Slave, Warrior, Queen

by Morgan Rice

  A sense of awe went through him as his eyes scanned the paradise in the near distance. The isle, a hub of trading between all western nations, was dramatically beautiful, he could see as they approached, with towering verdurous mountains behind the city, rising from the sea, the buildings glistening golden in the evening sunlight. It was his first time here, and the closer they sailed, the more he wished his first visit were under different circumstances completely—not to kill the inhabitants, or to destroy the beautiful architecture of their most magnificent buildings.

  His eyes followed the snaking road that ran from the city entrance up past domes and towers, and all the way up to the castle, resting on a hill. That was the road General Draco had described in strategy meetings, the road they would travel to seize the castle. The road where blood would flow. The road that would be unrecognizable after they had marched through it. The wall around the city was tall, but with ladders, ropes, catapults, and flaming arrows, tens of thousands of Empire soldiers attacking at once, the city would be theirs soon enough, General Draco had said. And indeed it would, Thanos knew.

  When he turned around to behold his crew, the tension on board had become so thick it felt like a wall around him. Was it more than just the nerves of the warriors he was detecting? The entire trip, Thanos had sensed someone or something watching him, although when he felt eyes burning at the back of his neck, he’d turn around to find no one and no thing. He would brush it off, thinking he was growing paranoid, but just when he had forgotten about it, again, it would suddenly be as if cold fingers were creeping down his spine.

  He nodded toward General Draco, who stood by a giant of a man, wearing golden armor and a visored helmet. The hulk was the tallest Empire soldier Thanos had ever seen, a true giant. The Typhoon, the rest of the men on the ship called him, although Thanos doubted that was his real name. It was rumored the Typhoon had taken on a group of twenty wild northern warriors at once, and had killed them all in under five minutes.

  General Draco and the Typhoon would lead the attack on the great city, and Thanos would bring in the second group of troops once the main gates had been opened. They would attack immediately, General Draco had ordered, not give the rebels of Haylon a chance to gather their armies, although Thanos didn’t doubt they had already seen their fleet of ships and that their army was more than ready to defend the city. No one would be able to defend against the numbers King Claudius had sent, Thanos knew.

  Hundreds of rowboats were lowered onto the choppy azure ocean, and the Empire soldiers descended into the vessels with weapons and heavy armor. Some larger boats carried catapults and boulders.

  General Draco invited Thanos into his boat, and Thanos took a seat next to the Typhoon. He felt like a dwarf next to the beast.

  “Remember, the goal is to take the city in under an hour, before nightfall,” General Draco said. “Kill anyone who resists.”

  “We will spare the women and children, correct?” Thanos said.

  “As long as they obey,” General Draco said. “As long as they bow before the Empire’s banner and pledge to submit to the king’s laws.”

  “I don’t see how the women and children will be a threat, even if they did resist,” Thanos said.

  “It is the king’s orders. I do not question them,” General Draco snapped, glaring at Thanos.

  Thanos looked away, but he made a decision to not kill women or children—not even if they rebelled.

  They arrived at shore and Thanos hopped out of the boat, the warm water reaching right above his knees as he hauled the heavy oak vessel toward land with other Empire soldiers. Just as he glanced back, Thanos noticed that General Draco and the Typhoon looked at each other, and then the general nodded before heading toward the white, sandy beach.

  At first, Thanos considered the gesture somewhat suspicious, but when the general turned to him and nodded, too, he thought nothing more of it.

  The boats were hauled ashore, the weapons and artillery placed into wagons, and the Empire soldiers organized into twelve battalions, Thanos to lead one of them.

  He took his place in front of his men and led them southward, down the coastline, wading through ankle-high water. He felt that familiar sensation running through him, a combination of excitement, fear, and adrenaline: the battle was about to begin.

  Yet Thanos had not gone very far, the water still splashing on his ankles, when suddenly, without warning, he felt a shooting pain in his upper back.

  He dropped to his knees, stunned, not understanding what was happening.

  He felt cold metal in his back, and with a start, he realized: he had been stabbed.

  He knelt there, lightheaded, not understanding. They were still far off from reaching the enemy.

  Then Thanos felt the sword being pulled out of him, and he shrieked, the pain unbearable. He looked up to see the Typhoon step in front of him, wiping the blade of his sword clean of Thanos’s blood.

