s Argent.”

“He loves her,” Cregon said.

That was the problem; Argent wouldn’t see a threat in Jayveh. Meanwhile, Carver saw a threat in everything and everyone—especially her.

“I know you’ll keep an eye on him,” his father said. “Just make sure you guard your back as well.”

Carver tipped his head in acknowledgement, but his attention was once again drawn to Amryn. But instead of meeting her green-eyed gaze again, he intercepted a glare from her uncle.

Lord Rix Varden, chief advisor and best friend to King Torin Halvin of Ferradin. Definitely a man with grievances against the empire. The man’s face tightened as he studied Carver. There was a warning there, along with unmistakable disapproval.

Lifting his wineglass in a silent salute, Carver flashed the man a grin.

Rix’s thick eyebrows slammed down.

His father sighed. “You shouldn’t provoke him.”

Carver lifted one shoulder. “Maybe he’ll snap and betray himself as a rebel. That would make things easier.”

Cregon was silent for a short moment. Then, “I know how he feels.”

Surprised by his suddenly subdued tone, Carver shot his father a look.

The older man shook his head slowly. “It’s not easy, letting you come here. Watching you marry a stranger. A potentially dangerous stranger, at that.” He let out a slow sigh. “Your mother and I only ever wanted our children to marry for love. As we did.”

“Life rarely turns out how we wish.” Carver thought he’d kept his tone light, but he regretted saying anything as his father eyed him with cautious concern.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” his father asked.

Carver’s fingers tightened around the stem of his glass. “I’m fine.”

It looked like Cregon might press, but a call for everyone to begin taking their seats interrupted him. Carver seized the excuse, bidding a quick farewell to his father so he could escort Amryn to the head table, where the newlyweds were to sit with the emperor.

Crossing the floor with long, purposeful strides, he soon stood before Amryn and her uncle.

Rix’s look was withering, but Carver tried to ignore that. It was time to adopt his role: charm his wife into revealing her secrets. Failing that, he would have to resort to other means to determine her allegiance.

He hiked his lips into a wide smile and addressed Amryn directly for the first time. “It’s unfortunate we didn’t have an opportunity to meet before the ceremony. I’m Carver Vincetti.” He stuck out a hand, but Amryn didn’t take it—or the subtle invitation to join him in disparaging the emperor and his choice of keeping the arranged pairings secret until right before the ceremonies. It was probably a weak test of her allegiance to the empire anyway, but maybe it would pave the way for a future conversation in which she’d let her guard down.

For now, she simply gazed at him steadily with those unsettling, fathomless eyes. Finally, her pink lips moved. “I know who you are.”

Her voice was lower than he expected; certainly not as airy and insubstantial as her appearance. Standing this close to her again, he wondered if she presented herself this way on purpose. The elegant gown that washed out her already pale skin, the wide neck that revealed fragile collarbones—even the way her hair was piled on her head, leaving her neck bare. Was it all an effort to look slight and delicate, so her deadly strike could be all the more unexpected?

He let his offered hand fall, then flashed her a smile. “Well, you have me at a disadvantage. But I look forward to getting to know you, Amryn.”

The skin around her eyes tightened, and in no way did she return his smile.

So much for charm. Perhaps he was simply out of practice.

Amryn glanced at her uncle. “We should take our seats.”

Rix didn’t look at all inclined to leave her with Carver. But since everyone else in the room was winding their way toward their assigned tables, he didn’t have much of a choice.

His guarded eyes slid to Carver, and his jaw flexed as he clearly fought for words. Since the emperor had decreed that all escorts would depart before dark, this could be the only time Amryn’s uncle had with Carver.

Finally, the man spoke, and his voice was surprisingly rough. “Don’t hurt her.”

The unexpected order was edged with a plea, and Carver’s shoulders tightened. “I won’t.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie; Carver would never personally hurt a woman. But if Amryn was a traitor to the empire, he would do his duty.

Rix’s expression hardened, but he didn’t say anything else as he turned to Amryn and pressed a quick kiss to her temple. He whispered something indistinct, then—with a last look at Carver—he strode away.

Carver turned to escort Amryn, but she was already moving for the head table, which was raised on a dais and set perpendicular to the other three long tables in the hall. He followed after her, walking briskly enough that he easily caught up to her. He said nothing as they found their seats.

Carver was relieved to see that Rivard had been placed some distance away with his new bride. The emperor had asked if there would be any trouble between him and Rivard, and Carver had assured him there would be none.

As long as Rivard kept his distance, that might actually remain true.

Carver set down his wineglass and pulled back Amryn’s chair for her.

She visibly stiffened, but gathered her long skirt and sank onto the cushioned seat. Once she was settled at the table, he sat beside her.

The grating sound of chairs being pulled across the stone floor echoed across the banquet hall until everyone was seated.

The emperor stood at the end of the long head table, his bodyguards behind him as he faced the room.

Emperor Lorcan Vayne’s hair was thin and white, and his blue eyes were watery with age. He was seventy-six years old, and his frailties had begun to show. Looking at him, one might find it difficult to believe he had actually been the man to envision an empire, and then fight to make it happen. From his beginnings as a king of Craethen, he had risen to unite eleven other kingdoms, establishing unmitigated peace across the greater part of the continent. He was committed to keeping that peace alive—no matter the cost.

