Kingdom of Storms: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (The Legend of Tariel Book 1)

by Jasmine Walt

  Kingdom of Storms

  a Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance

  Jasmine Walt

  Dynamo Press

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Also by Jasmine Walt

  About the Author

  1

  As Tariel stood around the large, round table, only half listening to the stillroom mistress’s lecture, she wondered if it was possible to mix up a potion that could summon the dead.

  Not that she had any intention of using such a potion for evil, she thought idly as she spun a stem between her thumb and forefinger. She would not raise an army of undead to march across Fjordland and storm the capital, nor raze the lands and plunder the villages. Unlike some, Tariel’s desires were rather simple in nature.

  She merely wanted to know where she had come from.

  Lady Tyrook won’t see it that way, she thought mulishly as she watched the stillroom mistress place a few slices of dried mellowroot in her mortar. The pestle made a scraping sound against the gray stone as she worked on grinding the root into a fine powder that would later be mixed with several other ingredients, then steeped in boiling water. If anyone caught me speaking to ghosts, I would be burned at the stake as a witch.

  Tariel shuddered. She’d only seen a witch burning once, when she was nine years old. A village girl had been accused of bespelling a young man into falling in love with her. The charge had come from the young man’s mother, and as Sir Jerrold the Relentless, Fjordland’s Prime Witch Hunter, had been visiting, it wasn’t long before the poor girl was tied to a pyre in the middle of the village, her screams scorching the heavens as she burned for her sins.

  Of course, everyone in the town knew that the girl hadn’t really been a witch. She’d merely fallen in love with the wrong man. Her beloved’s mother had wanted him to marry a rich merchant girl, and when he’d refused to bow to her wishes, she’d taken care of the problem herself. But Tariel had been too young to know that at the time. In fact, she had been far too young to witness such a horrific thing, and if not for Lady Tyrook’s wish to impress upon her what happened to girls who were not good and obedient, she would have never suffered the horrific memories that had plagued her for years afterward.

  “And now, we add two spoonfuls of ground mellowroot into your bowl,” Mistress Ellarta instructed the class. “Once we’ve—”

  “Don’t you mean one spoonful?” Tariel interrupted.

  The stillroom mistress paused, and all eyes turned to Tariel. She was the oldest in the room at eighteen, though far from the tallest. The girl who stood next to her was nearly a head taller despite being barely fifteen.

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked.

  “Two spoonfuls will put the patient into a deep sleep,” Tariel went on, ignoring the prickle of discomfort at having the room’s full attention. “And depending on the age, the patient might never wake up. It would be a shame if one of us accidentally killed someone due to an avoidable error.”

  Mistress Ellarta’s dark gray eyes flashed. “Since you seem to know this recipe so well, I see no reason why you should waste your precious time here with the rest of us.” She sneered and flicked a spindly hand. “You are dismissed, Tariel.”

  Rage bloomed in Tariel’s heart, and it grew even stronger when Buloma and Willa, two tall blondes who had always had it in for Tariel, snickered from across the table. She wanted to lash out at them with the power bubbling in her veins, but instead she merely inclined her head, then turned and gracefully walked out of the room, keeping her steps unhurried as she had been taught to do from a young age.

  It did not matter that she was so clearly different from the others. She had to act like a proper Fjordland lady at all times, or suffer Lady Tyrook’s wrath.

  As she shut the door to the stillroom behind her, the magic turned in on Tariel, punishing her for refusing to release it. She gritted her teeth as a vicious headache pummeled her temples, and braced her hand against the stone wall to keep from reeling.

  These headaches had plagued Tariel since she was a small child. She knew they were directly related to her magic—whenever she suppressed a flare-up, as she was doing right now, it created an intense pressure in her head. The only solution was for her to give it an outlet, but in Fjordland, where magic was shunned and witches were persecuted, wielding magic was a death sentence.

  Taking slow breaths through her nose, Tariel managed to force back the headache into something less skull-crushing. Once it had reduced from a stabbing lightning bolt to a thundering pound, she pushed off the wall and continued down the hall toward her tower room. Hopefully the potions she kept there would offer her some release…

  As Tariel traveled through the castle, swords clanged and drill commands barked in the distance. Her heart quickened, and, with the pain now receding a bit, she detoured by the courtyard, where the knights and squires trained. She hoped to catch a glimpse of Riann putting his swordsmanship skills to use, even though she knew she should keep away from him.

  The clash of steel grew louder as Tariel slipped through the door. The guard just outside the entrance ignored her, and she ducked behind a tall hedge, hoping to steal a few minutes of entertainment. She so loved watching the men battle—the way their armor shone in the light as they parried and thrust, their bright gazes filled with intensity. Tariel knew she was not the only one who felt that way—the trio of ladies perched on the stone bench near the other side of the courtyard entrance were just as entranced, hiding their giggles behind gloved hands as they watched the men fight.

