by K.N. Lee
Nonsense.
It had to be something else. Her mother was a beautiful woman, and even more beautiful Dragon. But, nothing special besides that and coming from one of the founding families of Withrae. As she walked toward the three thrones at the end of the Great Hall, she wished her mother was there with her. Though Luca’Rosi was at her side, she couldn’t help but tense as she looked to the statues of gargoyles that lined the walls, and how they stretched upward for what looked like a mile into the sky.
The hall was empty, except for the three kings at the end. As she walked closer, she began to make out their faces.
As she’d expected, each was more handsome than the next. King Kelton sat in the throne to the left, statuesque, with his legs crossed before him. In the middle had to be King Shelton. She deduced this assumption since he sat in the middle throne. The throne of the palace, with his crest hanging from a banner behind him. That meant, at his other side was the eldest, King Tilton, who had kind eyes from what she could see. Blue as the sea, and a clean-shaven face. His hair was cut shorter than his brothers, but a bright blond just like theirs.
Her husband never looked at her quite like that. The opposite, actually. It was a little-known secret that Lord Wickenhem preferred the company of men, and had essentially married her for appearances sake.
He never even touched her.
She longed for someone to touch her. Someone as handsome as King Tilton.
She gulped, and reached for Luca’s hand. A prisoner should not have such thoughts about her captors.
“Well,” King Shelton said, standing. He was taller than King Kelton, and with broader shoulders. She could tell, even though he wore a heavy cloak over his pristine gray tunic and trousers with golden trim. “This is the Queen’s sister. Interesting. They look so similar, from what I’ve seen of artwork done of Queen Rowen.”
“Yes,” Kelton said. “I thought the same. Darker hair, same eye shape. Fuller in the bosom.”
Shelton grinned, and stroked his golden beard.
Ophelia looked to King Tilton, who rolled his eyes.
“Is that what we’ve been assembled for?” Tilton asked. “Because if I was summoned from my part of the islands to sit here and listen to the two of you remark on the poor girl’s looks, I will take my leave.”
He stood and Shelton held up a hand, stopping him.
“No,” he said, becoming serious. “Sit down, brother. It was you who set things in motion, and as the eldest, you can decide where she will reside.”
“I will,” Tilton said, glancing at Ophelia. “If we can all agree to act like gentlemen. Otherwise, I will take no part in shaming her. She may be our prisoner, but she is still a lady.”
“Fine,” Shelton said, clasping his hands before him. His eyes went up from Ophelia’s chest, and to her eyes.
Tilton sat down in his throne, but just at the edge, as if he was ready to leave if they decided to act like lustful teenaged boys once again.
Uncomfortable, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other as the three brothers examined her with their eyes, and then whispered to one another in hushed tones.
She could hear them, but it didn’t matter. They spoke an entirely different language at that moment. Her cheeks burned as King Tilton stood and approached her.
He was tall, like Kelton, and in his late twenties. There was something about his presence and air that made her heart thump in her chest and her breaths grow shallow. Once he stood before her, she had to focus on keeping her composure.
“I think it makes sense for her to reside in my palace,” Tilton said, breaking the silence.
Kelton’s shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes.
“Very well,” Shelton said. “We shall reconvene in the strategy room before you take her to your palace. Keep her locked in the north tower until then.”
“Come,” Tilton said, and dutifully she followed without another glance at the other two men as he led her and Luca’Rosi away from the throne room. She was a prisoner, being passed from brother to brother. This much was true, and she should have been terrified.
Then, why was she so relieved to be claimed by Tilton?
Chapter 15
Gavin returned to the tavern late that evening. The Dragons brought him to High Garden, the part of town where Gilly’s tavern stood and bid their farewells. It was quiet and the city was asleep. He blew into his hands and wished he’d brought a cloak with him.
The door was closed and locked.
Pressing his forehead to the cool door, he signed and cursed himself for letting Gilly down.
He was later than he’d anticipated, but how could he resist such an alluring room?
Books. Yes, books were like gold to him.
Still, after a day with the queen, he was exhausted mentally. Everything he’d learned from the prophecies and scrolls he read weighed heavily on his mind. Rowen wasn’t safe there and he had to convince her to leave with him.
He was prepared to give Gilly an apology and promise to make it up to her the next day.
How did a simple farm boy end up with so much responsibility?
Summon a sea goddess.
Enter the mermaid kingdoms.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured under his breath and pushed open the door to the tavern.
It was quiet. Eerie.
He tensed the moment he realized that no one was there. The sun had set and that usually meant the bar would be packed with thirsty Dragons and the tables full of hungry patrons.
At that moment, all of the tables were empty and it was as dark inside as it was outside. He turned to look behind him and his brows furrowed as he saw a scroll nailed to the door. He snatched it off and read the Draconian words.
Death to humans. Death to human lovers.
His face drained of color and his blood ran cold as the scroll fell from his hand and floated to the damp floor.
The stench of blood was strong in the air.
