by K. A. Linde
Only council members and family were present for the execution. Father watched impassively from his seat among them. He’d done so well with this one. Exactly as he’d always planned. And soon, it would all come to fruition.
The chamber emptied. The body disposed of. The blood sponged from the floor. And then Isa released from her hiding spot and went in search of Father.
He sat at his study in the heart of the mountain. A king ready to ascend to his throne.
“Father,” she breathed, dipping her head.
“Isa, how did you like the show?”
“Well done,” she said. “It was brilliant. Strategy like I’ve never seen before. The way the pieces just fell into place. Exquisite.”
She had wanted a way out. Her father was manic. He was always one breath away from killing her as easily as he’d played Lorian Van Horn. But his genius was unparalleled. She would rather be in the shadow of genius than dead.
“Good,” he said, reaching into his desk for the Red Mask that hid him from the rest of the world. “It is almost time.”
“Yes, Father.”
“We must prepare for what is coming.”
“How can I help? Shall I kill the girl?”
He glared at her. “Do not lay a hand on Kerrigan Argon,” he snarled. “We have discussed this. She is mine. She belongs to me. If you do anything to jeopardize this, then I will end you in a similar fashion.”
She gulped and stayed stock-still. “As you wish.”
“The girl is at the heart of what is to come. She will lead us to everything we deserve.” He rose to his feet, towering over her small frame and sliding the mask into place. It melded to his face, and his smile turned deadly.
“Yes, Father,” she said, sinking to her feet before him.
Her stomach twisted at his evil genius. She could have gotten out. She could have escaped. He would turn his gaze to her, and then it would all be over. The menace rippling from him only made her cower more. And gods, how she hated cowering.
“Stand, Isa,” he commanded.
She rose to her feet, and he put a hand on her shoulder.
“My time in the shadow is almost over. I want you at my side when we take our rightful place in the world.” He faced the window that overlooked the city of Kinkadia. “It is almost time to cast off this mask.”
Her eyes stared up at the Father in worship. “Yes… Father.”
He flung aside the Red Mask. “Soon, I will no longer have to be Master Bastian. By the end of the summer, this will all be mine.”
Thank you so much for reading HOUSE OF SHADOWS! I hope you enjoyed the continuation of Kerrigan’s story. I absolutely loved writing it and can’t wait for all your favorite characters to return in HOUSE OF CURSES.
“Against all odds, Kerrigan Argon passed her dragon training. She’s now an official member of the Society. Everything should be well. But somehow, nothing is.
* * *
Her dark prince, Fordham Ollivier, has disappeared. An unwanted wedding looms in her future. And the council election draws ever nearer. An election that she’s been unceremoniously nominated for.
* * *
If all of that wasn’t enough, the Red Masks, an anti-half Fae, anti-human terrorist organization, are gaining ground. All because they have a spy inside the mountain, inside the Society itself. Someone is leading these monsters.
* * *
And Kerrigan is determined to stop them at all costs.”
One-click HOUSE OF CURSES now! Coming October 2022!
If you love fantasy romance, meet Cyrene in The Affiliate. “A girl discovers she has magic where magic doesn't exist...and falls for the king in the process!” Currently FREE!
* * *
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TURN THE PAGE TO READ THE OPENING OF THE AFFILIATE…
The Affiliate
Prologue
“Let them in.” King Maltrier pulled in a shuddering breath and then coughed raggedly for a minute.
“Your Majesty, are you sure?” his longtime servant asked. He had the same relentless attitude that he always had, but he sounded more earnest than ever, as if he could will the King not to die.
“Get them, Solmis. Now.”
Solmis walked wearily across the darkened room. He heaved open the weathered door to the King’s bedchamber and spoke to the pair of guards standing watch, “Get the boys. The King wishes to speak with them.”
One guard punched his right fist to the left side of his chest in a formal Byern salute and then walked into the outer chamber. A moment later, he returned with two young boys with the same dark hair and blue-gray eyes that marked them as Dremylon heirs.
“This way, boys,” Solmis said. He was one of the few people who could get away with calling the Princes boys.
“Thank you, Solmis,” Edric, the crown prince, said with a smile and the confidence of someone who never wanted for anything.
The second son, Kael, pushed past them both, mimicking his brother’s stride. His face was set in a scowl. Some of his youthful exuberance had already drained out of him, and in its place was cynicism from losing a mother too young and from having a sick father, but mostly, it was from being second.
“Father,” he called out.
“Come here, Kael,” the King said. He patted the side of the bed. “You, too, Edric.”
Edric walked to his side and settled into a chair while Kael hoisted himself up onto the bed.
With Edric being fifteen and Kael at thirteen, both were much too young for this kind of loss.
The King had seen his youngest, Jesalyn, earlier that day. She had cried the entire time, understanding what was coming and knowing she could do nothing to stop it. In tears, she had run out of the room and straight into Consort Shamira’s arms. She had all but raised the child after his wife, Queen Adelaida’s unceremonious death.