  Riann trained with another knight toward the far end of the courtyard. His helmet obscured his face, but Tariel would have known him anywhere, even though so many of the knights looked the same. The way he moved, as if his armor were a natural extension of him rather than an extra hundred pounds of weight, was a marriage of grace and power she could never hope to master even if she practiced for a thousand years.

  Riann’s opponent slashed at him with his broadsword, an overly aggressive move, as if some tension existed between them. Riann met the man’s sword with his own, then pushed him back in an impressive show of strength. But the other knight did not give in—he charged, and their swords clashed once more. The two locked weapons for a long, fraught moment, and as Tariel watched with bated breath, Riann’s eyes met hers over his opponent’s shoulder.

  That split second of broken concentration was all the other knight needed. He shoved Riann back, hard enough to make him stumble. Tariel cried out in alarm as Riann crashed into the wall, but just when she thought the other knight might best him, he spun away, avoiding what in a real fight would have been a killing blow. The other knight’s sword hit the wall, and the sound of steel screeching across stone sent shivers racing down Tariel’s spine. Hands clasped, she watched as Riann swung his sword in a wide
arc, the blade headed straight for the man’s exposed side, but at the last second, the other knight evaded, then slashed at Riann’s arm. Blood sprayed through the air as the sword sliced flesh, the steel seeking purchase in Riann’s inner elbow. Cries of dismay rose up from the ladies, and Tariel instinctively bolted forward, wanting to go to his aid even though logically, she could do nothing—

  “You!” Zuran, the Captain of the Guard, stepped directly in front of Tariel. She held back a scowl as she looked up into his grizzled face. His jaw was covered with a short, neatly trimmed beard that somehow did not hide the way his mouth turned down in displeasure as he glared at her. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I’m watching the men train,” Tariel said, and she was proud that her voice did not tremble even though the man tried to intimidate her. “Am I not allowed?”

  “Absolutely not.” His eyes narrowed. He clasped a meaty hand around her shoulder, hard enough to hurt. “You are a distraction to my men, and I won’t have you here tempting them with your wiles during their training. Begone with you!”

  Shame stung Tariel’s cheeks as the captain spun her around and shoved her back to the entrance. She could feel the eyes of the men on her, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the women on the bench smirking at her. Part of her wanted to glance over her shoulder to meet Riann’s eyes, to seek comfort in his gaze for even a moment. But she did not want to get him in trouble, so she straightened her spine and went inside, refusing to let the others see how humiliated she was.

  With the castle’s stone walls closing about her, and her mood even darker than when she had set out, her headache tightened around her temples in a vice-like grip. Keeping her head down, Tariel hurried toward her rooms, desperate for the solace of her chambers. But on her way up a flight of stairs, she nearly ran headfirst into Marilla, Lady Tyrook’s daughter.

  “Watch where you’re going, girl!” the blonde said, looking down her perfectly straight nose at Tariel. Marilla was everything Tariel was not—tall and blonde and willowy, with perfect skin untouched by the sun. The only thing they shared was their eye color—nearly identical shades of blue, though Marilla’s did not seem nearly as bright against her pale skin.

  Those eyes narrowed now as they surveyed Tariel, who wanted nothing more than to push past her. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Are you not supposed to be in the stillroom with the other girls?”

  “Mistress Ellarta let me go early, as I have already learned today’s lesson.” The magic strained against the tight leash she’d put on it, making her tongue sharper than intended. “And you would do well not to refer to me as though I were a child.”

  “Why not?” Marilla asked. “You certainly act like one.” She raked a sneer over Tariel, taking in her comparatively modest gown. As an unwanted ward, Tariel was given very basic dresses to wear, while Marilla was always dressed in the finest outfits Lady Tyrook, and now her husband, could afford. “Perhaps if you weren’t so selfish and willful, you might be married already. At the rate you’re going, I’d say you’re destined to grow old as a spinster.”

  “It isn’t my fault that the queen keeps rejecting every marriage proposal that comes my way,” Tariel retorted before she could stop herself. “I would have been married long before you if your mother had anything to say about it.”

  Marilla snorted. “I’d say it’s more like those men came to their senses once they realized they were about to mix heathen blood into their family,” she said. “You are fortunate my mother continues to foster you as a favor to the queen, but do not expect your luck to hold. The queen’s health is failing, and once she has passed, there will be no one left to object to whatever we decide to do with you.”

  Tariel bit back the scathing barb that sprang to her lips and pushed past Marilla up the stairs. The woman’s mocking laughter echoed up the staircase, and icy shivers ran down Tariel’s spine as she hurried on her way.