The emperor beamed as he lifted his age-spotted hands. “Welcome to Esperance!” His gaze skated over the couples seated at the table, his eyes shining. “This temple is a place of peace and light, and you are the bright future of our great empire. You—the Empire’s Chosen—will lead us into a new age of unmitigated peace. You have each been selected by the rulers of your individual kingdoms, and I am grateful for your willingness to embrace this unique task.” He straightened a little, and though he was still clearly speaking to the newlyweds, his voice projected throughout the room. “For one year, you will be sealed together on these temple grounds. Guards will secure the gates, and they will not admit anyone inside the compound, nor will they permit anyone to leave. There will be no messages sent or received.

“Sealing Esperance is for your safety. It is also for your growth. You will have uninterrupted time to strengthen your marriages as well as foster friendships with the other chosen. There will be no outside distractions, influences, or biases. You will learn to rely on each other, and trust each other. Through marriage, you will mend the rifts of previous generations. Working together, you will solidify the peace that was the inspiration for this empire. Because there is strength and peace in unity.”

The motto of the empire was echoed by the spectators seated at the other tables: “Strength and peace in unity!”

Emperor Lorcan’s face softened. “The empire began in the kingdom of Craethen, and has since spread to become the strongest power in the world. We united so no more senseless blood would be spilled between neighbors. So that our kingdoms could come together for peace, not war.” He looked to Argent, and then Jayveh, and his smile broadened. “My grandson, the future emperor of Craethen, and his beautiful wife, the future empress, will lead us into a new age. With their support, and the leadership of one of my best advisors, Chancellor Aaron Trevill, these newly wedded couples will form the first Craethen Council. Together, you will debate important decisions that face our empire, and you will help construct new laws that will shape our joined nations. Each kingdom in the empire will always have a voice on the council. By merging the high families of each kingdom, we have assured that your future children will bind all of us even more irrevocably together. Because of the efforts of the twelve of you, the Craethen Empire will live forever!”

Applause began somewhere—probably from the clerics in the room—and the witnesses and escorts soon joined in. Amryn clapped with the rest of them, though the motion was stilted.

Carver couldn’t really fault her for her rigidness, though. His own clapping rang false in his ears.

Then something else rang out: the snap and twang of a fired crossbow.

The sound was nearly drowned out by the crowd, but Carver would have known it anywhere.

His stomach dropped. “Get down!” he shouted, but it was too late.

A cry pierced the room and the emperor fell, a bolt buried high in his chest.

Chapter 3

Amryn

Carver’s shout jolted Amryn, but it was feeling the emperor’s agony that made her gasp.

The room exploded into chaos.

Guards shouted. Across the floor, men and women leapt up from their chairs and bolted toward the exits. The emperor’s bodyguards rushed to surround him, and screams echoed as more crossbows were fired.

Amryn was frozen. Her heart seized in her chest, the emperor’s pain lancing through her.

A bolt slammed into the arm of the newly married man seated next to her, and his gut-wrenching howl snapped her out of her frozen state. She shoved to her feet, but almost immediately Carver snagged her wrist. He hauled her down to the floor behind the table, the shivering black tablecloth a feeble shield from the rest of the room.

Her new husband’s jaw was tight as he crouched beside her. “Stay down,” he ordered tersely, “or you’re going to get yourself killed.”

Amryn’s stomach clenched. The fear in the room was a raging storm. The man who’d just been shot—she thought his name was Ivan—was stumbling to his feet, blood dripping from the bolt stuck in his arm. His face was set in a silent snarl and he grabbed up his dinner knife before darting out of view.

Still hunched beside her, Carver reached blindly onto the table, and when his hand came back down, he clutched a dinner knife as well. Palming the cutlery, he cursed under his breath. “Saints, I miss my blades,” he muttered. Then he looked at her, his blue eyes severe. “Stay here.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just vaulted onto the table. Dishes clattered as he leaped to the other side, charging in the direction the shots had come from.

Amryn’s fingers dug into the stone floor, a knot tightening her throat. Was this the Rising?

Immediately, she dismissed that possibility. Why would the rebels recruit her for a mission in Esperance, only to attack now?

The chaos in the room nearly robbed her of breath. She looked up and down the length of the table, noting that some of the couples had scattered, though a few of the newlyweds remained huddled beside the table. One of the brides made eye contact with Amryn—she thought she’d heard someone at the table call her Tam—and the woman’s shock and fear punched into Amryn with near physical force.

Amryn hadn’t known many empaths; after being hunted for years and executed by order of the church, most empaths were either dead, or too good at hiding to reveal their secret. But even without the ability to compare, Amryn was certain she felt things more intensely than most empaths. Sometimes, if she had warning, she could brace herself and better handle the emotions that slammed into her. But in a sudden and violent situation like this, the emotions were crippling.

Fear, grief, rage, bloodlust, horror, and pain. It was everywhere. Overwhelming. And when she felt the first death, she shuddered.

Feeling a life end was an indescribable horror. She’d experienced it before, and feeling it now brought her back to that long ago night. The helplessness she’d experienced. The fear. The grief.