Worry struck him and he ran for Gilly’s room. He slid to a stop at the sight of Gilly’s mother on the floor at the base of the stairs. One glance down, and he knew she was dead. Her throat had been slit.
Dear gods. His heart raced. Sweating and frantic, he leaped up the stairs, three steps at a time.
No. No. He kept saying that word inside his head as he realized that he might be walking into a living nightmare.
He paused outside of his bedroom door. He and Gilly had been sharing it since he’d returned. Tears stung his eyes as he looked down and saw that the door knob had been broken off and the door was loose on the hinges.
He pushed the door open. A gasp brought him to his knees as Gilly’s lifeless body hung from the rafters of the room. Her beautiful eyes were blank, her face bloodied.
Rage rose in his throat and he cried out.
He shot to his feet and pulled her down from the rafters, falling back to the floor with her body in his arms.
“Why?”
Did the Dragons hate him that much?
This was his fault.
He should have left and saved Gilly from this unjust fate.
He stroked her soft hair and squeezed his eyes closed. She was too young, too beautiful. Why would anyone harm such an innocent woman?
“Please wake up,” he said. “Please.”
He knew it was useless, but that didn’t stop him from hoping. He’d never fallen in love with a woman before, but with Gilly, he had been close. He had hopes to have a future with her. Most mornings they would stay in bed and talk about their dreams and aspirations. Both wanted to move away from big cities and build a house together in the countryside.
Losing her was never a thought. Never an option.
A creaking floorboard made him freeze. Every muscle tensed as he strained to hear any more sounds.
Whoever had done this was still there.
Standing, his mouth turned into a snarl and he readied himself. He would rip the head off of who did this, and would not think twice about it. It
took a lot to anger Gavin, and he was past anger. He was enraged.
“Who’s there?”
Hands aglow, he breathed in deep and summoned the magic within. It wasn’t much, but it was something he’d learned from the monks. It was his only defense without a weapon.
The blue glow that radiated from his palms lit the room.
No one replied.
“You’d better announce yourself or I will burn this place down,” he said, his voice wavering with rage.
To his surprise, someone he never thought he’d ever see again stood in the doorway.
He lowered his hands, and the glow subsided. Speechless, he looked at someone from his past.
“Warwick,” he said to the wizard who had trained him back in the monastery. His cheeks flushed and he bowed.
“My protégé,” Sir Warwick Ludlow said. “Let’s not forget your manners.
Gavin nodded and his eyes widened. He had no idea what he was doing there, but remembered his training and his manners.
“Yes, Master.”
Thanks for reading War of the Dragons! The adventure continues with Fate of the Dragons this Christmas. Please consider leaving a review.
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An Exclusive Look at Truth and Glory
They say the Age of Dragons ended after the War on Magic, but hiding in the forgotten lands remains one clan.
While Kylan hunts firedrakes by day, he prepares for a journey across the Sea of Dreams where mermaids thrive and the key to his people's survival is prophecized to be hidden.
Amalia, a Mage, escaped The Brotherhood, a sect of monks who seek the descendants of the gods once. Now, unable to return to neutral territory where magic-users are safe, she finds herself fighting for survival amongst men who can turn into wolves, firedrakes, and a relentless monk who believes she can restore balance to the entire world.
For Amalia, the gods are not just a memory. They are her ancestors, and before she can learn to control her newfound gift, she will face the keeper of a forgotten empire.
A dragon.
In this sprawling epic fantasy novel with shifting wolf hybrids, dragons, and mermaids, Amalia's first battle is for more than her life. It's for the souls of every being born with magic. Join New York Times bestselling author, K.N. Lee on an adventure perfect for fans of Vikings and Game of Thrones.
From Chapter One
Killing a person was such messy business. There was the begging, pleading, and ultimately, the screaming. Then, there was the blood.
Father Marduk left the ceremony room before the chanting even ended. His hands were reddened from the bathing of spirits and lost souls. But, on this day, he’d rather wait outside. Though he made the sacrifice. He knew it wouldn’t work.
It never did.
He clenched his jaw as he pushed the heavy wooden doors outward and let in the bright sun.
Outside the double doors, bodies hung along the stone-paved road that led down from the Temple of the Sky Brotherhood. They’d been bled, in the old tradition, and left out to the elements. Still, none had proved to be of use.
Mages.
The last source of true magic.
Blood stained the hundreds of steps that led to the top of the temple. It was five tiers tall, built at the beginning of time by slaves conquered during the first Reign of Fire. Comprised of mud brick, wood, and stone, the temple would stand until the end of time.
Ahead lay Tir, a desert wasteland, and on either side and behind was an enchanted sea.
Father Marduk stood outside on the top of the stairs just outside the temple. He turned to his right at the green Tigiri Sea, whose waters were so clear that one could see to the bottom where pure white sand lay undisturbed. The rolling waves were calming. Serene. Such a stark contrast to the gruesome—yet necessary display.