But he couldn’t waste thoughts on that now. He was tiring with every passing moment. The boys…they had to know.
“Solmis,” the King said, regaining a shred of strength.
His servant, his old friend, left the room, giving them the privacy they needed.
“Father,” Kael repeated impatiently.
“I’m dying,” King Maltrier said.
Silence followed the declaration. Kael looked aghast. Edric tried to hide the shock of what he knew would be coming next.
“Edric will succeed me.”
“I’m too young to be king,” Edric whispered.
“Fifteen is not too young.” The King thought that was questionable, but he would not dispute it with his son. Edric had to be strong. He had to rule. “You have the Consort and my High Order to help and guide you.”
Edric swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Father.”
“Trust in yourself, and all will go as planned. I have formed an alliance with Aurum for Jesalyn to be queen and another with Tiek, who has offered you their young Princess Kaliana. Honor these matches to keep our people safe. A strong king is one with an heir.”
The King leaned over and coughed into a handkerchief for several minutes. His throat was raw, and his lungs ached. He didn’t know how much more he could take, but he had to pass on their legacy.
But could he put that burden on them?
He had to decide now.
No. He would tell only one. He would pass it on to the boy most like himself—the one who could handle the knowledge, the one destined to rule.
The King turned to one of his sons and said, “I need to speak with your brother alone for a moment.”
His eyebrows knit together as hurt and confusion clouded h
is features. “But, Father—”
“Go,” King Maltrier commanded.
He clenched his jaw, stood, and left without another word.
It was the last time the King would ever see his son.
The door closed roughly behind him.
King Maltrier turned to his other son. “You know the story of our ancestor Viktor Dremylon.”
He nodded, but the King continued anyway.
“Viktor struck down the evil Doma court that subjugated our people. Then he claimed the throne for himself with the sole purpose of ruling in a fair and just system.”
“Yes, Father.”
“History is told by the winners.”
“What do you mean?” He tilted his head and looked concerned.
Perhaps he thought the King had already lost his mind.
“Viktor did destroy the Doma court, and he ushered in a new era of Dremylon rule that has persisted two thousand years up until you today. But what is not in the stories is that the Doma court had ruled because they had powerful…abilities.”
His son laughed like his father was telling a fairy tale.
“Listen!” the King snapped. That sent him into another fit, and his son helped him sit up, so he could cough into his handkerchief.
When King Maltrier leaned back again, the King saw blood had coated the white silk.
“Father, you should rest.”
“I need to tell you—” He was interrupted by another cough. “—the truth. Viktor beat the Doma court and the most powerful leader they had ever known, Domina Serafina, by stealing magic—dark magic, a magic that cursed Viktor and all his ancestors. It cursed me…and you…the entire Dremylon line.”
His son remained silent and still. The King had gained his attention.
“Now, I must leave you with this, Son.” The King retrieved a heavy gold key from around his neck and placed it in his son’s hands. “A lockbox in the wall in my closet contains Viktor Dremylon’s writings. Collect it, and tell no one. You must continue our legacy. Anyone who has Doma blood and discovers their magic must be eliminated. They threaten our power, your power. They threaten the very world we live in.”
Chapter 1 — The Letter
“A storm is brewing.” Cyrene pushed open the textured glass windowpane to better assess the ever-darkening sky.
“It looks dreadful out there,” her sister, Elea said.
Cyrene could smell the dankness of the damp air and feel the pressing humidity against her pores. She brushed her long dark brown hair off her shoulders and stepped away from the window.
“Of course it would rain on the day of my Presenting. It hasn’t rained in a month.”
“It will hold off.”
“I hope so.” Today was her Presenting ceremony, and it would be the biggest day of her entire life. She swallowed hard, but her mouth felt as if she had gone without water for days in the middle of the Fallen Desert.
“Oh, Cyrene, you’ll do fine today.” Elea grabbed Cyrene’s hand, lacing their fingers. “Aralyn was selected as an Affiliate, and I’m sure you will be, too.”
Cyrene refocused her thoughts, channeling the self-assurance that so often came to her, and she put on a brave face for Elea. “Of course I will. I hope Rhea is feeling as confident.”
“Don’t worry about Rhea. She will be fine.” Elea retrieved a neat ribbon of pearls from the dresser and strung them around Cyrene’s neck. “There. All done.”
“Thank you, Elea,” Cyrene said. She pulled her sister into a fierce hug. “I’ll miss you when I become an Affiliate.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” Elea said, laughing. “You don’t even know if you’ll be selected into the First Class, but you practically believe you will be the next consort by nightfall.”
“I will be, right?” Cyrene asked sarcastically.
One of the most revered positions in all of Byern, the consort was personally chosen by the king and acted as his right hand in all matters of the state.
Elea snorted. “Don’t count your chickens before they have hatched.”
“Now, you sound like Mother!”
“Someone has to,” Elea said, shaking her head at Cyrene. “Come on. We can’t keep everyone waiting.” She ushered Cyrene out of the bedchamber.