She would not be that terrified little girl again.

Gritting her teeth, Amryn pinched her eyes closed. In her mind, she sat behind her cello. Her hand encircled the smooth wooden neck, and her fingers pressed against the taut strings as her bow dragged out deep, resonant notes. As always, the act of imagining the creation of a familiar song—willing it from memory—soothed the tension in her muscles. Created a buffer between her and the emotions that tried to flood her. It was a trick Rix had taught her. Something that her mother had done, when her empathic gifts had become too much to bear.

When Amryn opened her eyes, she could breathe. She could think. The emotions in the room were still frenzied, but she’d created a shield of sorts.

Still crouched by the table, Amryn twisted, searching for the nearest exit. Carver had told her to stay in place, but every instinct screamed to flee the room.

She trusted her instincts far more than she trusted him.

Across the dais on her left, she spotted an open doorway. There was no one between her and that escape, so she gathered her flowing skirt in one hand, but hesitation caught her before she ran. She glanced toward the surface of the table.

As an empath, fighting was nearly impossible. Even if she had time to brace herself, hurting someone would still cause her pain.

Pain, however, was survivable. Death wasn’t.

Keeping her head ducked behind the table, Amryn blindly searched for a knife. Her fingertips brushed the cool, rounded edge of a plate, then the crisp fold of a linen napkin. With a little fumbling, she finally grasped the thin blade she wanted.

The shouting in the room had reached a fevered pitch. She thought she heard Rix bellow her name, but her uncle was too far from the head table; she couldn’t wait for him, and it would be foolish to risk plunging into the seething crowd to reach him.

She tightened her grip on the knife and looked toward the doorway again. From the corner of her eye, she saw the other huddled bride—Tam—suddenly lurch to her feet. The woman was small and fast, but she only made it a few steps before she was tackled by a large man. He wore the garb of a servant, but he wielded a large dagger in one hand and grabbed a fistful of her brown hair with the other, jerking her head back to expose her throat.

Tam’s scream was swallowed in the other battle sounds, but Amryn felt her spike of pain. The brutal claws of her fear.

Amryn darted forward, the knife burning her palm as she stabbed the man’s back.

The blade didn’t penetrate as easily as she thought it would; the tip pierced his flesh, but he was already whipping around with a roar, and the dinner knife clattered to the floor.

The slash of his echoed pain nearly brought Amryn to her knees. She stumbled back a step, her pulse hammering.

The man glared at her, a silent snarl twisting his features.

Tam kicked the man’s cheek, knocking him back. The woman scrambled away from him, her white skirt spilling over the floor as she fought to gain her feet.

Amryn darted forward and grabbed Tam’s hand, jerking her up. “The door!” she gasped.

Tam was already running with her, but they’d only made it a few steps before Amryn’s skirt was snagged from behind. She barely managed to let go of Tam as she fell. Her knees slammed into the stone floor with jarring force, and then her chest hit, driving the rest of the air from her lungs. Her chin knocked off the stones, and her vision blurred.

Harsh fingers clamped down on Amryn’s ankle, and she was dragged backward.

Tam screamed.

Amryn couldn’t breathe as she was flung onto her back. The furious man straddled her, his knees digging into her hips.

Tam charged him, but one backhand sent her spinning to the ground.

Amryn was still dazed, but adrenaline rushed through her when the large man’s attention turned back to her, his dark eyes blazing. Rage, despair, desperation, pain—it all stabbed into her.

She thrashed beneath him, but the heavy skirt restricted her movements, and he pinned her easily. Once he had both of her hands manacled in one of his larger ones, he lifted his dagger, the tip aimed for her heart.

She didn’t have enough air to scream.

His body suddenly jerked. His hold on the knife clenched, but his body was already sagging. As he swayed, the knife slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor beside Amryn. His grip on her wrists loosened, and he slumped to the side.

Behind him stood Carver Vincetti. He held a bloody knife—not the table knife she’d last seen him with, but a dagger he must have taken from someone else. A scowl darkened his face as he stared down at her. “I told you to stay down.”

Amryn trembled. Her attacker was dying on the floor beside her. She could feel it. She kicked away from him, gasping for air as she scrambled backwards.

Carver’s eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, and Amryn cringed back.

He stilled at once, a furrow growing between his dark brows. “Are you all right?”

Her attacker expelled his last rattling breath, and the sudden loss of life—of all feeling—made Amryn double over.

She threw up on her new husband’s boots.

***

The fight was over. While guards called the room to order, Carver fetched a napkin so Amryn could wipe her mouth, and then he extended a hand to help her up.

He didn’t say anything about his boots. She hadn’t expected such courtesy, and for some reason it made her cheeks burn more than if he’d cursed her.

He studied her intensely, which only increased her blush. “Are you all right?” he asked again, his eyes boring into hers. “Did you hit your head?”

She swallowed hard, still tasting the acidic bile. “No.”

He eyed her chin.

She knew it must be red, because it was throbbing from hitting the floor. Her flush deepened. “I hit it a little,” she admitted. “But I’m fine.”

She wasn’t fine. Her stomach still churned, and all she wanted to do was escape this room and all the emotions in it.

Carver looked like he might press the issue of her injury, but his father arrived—as did Rix.