If they were going to save the world, they would need to sacrifice every Mage they'd found.
Until they found the right one.
“Father Marduk, I have a request for the next territory we shall search,” Brother Dagan said.
Marduk looked over his shoulder at the aging man. His long white hair nearly reached his knees, yet his frail body was hidden by his heavy purple robes, made even heavier by the golden crest of their sect.
“And, where would that be?” Marduk asked. “Say Skal one more time and I will have your head on a pike.”
Dagan's mouth opened and snapped shut. He swallowed and redness spread across his hollow cheeks.
Marduk rolled his eyes and looked back at the darkening sky. “Just as I expected. As I said every time before, we will not risk angering the gods by invading neutral territory. Don't you think we've lost enough favor with them that we should at least honor their wishes to leave peaceful lands at peace.” Though he spoke those words, he yearned for the opportunity to enter untouched lands—lands kept safe by old rules made by dead deities and forgotten gods.
“Of course, great leader. As you wish,” Dagan said and Marduk listened as he turned and headed toward the door.
“But, you had something else you wanted to say.”
He always did.
Better to let the old fool take credit for the idea to invade Skal. Better to let it fall on his head if things turned out disastrous. Marduk didn't become head of the sect by taking unnecessary risks. That's what his minions were for.
“I would, but I fear you'll have my head for that as well.”
A chuckle vibrated within Marduk's chest. “Go on. Speak freely.”
“Thank you, Father,” he said, bowing his head. “The Stones of Tarth all point to Skal. The Stones do not lie.”
Marduk closed his eyes. “If you think I am going to follow some stones, you have lost more than your mind. But all of your senses.”
“But, Father. T
he Stones were left in this world to guide us.”
Marduk turned to him. “Their rocks. Rocks with etchings made by blind children back when the world was cast into darkness.”
“That may be, Father. But, the Cleric has had a vision.”
That was interesting. Marduk lifted a thick black brow. He slid his arms into his sleeves and folded his arms under his chest. Then, he took a step forward. “Go on.”
Hope filled Dagan’s eyes. Yes, they might have a valid excuse to do what Marduk wanted all this time.
“She says the Mage we need has been seen between the two red rivers.”
Go on.
“In Skal, Father. I’m sure if the Holy Cleric dreams of this place, it cannot be against the will of the gods. Do you not agree?”
Feigning annoyance, Marduk let out a heavy sigh. He stretched the uncomfortable silence long enough to make Dagan squirm.
Then, he headed to the door. “Very well. Let’s go find this Mage.”
An Exclusive Look at Truth and Glory
From Chapter Two
A first kiss was supposed to be special. Memorable. As Tomas pulled away from Amalia, her eyes opened with confusion. Was that it? Was that what she'd been waiting for all of her life.
The taste of onion was on his tongue, and the coarse feel of chapped lips didn't help the experience.
He gave her a grin. A gap-toothed one she had hoped she'd grow to appreciate, maybe even love one day.
Amalia couldn't afford to be picky. Though Tomas wasn't the most handsome, or even the smartest lad in the village, he had proclaimed his love for her. He knew a trade and was kind.
She licked her lips and forced a smile.
He'd have to do.
For it was a fact that not many would even consider marrying a Mage. Especially one like Amalia-one marked by the gods. Not when Mages were being hunted down by Wolves, or even worse, the Brotherhood.
Skal was neutral territory. But, invisible borders meant nothing when the people within them held the same prejudice as those outside.
“So,” he said
, his cheeks reddening. “What do you think?
“It was lovely,” she lied.
The look of relief on his face was reassuring. Within a month's time, she would be fifteen and of age. She'd be Tomas' wife.
“Good,” he said. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for this moment. Seems like all of my life. For as long as I could remember. At night, all I can think of are the way your eyes remind me of the night sky, and how I’d give anything to look into your eyes every day until the day I die.”
Her smile turned genuine. She should set aside her selfish vanity and desire for a handsome boy, one who would make her heart sing.
“I had no idea.”
“Of course, you didn’t. You barely looked at me until our parents made the arrangement.”
She ran her fingers through the tangles of her hair. “That’s not true. You are a very nice young man. Any girl would be happy to have you.”
“That’s kind of you to say.”
“It is the truth,” she said and glanced at the paling sky. “Perhaps we should return to the village. It looks like a storm is coming this way.”
He followed her gaze, combing his long dark hair from his mahogany-colored eyes. “I think you're right.” He reached for her hand. She accepted and he pulled her to her feet.
She brushed grass from her faded blue gown and gray smock and stretched her arms above her head. By the bubbling brook at the foot of the Weeping Mountain, they had feasted on ripe mango and warm honey bread her mother had prepared for their first excursion alone as intended mates.
Tonight, there would be a feast. Their families would dine together and their fathers would discuss matters of joining their resources.
It was the way of the Skal.
A way she wished she could forever be free of.
Together, they gathered their blanket and basket, and the scent of burning wood wafted their way.