Cyrene and Elea descended the spiral staircase to the large open foyer where their mother, Herlana, awaited them. Her daughters were mirror images of her, but Herlana had poise and grace that could only have been acquired through age and from serving as the previous queen’s Affiliate.
“Girls, you both look stunning. Though, I do say, Elea, I’m glad you still have another year. You need to get over that gawky awkwardness you still possess to have a chance at the First Class. Luckily, Cyrene never underwent that, or else I would have been more nervous for her,” Herlana muttered unabashedly.
Elea’s cheeks colored in embarrassment. She had grown to a surprising height in the past couple of years and was having trouble adjusting to the changes that had accompanied such a growth spurt.
“Thank you, Mother,” Cyrene said, redirecting the full weight of their mother’s attention.
“Well, you’re not out of it yet.” She eyed her daughter up and down. “Why your father ever approved of that harlot-red color on you, I have no idea. You’ll be the only one wearing something so tawdry.”
“I’ll stand out then.”
“As if you wouldn’t already at your own Presenting,” Herlana huffed.
“I think she is a vision in red,” Elea said, defending her sister.
“Thank you, Elea.”
“Yes, well…she would do better in your green,” Herlana said. “Do you remember everything required?”
Cyrene gulped back her moment of fear. “Yes, Mother. The very words I must speak have been etched into my brain since infancy.”
“You’ll need to watch that mouth of yours. The King doesn’t take kindly to insolent subjects. Now, where is that husband of mine?”
“I’m right here, Herlana,” Hamidon called. Entering the foyer, he thumbed through a small stack of letters in his hand.
He was a bulky man of medium height with a stern, self-important air about him. Despite his aristocratic appearance, he dearly loved his four children and doted on them even when his wife would scold him about it.
“Good morning, my beautiful children.” Hamidon kissed Elea and then Cyrene. “The Royal Guard have arrived,” he said, turning to his wife. “Are the Gramms here yet?”
“Yes. They’ve arrived just now,” Herlana said. She gestured out the door where a pair of carriages pulled into the circle drive.
“Perfect,” he said, wearing a pompous smile. “Shall we depart?”
Cyrene’s mother and father paraded out of their house, and as she was about to follow them, Elea threw her arms around her older sister.
“Who is going to tend the garden?” Elea croaked.
“What?” Cyrene asked. She attempted to pry herself out of Elea’s grip.
“I’m certain to kill everything without you here.”
“Just remember to water, and the garden will be fine.” She couldn’t help her disbelieving giggle. “Really, Elea, you’re only going to miss me because of the garden?”
Elea looked back at her sister and shook her head.
“Ladies,” Herlana snapped as they stalled in the foyer.
The girls jumped at their mother’s voice and hurried out of the house. Royal Guard ushered them toward three magnificent horse-drawn carriages attached to black stallions. Her family sat in one with a pattern of interchanging blue and silver diamonds, the colors of Cyrene’s family house. The Gramms’ two carriages were striped in orange, brown, and gold.
Rhea was demurely seated in the Gramms’ second carriage. She waved at Cyrene as she approached.
Cyrene and Rhea had been born on the same day, and thus, they were a rare exception for a First Class Presenting.
Members of the First Class would have their children individually presented o
n their seventeenth birthday. Every member of the Second and Third Classes who had a child turning seventeen in that year would celebrate their Presenting on the same day as the Eos holiday. In honor of Byern’s emancipation, an enormous party would be thrown in the capital city each year, and all would be invited to attend the festivities.
Cyrene clambered into the carriage seat beside Rhea. “Rhea, can you believe it’s finally here?” She reached out and grasped Rhea’s hand.
“No.” The wavy wisps of Rhea’s dark red hair brushed against her back as she shook her head. Her forest-green gown was simple and light with flowing long sleeves and lace edging. It really brought out the green in her eyes.
“Me either,” Cyrene whispered. Her gaze shifted out to their surroundings.
The carriage pulled them forward through the inner city. Towering stone mansions lined the streets as they navigated the First Class quarters and headed for the immense Nit Decus castle carved into the side of the Taken Mountains.
Second and Third Class families lived nearest their occupational crafts. Seconds were prone to martial involvement as well as careers related to and assisting with guard services. Thirds were a mix of craftsmen, merchants, and farmers who performed essential functions to support the kingdom. Both Seconds and Thirds lived along the second tier of the city walls, farther down the rocky foothills of the capital city. Additionally, Seconds assisted with border protection, and many Thirds traversed the land for mercantile purposes or lived in remote villages, assisting in the daily functions of life.
The roads through the inner city were cobbled, and the two girls jostled lightly as they rolled higher and higher toward the castle looming on the horizon. It was a nearly impenetrable fortress forged from gray-and-black limestone carved out of the mountain. More than half of the colossal structure was hidden within the heart of the Taken Mountains. What remained visible was a glorious edifice with high peaked towers, arching railed bridges, and intricate stone masonry that had withstood thousands of years of wear.