Her uncle grasped her arms, tugging her away from Carver. His eyes were frantic as he studied her. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m all right,” she assured him.

High General Cregon Vincetti frowned. “Are you sure?”

Saints, she could barely breathe, surrounded by three towering men. “I’m fine,” she insisted.

Rix’s brow grew lined. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“You can’t leave.”

Rix stiffened at Carver’s words. “She’s been attacked. She’s clearly distressed.”

Cregon Vincetti frowned, and in that chiseled expression she could see an echo of Carver. “He’s right,” the high general said. “The emperor was attacked. No one can leave the room.”

“Is the emperor still alive?” a new voice asked.

Amryn twisted, and Rix released her so they could all face one of the newly married couples. She recognized Tam at once, and she was relieved to see the woman standing, though dark bruising had already started on her cheek. Her husband was the one who had spoken.

Amryn hadn’t heard his name yet, though she guessed from his lightly toned complexion that he was from one of the central kingdoms. He looked to be Carver’s age, and he was nearly as tall, but he had a thinner build. His dark brown hair matched his eyes, and he had a prominent nose and high cheekbones. While he was handsome, Amryn immediately disliked the feel of him. It was hard to know exactly why, especially with such high emotion in the crowded room, but just the fact that he had a constricting hand clasped around Tam’s upper arm made Amryn stiffen.

“The emperor will be fine,” Carver’s father said. “The bolt hit near his shoulder, and his guards attended him immediately.”

The man’s shoulders fell a little as he released a sigh. “That’s fortunate.”

A sudden wave of loathing made Amryn shiver, and she glanced toward Carver. His gaze was fastened on Tam’s husband, and the remoteness on his face was as telling as any glare.

Carver hated this man.

Cregon Vincetti glanced at his son. “We should assist Argent.”

Amryn looked over her shoulder and saw that the empirical prince was issuing rapid orders to guards, as well as a physician who had been rushed in for the emperor.

Carver’s deep voice brought her attention back around as he addressed Rix. “Will you stay with her?”

Surprise filtered through her, and that was all her own.

Rix’s eyes narrowed. “Of course.”

Carver nodded once, then he strode toward Prince Argent.

The high general lingered, his gaze on Tam’s husband. “Rivard, why don’t you make sure all of the couples are all right?”

It was phrased as an invitation, but the air of order couldn’t be missed. Rivard dipped his pointed chin and released Tam.

None of them missed how she rubbed at her arm as he walked away.

Anger flared from Rix.

Cregon’s concern was just as potent. He made an effort to moderate his voice as he addressed Tam. “My dear, are you all right?”

Her eyes shined with moisture, but she nodded. “Just a little bruised.” Her brown eyes darted to Amryn. “You saved my life. Thank you.”

Before Amryn could respond, there was a piercing shout. “Kian!”

They all turned, and Amryn saw several guards had forced three men to kneel on the dais.

One of the brides darted forward. Fear, confusion, and grief hit Amryn as the bride was held back by a guard.

“Kian!” she gasped.

The man who knelt in the middle lifted his head. His features were too similar to the bride’s for coincidence. Based on their ages, Amryn guessed they were siblings. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were sharp. “Stay back, Cora.”

The young woman’s entire body shook as the guard held her back. “What have you done?” she cried.

Kian didn’t answer, and his expression didn’t alter. Not even when Prince Argent stepped forward and the entire room quieted.

The prince’s face was a stoic mask, but his eyes betrayed his rage. “You attempted to kill the emperor. You failed.”

“Esperance will fail!” The man beside Kian spit at Argent’s feet and was abruptly kicked by one of the guards.

Argent raised a hand, staying further violence. He opened his mouth to speak, but an older voice cut him off.

“The peace will not fail,” the emperor said, his voice wavering only a little. His skin was pale, nearly as white as his hair, and the haphazard bandage on his shoulder was bloodstained. His guards remained close, but the emperor walked of his own volition to stand beside his grandson and face the three surviving attackers. “There is strength and peace in unity,” the emperor intoned. “That is why Esperance will succeed, no matter what you or anyone else attempts to do to stop it.”

Kian’s chest rose and fell as he glared at the emperor. “Death to the conqueror and all who support him!”

The emperor’s eyes tightened. “There will be no peace with men like you.” He nodded to the guards, and a sword was raised.

Cora shrieked, and Amryn’s gut dropped as a blade was rammed through Kian’s back.

----------------------------

Esperance is out November 18th!

Pre-order now on Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BDK388D6?ref

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62591427-esperance

Add on BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/esperance-by-heather-frost

*Paperback will be available to buy soon*

Frequently Asked Questions - August 2022 Edition

I've been getting some FAQ, so I wanted to pop onto the blog to answer them for anyone who might be wondering the same thing.

When is Royal Rebel (Fate of Eyrinthia #4) coming out?

A: I don't have a specific release date yet, but you can expect it early 2023. I will keep you posted via social media and my newsletter (you can subscribe to it here: https://www.heatherfrost.com/contact )

How many books will be in the Fate of Eyrinthia series?

A: There will be six novels.

How many novellas will there be in the Fate of Eyrinthia series?