  He grinned down, and that was when Thanos realized: he was being assassinated.

  And no one was turning to help him.

  “Any last words?” the Typhoon asked, his voice impossibly deep.

  Thanos gasped for air.

  “Who sent you?” he managed to ask.

  “I will tell you,” the Typhoon replied. “When you’re dead.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Ceres sat in the dungeon on the damp floor, her back against the cold stone wall, fully defeated as an endless stream of tears trailed down her face. How—how was she to continue on? Thanos had left her. Nesos was dead. And worst of all, Rexus…

  She let out a faint sob and inhaled a jagged breath as the memory came rushing back. Rexus, shot in the back, falling from her reach, backwards, out of the tower window. Torn away from her when they had been so close, so close to starting a new life together.

  It was too cruel.

  Ceres sobbed. There was nothing more to fear now, she realized. Not even her life mattered anymore, it seemed.

  She did not know how much time had passed when she heard footsteps coming down the hallway. She didn’t move. She was beyond caring what the royals did to her, so much so that if they were coming to kill her, she would welcome the merciful death.

  A woman and three men appeared on the other side of the bars. Ceres refused to look up, but she knew from the overly sweet rose perfume that the woman was Stephania.

  An Empire soldier unlocked the cell, but Ceres’s gaze remained on the floor. She would not acknowledge them.

  “You have been ordered to the Stade,” an Empire soldier said.

  Ceres didn’t move.

  “You will compete in the Killings.”

  Ceres felt the life rush out of her. So. They would kill her after all.

  The soldier grabbed her by the arm, jerked her to a standing position, and bound her wrists behind her back. When Ceres finally looked up, she saw Stephania smiling.

  Stephania stepped forward.

  “Before you die,” she said, venom in her voice, “I thought you might like to know something.”

  She leaned in close, her breath uncomfortably hot on Ceres’s neck.

  “I sent a messenger to Haylon,” she said, “bearing a very special message. I told Thanos never to defy me. Never to make a fool of me. Now, finally, he has learned why.”

  She beamed, satisfied, though Ceres did not know why.

  “Thanos,” she said, “is dead.”

  *

  The Empire soldiers hauled Ceres through the musty dungeon corridor and up the stairwell. They dragged Ceres outside and led her to an enclosed horse-pulled wagon. Once the door was locked and the soldiers had taken their seats at the front, the wagon rolled out of the palace courtyard and onto the streets of Delos. They passed houses, and weaved through hordes of citizens making their way to the Stade.

  Ceres hardly took notice of her surroundings; everything passed by in a blur. Nothing mattered anymore. Everyone she loved was either far away or dead.

  In a da
ze, she realized they were moving through Fountain Square, and Rexus’s face flashed before her eyes. Just weeks ago they were here, happy, hopeful, free.

  And just yesterday, he had been in her arms, professing his love; and a moment later, he had fallen to his death. How could a being so vibrant, so alive, now be nothing more than a memory?

  Outside the Stade, the wagon creaked to a halt. An Empire soldier dragged her out of the cart and into the tunnels.

  They marched past combatlords and weapon-keepers, the chants of the crowd reaching her all the way down here.

  Finally, the soldier threw her into a small chamber and ordered her to change into the armor lying on the bench. He left, locking the door behind him.

  Alone, Ceres undressed and slipped on the leather skirt and breastplate. They were studded with gold, and were soft and new, she could see, custom made for her, fitting perfectly. She pulled on the boots, noticing they were also her size, the leather supple, the ends of the laces embellished with gold.

  All these years she had dreamt of becoming a combatlord, of wielding a sword in an arena in front of thousands of spectators.

  And yet now, she hated being here. Somehow, the king and queen had stolen her dream, tarnished it, and had forced her to fight for the very people she despised.

  Not a minute later, the Empire soldier returned and ordered her to follow.

  They walked through the dim tunnel, past weapons, past dozens of fallen combatlords and their weapon-keepers. Arriving by the gate, Ceres heard the crowd roaring outside, and her stomach clenched tightly.

  “Paulo will be your weapon-keeper,” the Empire soldier said.

  She turned to see Paulo, rather short in stature, nothing but a bundle of muscle with dark smooth skin. His black hair framed a heart-shaped face, and he had a few whiskers on his chin below full lips.

  “It will be an honor to serve you,” Paulo said with a nod, handing her a sword.