  Tariel knew she shouldn’t get so worked up over Marilla’s behavior, and if not for her headache, she would have never let the woman’s words bother her. She knew why Marilla hated her so—it was the same reason every woman in the castle despised her on some level or another. Her dark, exotic looks and petite, curvy frame drew the attention of nearly every man, sometimes to the point of obsession. Marilla’s own husband, Lord Poltan of Sansmere, had been one of those men—madly in love with Tariel, or at least the idea of her. He had asked for her hand three years ago, the moment Tariel was of age to marry, and had only married Marilla when his suit was refused.

  Tariel sighed. She had quite liked Lord Poltan, though he was a bit boring. But he was fine enough to look upon, and his sizeable estate was more than sufficient to care for her needs. She would have been content living with him at Sansmere Manor, overseeing the household and bearing his children, had she been allowed to marry.

  However, marriage was a prize that seemed forever out of reach. Good looks and charm were not enough to ensnare a favorable match when one needed the queen’s approval to marry, and so far, Queen Relissa had refused every suitor who had attempted to claim Tariel. She’d had quite a few over the years too—at least a dozen she knew about, and probably many more she did not. Tariel wished she knew the reason behind the queen’s steadfast refusals; many of her suitors were respectable men, and amongst those who were not titled were at least men who had the wealth to support her. She knew Lady Tyrook was just as frustrated—the woman had been trying to get rid of her for ages, and the fact that she could not offload Tariel onto an eager husband had to be infuriating. She could only hope that when the queen finally passed, the next suitor who came calling would be a decent man.

  When Tariel finally flung open the door to her tower room, she headed straight to the chest at the foot of the bed and fished out one of the glass bottles. Popping out the cork, she put the cool glass to her lips and downed half the bottle in one go. Within a few seconds, the pressure around her temples eased to something more manageable.

  Even so, she still felt dizzy, and she was forced to lie down on her bed. Closing her eyes against the pounding, she bemoaned her lack of self-control. Why had she allowed Mistress Ellarta’s words to affect her so? Tariel knew that if she could control her anger, her magic would not react so quickly, but she had always had such a hard time reining in her temper.

  You could always use your magic, the voice of her subconscious whispered. A simple illusion spell would get rid of your headache.

  The very thought made Tariel’s fingertips hum with power, and she quickly clenched her hand into a fist to squash it. Her headache increased, and she groaned aloud, squirming in discomfort.

  She could not use her magic, no matter the cost. Not when she had resolved to be the quiet, dutiful girl that Lady Tyrook and the queen wanted her to be. Indulging in these wicked abilities of hers would only invite more trouble, and the last thing she needed was for Lady Tyrook to discover her magic before she’d been married off. If only she could get rid of her magic, life would be so much easier…

  Get rid of it? a scathing voice whispered in her head. A man’s life might be easier if he got rid of his manhood, but he would punch anyone who dared suggest such a thing. Why should you be any different?

  Tariel gritted her teeth and shut the voice out before it tempted her into indulging in wickedness. It was just like something Zolotais, the spirit who lived in the attic, would say, and her gaze turned to the ceiling. She had not been up to the attic room to speak to Zolotais in over a year, not since the terrible quarrel that had driven her to shun magic completely.

  Part of her wanted to put aside this silly notion that she could actually become a proper Fjordland girl and climb to the attic to speak with her old friend again. But the cautious part of her knew that nothing good could come of consorting with spirits.

  No, the best thing to do was keep her head down and try not to let her magic get the better of her again. If she could just keep up her good behavior for a little while longer, she
might actually marry and escape this forsaken place. Giving in to her compulsion to practice magic would only send her down a path that ended in death, and the last thing Tariel wanted was to end her life in pain and fire before it had even begun.

  2

  Hours after morning practice, Riann found himself walking in the small orchard behind the castle, as he often did after his midday meal. He found his daily stroll to be calming, and on most days, it helped him order his thoughts.

  But today, he could find no serenity beneath the boughs of the apple trees. His mind was still on Tariel, as it had been from the moment she’d walked into the courtyard and ensnared him with that bright, stunning gaze of hers.

  The wound in his arm smarted at the reminder of what had happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to be angry about it. He could never be angry at Tariel, no matter what she did. Had she really come to the courtyard to watch him fight, after avoiding him for nearly two years now?

  “Riann?” a soft voice said, and he spun around. The sight of Tariel standing behind him blindsided him completely, and for a second, all he could do was stare. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the castle, with her midnight hair, blue topaz eyes, and smooth, creamy skin the color of almonds. The dress she wore was of simple cotton, but it flowed over her generously curved figure in a way that made Riann itch to take her into his arms as he did on that fateful evening so long ago.

  “Well this is a pleasant surprise.” He crossed his arms, ignoring the twinge of pain in his inner elbow. “First you came to visit me in the courtyard, and now here in the orchard. Shall I expect you at dinner as well?” He gave her a teasing smile.