A: There are currently plans for 5 novellas. Some are set in the past, before the events of Royal Decoy, and the others happen in line with the main storyline.

Will there be hardcovers of the novellas?

A: No. I don't have any plans to make the novellas available in hardcover, because the cost for that format just probably wouldn't be worth it for you for a shorter book.

What order should I read the novellas in?

A: Fire & Ash can be read at any time; I recommend reading it after you've read Royal Spy, because then you'll know Desfan better, but it really doesn't matter. Shield & Blade MUST be read after Royal Captive (Fate of Eyrinthia #3). You can find the series reading order guide (with author notes) here: https://www.heatherfrost.com/post/fate-of-eyrinthia-reading-order

Are you working on other books, or just Eyrinthia?

A: Yes, I am working on some other projects as well. I find it impossible not to, and, honestly, working on different projects keeps my creativity flowing and my excitement fresh. More on this soon :)

Do you have any book recommendations that are similar to the Fate of Eyrinthia series?

A: There are some great YA fantasy romances out there! The list below contains some recommendations off the top of my head. There's a wide variety of fantasy (some of the books have magic, some don't) as well as differing romantic heat levels, so you can pick whatever sounds best to you.

The Kiss of Deception, by Mary E. Pearson (this series is one of my favorites!) Throne of Glass, by Sarah J. Maas A Court of Thorns and Roses, by Sarah J Maas (this one is probably more New Adult, and the content level reflects it. But book 2 is probably my favorite book. Ever.) Touch of Power, by Maria V. Snyder Falling Kingdoms, by Morgan Rhodes (this series captures the dual POVs you see in Eyrinthia, and it's been compared to a YA Game of Thrones.) The False Prince, by Jennifer A. Nielson (less romance, but it's a medieval fantasy world without magic, and I feel like it's very underrated!) A Curse so Dark and Lonely, by Brigid Kemmerer An Ember in the Ashes, by Sabaa Tahir (I haven't finished the series yet, but I couldn't put down book 1) Snow Like Ashes, by Sara Raasch (I haven't finished the series yet, but really enjoyed book 1) Reign of Shadows, by Sophie Jordan The Wrath and the Dawn, by Renée Ahdieh

Shield & Blade Media Tour Schedule

I've teamed up with some amazing book reviewers, bloggers, authors, and bookstagrammers to create this awesome media tour to celebrate the launch of Shield & Blade!

Keep scrolling to find all the tour details and links, as well as buy links for the book!

A huge thank you to all the bloggers and reviewers

who participated and made this virtual tour possible!

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Haven't read the beginning of this YA fantasy romance series?

Learn about Royal Decoy here: https://www.heatherfrost.com/fate-of-eyrinthia-series

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WEDNESDAY, July 13th

M. H. Woodscourt - Excerpt: https://www.instagram.com/woodscourtbooks/

@woodscourtbooks on Instagram

Darkest Sins - Book Review + Excerpt: https://darkestsinsblog.com

@silviartsy on Instagram

Batty and Anjali - Rook Review + Excerpt: https://battysmammareads.blogspot.com

@cherumanalil on Instagram

That's So Romantical - Book Review: https://www.instagram.com/thatssoromantical/

@thatssoromantical on Instagram

THURSDAY, July 14th

Singing Librarian Books - Book Review + Excerpt: https://www.singinglibrarianbooks.com/teens

@singinglibrarianbooks on Instagram

Stars Books and Tea - Book Review + Author Guest Post: https://starsbooksandtea.com

@starsbooksandtea on Instagram

Getting Your Read On - Book Review: http://gettingyourreadonaimeebrown.blogspot.com

@gettingyourreadon on Instagram

Kate Renae - Aesthetic Mood Reel + Book Review: https://www.instagram.com/authorkaterenae

@authorkaterenae on Instagram

FRIDAY, July 15th

Literary Time Out - Book Review + Excerpt: https://literarytimeout.blogspot.com

@Literarytimeout on Facebook and Instagram

Purple Shadow Hunter - Book Review + Author Guest Post: https://purpleshadowhunter.blogspot.com

@purpleshadowhunter on Instagram

Sarah Hill - Book Review + Author Interview: https://sarahrylie.wixsite.com/author

@authorsarahhill on Instagram

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RETURN TO EYRINTHIA ON JULY 14th!

Grab your Kindle copy here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09V51ZCVN?ref_=pe_3052080_276849420

The paperback will be available soon!

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Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60781337-shield-blade

His to protect

When Vera broke Venn’s heart, he was shattered. When she was abducted by mercenaries, he vowed to tear Mortise apart to find her. Now, reunited, he is determined to keep her safe–and win back her heart. Of course, things are never that simple.

Hers to defend

Vera has regretted hurting Venn ever since that fateful night in Wexon, but finding the right time to tell him is proving difficult. Traveling with him to Duvan should give her the perfect opportunity, but things take an unexpected turn when they find young children abandoned near a roadside.

Theirs to save

Helping the children isn’t in question, but the detour leads Venn and Vera into the heart of a sinister mystery. The truth they fight to uncover could change everything in Eyrinthia–and may cost them their lives.

***Shield & Blade is book 3.5 in the Fate of Eyrinthia YA fantasy romance series. It is best enjoyed after reading Royal Captive.***

Read the Beginning of Shield & Blade

Can't wait for release day?