  Ceres didn’t want to reply. She didn’t want this to be her reality.

  “Ceres and Paulo are next!” an Empire soldier called.

  Even though Ceres no longer feared for her life, her hands shook, as her throat dried up.

  The iron gates opened with a rattle, and Ceres looked out into the arena and saw two Empire soldiers hauling a dead combatlord toward the tunnels.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the Stade.

  The roar was deafening, the sunlight warm against her skin, the brightness stinging her eyes as she scanned the over-packed audience.

  “Ceres! Ceres! Ceres!” they chanted.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the sunlight, she let her gaze wander across the arena. On the other side of the stadium stood a barbarian of a combatlord, his arms as thick as Ceres’s waist, the veins in his legs bulging on top of thick, swollen muscles.

  She clenched the hilt of her sword and knew that this man would kill her. She glanced at Paulo, and saw his face had fallen.

  But she would not back down.

  With all the courage she had inside of her, she raised her sword.

  Her entire life she had been a slave. And now, even though she may very well die, that part of her life, she realized, was over.

  Now, finally, she would go from Slave to Warrior.

  Now, death would come for her.

  And now her life would begin.

  The crowd roared.

  “CERES! CERES! CERES!”

  COMING SOON!

  Book #2 in Of Crowns and Glory

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  Books by Morgan Rice

  THE WAY OF STEEL

  ONLY THE WORTHY (Book #1)

  OF CROWNS AND GLORY

  SLAVE, WARRIOR, QUEEN (Book #1)

  KINGS AND SORCERERS

  RISE OF THE DRAGONS (Book #1)

  RISE OF THE VALIANT (Book #2)

  THE WEIGHT OF HONOR (Book #3)

  A FORGE OF VALOR (Book #4)

  A REALM OF SHADOWS (Book #5)

  NIGHT OF THE BOLD (Book #6)

  THE SORCERER’S RING

  A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1)

  A MARCH OF KINGS (Book #2)

  A FATE OF DRAGONS (Book #3)

  A CRY OF HONOR (Book #4)

  A VOW OF GLORY (Book #5)

  A CHARGE OF VALOR (Book #6)

  A RITE OF SWORDS (Book #7)

  A GRANT OF ARMS (Book #8)

  A SKY OF SPELLS (Book #9)

  A SEA OF SHIELDS (Book #10)

  A REIGN OF STEEL (Book #11)

  A LAND OF FIRE (Book #12)

  A RULE OF QUEENS (Book #13)

  AN OATH OF BROTHERS (Book #14)

  A DREAM OF MORTALS (Book #15)

  A JOUST OF KNIGHTS (Book #16)

  THE GIFT OF BATTLE (Book #17)

  THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY

  ARENA ONE: SLAVERSUNNERS (Book #1)

  ARENA TWO (Book #2)

  ARENA THREE (Book #3)

  VAMPIRE, FALLEN

  BEFORE DAWN (Book #1)

  THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS

  TURNED (Book #1)

  LOVED (Book #2)

  BETRAYED (Book #3)

  DESTINED (Book #4)

  DESIRED (Book #5)

  BETROTHED (Book #6)

  VOWED (Book #7)

  FOUND (Book #8)

  RESURRECTED (Book #9)

  CRAVED (Book #10)

  FATED (Book #11)

  OBSESSED (Book #12)

  About Morgan Rice

  Morgan Rice is the #1 bestselling and USA Today bestselling author of the epic fantasy series THE SORCERER’S RING, comprising seventeen books; of the #1 bestselling series THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, comprising twelve books; of the #1 bestselling series THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic thriller comprising two books (and counting); of the epic fantasy series KINGS AND SORCERERS, comprising six books; and of the new epic fantasy series OF CROWNS AND GLORY. Morgan’s books are available in audio and print editions, and translations are available in over 25 languages.

  TURNED (Book #1 in the Vampire Journals), ARENA 1 (Book #1 of the Survival Trilogy), A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1 in the Sorcerer’s Ring) and RISE OF THE DRAGONS (Kings and Sorcerers—Book #1) are each available as a free download on Amazon!

  Morgan loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.morganricebooks.com to join the email list, receive a free book, receive free giveaways, download the free app, get the latest exclusive news, connect on Facebook and Twitter, and stay in touch!