Check out the beginning of Shield & Blade (Fate of Eyrinthia 3.5) now!

Please note that there are SPOILERS for Royal Spy and Royal Captive. You've been warned!

Prologue

Venn

Devendra

Venn dragged a hand down his face as his boots scuffed the carpeted halls of Lord Francin’s manor. Dawn would break soon, and he was exhausted from being up all night, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not until he saw Vera.

The knuckles on his right hand throbbed. He shouldn’t have hit the Rose. Bennick had invited him to the interrogation in order to keep him from snapping; instead, Venn had been the one to crack under the assassin’s taunts.

But the Rose had nearly killed Vera tonight. He’d attacked Clare and Wilf, too. It was a miracle they were all still breathing, and even acknowledging that fact made Venn’s chest ache. He had no idea how Bennick was coping; the night had been bad enough before learning the Rose was his half-brother. Venn couldn’t imagine what his friend must be feeling right now.

He rounded the final corner that brought his room into view—the place he’d carried Vera after the Rose’s attack. Two guards stood at attention, and seeing them in place released some of the tension in his shoulders.

He kept his voice low as he approached. “Has the physician been back to check on her?”

The nearest guard answered, his quiet voice strangely loud in the otherwise silent hall. “Yes, about two hours ago. She was awake.”

Relief rushed through him. Thank the fates.

When he’d last seen Vera, she’d been unconscious. The Rose had thrown her across the room, and she had a large knot on the back of her head. Venn had felt utterly useless; all he could do was sit on the bed beside her and hold her limp hand, terrified that each shallow breath would be her last.

He was a soldier. He didn’t do well when the enemy was something he couldn’t fight.

Knowing she’d woken should be enough. He should leave her alone to sleep, and not risk disturbing her.

But he needed to see her with his own eyes. To know for himself that she was really all right.

He stepped past the guards and gently opened the door.

On the far side of the room the curtains were open, letting in the purple-gray light of pre-dawn. Vera was curled in the bed, her back to the door. Her blond hair trailed over the pillow, a haunting reminder of how they’d found Ivonne after the Rose had killed her in Halbrook. But he could hear Vera’s breaths and see each one with the steady rise and fall of the blankets.

He hadn’t lost her. He would never lose her. That was a vow he made to himself, here and now. He would give his last breath for Vera Smallwood, no question. No hesitation. Because he loved her.

He hadn’t confessed the depth of his feelings yet; she’d needed space after her sister’s death. He understood that. It had hurt when she’d distanced herself, when all he wanted to do was hold her, but, fates, he understood. Her pain was still too fresh, too overwhelming. But when she was ready for his comfort, he would be there.

He would always be there for her.

Venn eased the door closed behind him and softly moved across the room. He didn’t want to disturb her, so he didn’t sit on the edge of the bed. Instead, he grabbed a wooden chair from the corner and carried it over. When he set it silently beside the bed, Vera was staring up at him.

His mouth eased into an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I was trying to be quiet.”

Her lips were pressed together, her eyes unblinking. It was the flattest expression he had ever seen on her, and sudden wariness pinched his spine.

He sat on the edge of the chair, his pulse pounding faster as he studied her shielded gaze. “How do you feel? Are you in pain? I can send for the physician.”

“No.” Her voice was low and revealed none of her thoughts.

Venn swallowed dryly. His hands itched to touch her, but instinct screamed that would be a mistake.

He hated that they’d lost their footing since Ivonne’s death. It made all of this so fates-blasted difficult.

He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, his empty hands dangling. He forced a thin smile. “Clare is safe.”

“The physician told me.”

Her voice had never been so emotionless, and it sounded so wrong; Vera was everything light and cheerful. Her pain at losing her sister had gutted him, but this flatness . . .

It scared him.

He cleared his throat. “Can I get you anything?”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

His heart rate ratcheted. She couldn’t have meant her words to sound so harsh, even though she’d spoken so certainly. It had been a long night, and they were both exhausted. That was all.

Her voice was quiet, but horribly resolute. “I want you to leave.”

His stomach dropped, even as his thoughts raced. You’re misreading her. She’s not ordering you away for good. She just wants to sleep.

“I’ll go,” he said, a thin catch in his voice. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Her jaw tensed. “I can’t keep doing this. I need you to leave me alone.”

Venn stared at her. Shock, hurt, and denial punched through him. “I . . . don’t understand.”

For the first time, pain was evident in her eyes. “You haven’t understood me for days. I don’t want your sympathy, or your comfort. I don’t want you.”

Venn drew back, the chair creaking under his weight. His gut churned. “Vera, I know you’re hurting right now, but—”

“Do you think this is ever going to change?” she cut in. “That I’m going to look at you and not see the man who failed to save my sister?”

The words were a knife in his heart. “I—I’m sorry for what happened to Ivonne. But that wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t there—”

“I’m perfectly aware of that.” Her beautiful eyes sharpened. “No one was there for her. You had weeks to catch him, but you failed, and my sister paid the price.”

“I’m so sorry.” It was all he could think to say.

Tears swam in her eyes as she continued to watch him. “So am I.”

It was the finality of her words that snapped something inside him. Made all of this suddenly real. His lungs tightened, making his words sound pinched. “Please don’t do this. Vera, I love you.”

The words just slipped out, and the desperate edge in them made them no less true.

He’d imagined what it would be like to say them. He’d pictured Vera’s blush. Her grin. Her arms winding around him and his head buried in her hair as he said it again and again. I love you. I love you. I love you . . .

He’d held those words close, awaiting the perfect moment to give them air.

But nothing was right about this moment.

A ripple of emotion crossed Vera’s face, and then her jaw hardened. Her eyes went flatter than before, despite a mist of unshed tears. Her silence was the most painful rejection he could ever imagine, and it was in this moment that he truly realized what was happening.

He was losing her.

His stomach was a yawning pit and his pulse thudded in his ears. Reaching for her was instinct, his dark fingers curling toward her hand.

She jerked away before he could touch her.

Venn froze at her recoil. Everything within him was cold as ice. “Please,” he breathed.

Vera’s focus was unyielding as she stared at him. “I don’t love you, Venn. I never could. Not now.”

Behind him, weak light began to creep across the room. His shadow was cast over Vera, and he knew what she was saying. He understood the words. But for the life of him, he couldn’t understand what he was supposed to do now.

Slowly, he rose. She watched him, those tears still swimming in her eyes, but not falling.

“I’m sorry I disturbed you.” His voice sounded muted. Wooden. It took all of his strength to continue. “I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

He strode for the door, not sure why he thought she might call him back. She had been quite clear, and far calmer than he was.

It still tore out his heart when she didn’t make a sound.

As he opened the door to leave, new sunlight painted the walls around him. The light did nothing to warm him, though. Because as dawn broke, something inside of him did, too.

Chapter 1

Vera

Mortise - Three Weeks Later

Vera’s toe caught the edge of a cobblestone and she pitched forward, the dagger she’d stolen from Tariq clenched painfully in her hand. Her heart pounded erratically as her stride hitched, but she managed to keep running.

She couldn’t afford to fall.

Tariq was chasing her, and she didn’t want to imagine what he would do if he caught her.

Though it was full dark, the streets of Krid were overrun with men, women, and children. Glowing lanterns and roaring bonfires lit the night, illuminating purple flags that fluttered overhead. The flags were decorations for a two-week holiday Salim had mentioned when they’d first arrived in the dirty Mortisian city. Laughter boomed as people celebrated the Dawn of Eyrinthia, and their festive mood created a horrible juxtaposition to the terror and guilt rushing through Vera’s body.

She shouldn’t have left Clare. Salim might kill her for attacking him with the garrote. At the very least, the mercenary leader would punish her. And they’d learned over the past few weeks just how cruel Salim could be.

“Out of my way!” Tariq’s snarl was swallowed nearly at once in the roar of the crowd. Even still, the sound of his voice—closer than before—shot her veins with ice. Her stomach churned as she dodged around a hulking man who shot her an irritated glare, but she didn’t slow.

Her lungs burned and sweat slicked her skin as she darted around a corner. This street was narrower, but just as crowded. Light spilled out of open doors, the taverns, shops, and homes all open to the night. Unfamiliar spices tickled her nose. Men and women hawked food and wares, drums beat and flutes trilled, and the foreign words of the Mortisian language swam around her. No one paid her more than a passing glance, and for once Vera was grateful for the indifferent crowds that choked the sprawling Mortisian city; getting lost in the sea of strangers might be her only chance of survival.

Her wrists stung as the rope binding them rubbed against her raw flesh. She hadn’t even had time to cut her bonds. She’d known the moment she’d run out of the inn that Clare’s stalemate would only last so long. That someone would chase after her.

Even before she’d heard him, she knew it would be Tariq. The mercenary had taken a horrible interest in her from the beginning. He’d been the one to abduct her during the ambush on the road, and he’d sought out any excuse to touch her ever since. His dark eyes had wandered her body freely, making his desire only too clear. She didn’t think she’d ever forget waking up during the night, shivering on the cold ground of the mercenary camp, only to find him staring at her. The mere memory made her skin prickle and her stomach roil. Tariq would follow her relentlessly, and he wouldn’t make her death easy, fast, or painless.

A growl vibrated behind Vera, and fear blasted through her. Tariq was gaining.

Adrenaline propelled her forward, but the shock to her exhausted body was taking its toll. Her strength was flagging. Every footfall brought a burst of pain. Blood pooled beneath the soles of her aching feet, and after weeks of having only enough food to survive, her entire body shook. She wouldn’t be able to run much longer. Unless she changed tactics, Tariq would catch her.

Panic sliced through her chest. She looked around wildly for a place to hide. Her first thought was the tavern on her left. It was brightly lit and full of people. She could try to hide among them.

But Tariq might expect that.

On her right, the darkened mouth of a narrow alley waited.

She hesitated for only a split second before diving into the alley.

The cramped space was rank with the stench of rotten food and worse, but she didn’t worry about what might lurk in the shadows; not when she knew exactly what kind of evil pursued her.

She tripped on some debris and nearly went down among a pile of splintered crates, but managed to catch herself against a large barrel. Pain flashed up her arm from the hit, but she ignored that as she scrambled behind a set of barrels and crouched down, her back against the cold brick wall of the alley.

Her lungs heaved for air and her knuckles screamed as she strangled the dagger in her hands.

If she was fated to die tonight, she swore she would take him with her.

The music and laughter from the nearby street drifted over her, the only sound other than her low and stuttered breaths. Then curt footsteps entered the alley.

Tariq.

Vera hunched lower behind the barrels, her stomach clenching painfully as she pinched her eyes closed.

Venn’s face was all she could see. His half-grin. His piercing eyes.

I’m sorry.

The thought was so fervent, it could have been a prayer. She hoped somehow it would reach him.

The footsteps hesitated.

Vera held her breath. A bead of sweat rolled down her spine and the knife in her hands shook.

Tariq bit out a curse. The heel of his boot grated over the stone, and then darted away. With every beat of her pulse his footsteps faded, until all she heard was the pounding of her own heart. Tears pricked her eyes and the muscles in her legs cramped, but she didn’t dare move out from behind the barrels. She kept waiting for him to come back. To find her.

But though she remained alert with the dagger strangled in her shaking grip, he never did.

---------------------------------

Pre-order your Kindle copy of Shield & Blade today!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09V51ZCVN?ref_=pe_3052080_276849420

The paperback will be available to purchase once the book releases.

Royal Decoy Quiz

Are you a fan of Eyrinthia? Want to test your knowledge? Check out the Royal Decoy quiz using the link below!

https://forms.gle/HekmGmBLhPXY4X3F7

*Note: all questions come from "Royal Decoy", book 1 in the Fate of Eyrinthia series.

Fate of Eyrinthia Titles Explained

I've gotten some messages asking how I picked the titles of these books, and so I thought I'd write a quick post about it!

I love titles that work in multiple ways, and I tried to do that with these titles. Some of the choices might appear obvious, but let me share some of my reasoning to show you the deeper meanings that each title has.

***SPOILER WARNING: This post covers through Royal Captive, and each book explanation does contain some spoilers. So please only read explanations for the books you have finished reading!***

Royal Decoy

Clare is the obvious reason for this title, and since she's also the one on the cover, it makes sense that I picked it. This book is all about her becoming Serene's decoy. However, Clare isn't the only one pretending to be someone she's not.

Grayson is seen as The Black Hand, someone with a black heart who only lives to do his father's evil bidding. But we know that he's playing the role that his father demands in order to keep Mia safe. Throw in the fact that he's also a royal, and this title takes on more meaning.

But that's not where it stops! Serene, we come to learn, is also pretending. She plays the part of a bratty princess to throw off her father and brother, but we learn she's actually not that person at all.

On a smaller level, but still fun to acknowledge, is the fact that even Bennick takes a moment to play a part, since he pretends to be Venn for a while.

In short, Royal Decoy is all about our main characters pretending to be something they are not.

Royal Spy

In this book, Clare really takes on her role as a spy for Serene, and she's also playing double-agent as she pretends to be a spy for Prince Grandeur. Once again, though, these titles are about more than just Clare.

Grayson is learning to be a spy as he prepares for his unique mission in Mortise. Liam, his older brother and the spy-master of Ryden, trains Grayson in the basics of spying and duplicitousness that they can use on their false mission of peace.

Serene is also dabbling in duplicitousness throughout this book, and we learn she's got some rebellious secrets.

A new POV we get in this book is from Desfan--the main man on the cover! He is of course a royal, and he's also taking his turn at being a spy as he investigates troubles within Duvan, and within his court.

Another new POV is Mia's, and the main plot happening with her is her interactions with Tyrell, who she knows is a spy for Henri.

On a smaller scale, we also have Eliot, who is manipulating Clare for the rebel cause.

So, this book is all about characters spying, investigating, learning, and observing.

Royal Captive

Mia is featured on the cover, and if you've read the book, you know why I chose her and why this title makes complete sense for her. She is the main reason I settled on this title, but--like the other books--there are other reasons.

We ended Royal Spy with Clare being captured by mercenaries, so she is a literal captive.

Bennick is also feeling trapped, since he's not able to go after Clare.

Grayson is still in Mortise, and he's caught on a path that is only getting more dangerous and more restrictive. He is betrayed and maneuvered into a corner--captured, for lack of a better word--and he's forced to make a heart-rending choice; one that leads to literal imprisonment. He also finds himself a prisoner again before the end of the book.

Desfan feels trapped by his impending marriage to Serene. Additionally, he's still feeling the weight of his growing responsibilities, which becomes only more acute by the end of the book.

A new POV we get in this book is Serene, and once in her head we realize just how trapped she feels. By her marriage to Desfan, by her responsibilities as the rebel leader, and by the fact that she can't make an open move against her father and brother. We also learn that her heart was captured years ago by someone . . .

Finally, in our other new POV, we see how Wilf is a prisoner to his past in many ways, with how deeply the loss of his wife impacted him. He is also feeling trapped and helpless by the fact that Clare and Vera were taken.

One of the major themes for all the characters in this book is being trapped--literally, or figuratively.

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So, there you have it! A breakdown of each title so far, and why I chose each one specifically for that book.