Crown of Tolem Series, Book #1
A warrior with a destiny, a woman with a
gift. Can loving the enemy restore a broken kingdom? Or will forbidden love
destroy it—and them—first?
Prince Arn has a destiny—an ancient throne—but he’s not waiting
for fate to deliver when he can act now, before his enemies organize against
him. The healer Aerid longs for her barely remembered homeland. Marked out by
her gift and her foreign looks, she insists she is no witch. The swordsman Naed
hopes to honorably defend his uncle’s holding, but he harbors a secret
fascination for the exotic healer. Prince Arn’s campaign against Aerid’s
homeland throws them into a triangle of forbidden love, betrayal, and
heartbreak. Only when they realize love is blood-kin to friendship, and neither
is possible without risk, can they forge a new alliance and restore a kingdom.
2011 EPIC Winner in Fantasy Romance, The Wild Rose Press
4 Stars, LAS Reviewer
4 Stars, LAS Reviewer
“A warrior and a healer - a strange combination for love…. Distrust,
battles and interference from both Tolemaks and D'naleans cause confusion in
the minds of Aerid and Arn. Neither wishes to acknowledge what they feel for
each other. Arn sends her away but then is unable to forget Aerid. The
interaction between Arn and Aerid was vibrant. Aerid at first seems a demure
young lady healer, but she proves to have a strong determination when her right
to heal is called into question…. The world and the political situation are
very much part of this book bringing tension to the various characters. To get
what they desire, some use intrigue, others use honour, and the enemy is not
always where the allies expect to find them. Drawn apart, thrown together, all
through the book the question is - will Arn and Aerid give in to their feelings
or will they refuse to acknowledge their strong attraction to one another? If
you enjoy a full length epic style story, then this is the book for you.” 4 stars, LAS Reviewer
Excerpt:
Aerid could not
recall how she came to be in the Great Hall, or how water
and bandages materialized on trestle tables there.
Naed sat slumped against the wall while Yormoc tugged off his tunic and armor. Blood painted Naed's arm, but she could see the wound was only a finger in length.
“Get me up, fool, or
‘tis your hide I’ll line my chair with!” Her master Dranoel sat up, took in the
guards at the door, and his ashen face paled further.
Yormoc examined the
cloth he had been holding to his gashed jaw. “They haven’t killed us yet. ‘Tis like
they don’t mean to.”
Dranoel visibly
fought for control. “Mayhap the bastard Prince has some honor, then.”
“Some honor!” Aerid
sputtered. Did no one but she understand what they faced? “Belike they’ll be keeping
us for their sport, killing us one by one to feed their savage appetites. These
be Tolemaks we speak of, and what be they if not barbarians and their master a Prince of Savages!"
Dranoel blanched at
her words. Yormoc froze. Even Naed’s head came up. But not a man of them stared
at her.
Cold dread filled
Aerid. She whirled.
In the doorway stood
a scarlet-cloaked figure so tall his ebony hair brushed the cross-beam, so lean
Aerid sensed nothing but bone and muscle and will, a will so strong it emanated
from the deep-set, stone-gray eyes. High cheekbones gave his face a noble, arrogant
look. The curve of his lips mocked her. The scar cutting across the left side
of his face from behind the eyebrow to the corner of the chin mocked nothing.
“Pray, go on.” The
Prince of Val-Feyridge planted his boot on a bench and rested a hand on the upraised
knee. “Or have you lost your nerve?”
Excerpt
from CHAPTER TEN
Shivers racked Aerid, coming
so hard and fast she had bitten her lip bloody, but she refused to make a sound
while the Prince rode with her clamped to his body. Her life depended on saying
nothing until this man—the Demon Himself for all the cruel efficiency with
which he had dispatched their attackers—gave her leave to speak.
Trees whipped by; a bit of
moonlight beamed down on a narrow track, and always the horse’s mane lashed her
face. She had given up breathing, gulping air whenever the horse’s stride
loosened the Prince’s grip a fraction.
The horse slowed, and the
Prince straightened in the saddle, allowing a sliver of night air to slide
between their bodies. She shuddered at the shock of it, realizing the skin
under her tunic was damp with the sweat soaking through his. She had ceased to
feel his heartbeat as separate from hers. Both thundered in her ears, and the
sweet scent of fresh blood—on his hands, his clothes, his weapons—mingled with
horse lather, man-sweat, and her own fear.
He guided the stallion off
the track and into a stream. Krenin followed, as did a riderless horse that had
raced with them out of the village. Aerid guessed it was one of those that had
charged her in the square. Instead of crossing, the Prince headed the stallion
downstream, letting it pick its way through fetlock-deep water. Krenin made no
comment. Aerid stole a glance in his direction, but the Prince’s Second seemed
still in control of his horse although he slumped over the animal’s neck.
Around them, water rushed and hissed over stones, the sound echoing the
blood-rush in her veins.
The Prince’s arm tightened,
drawing her hard against the planes of his chest. Aerid sucked in breath,
digging her fingers once more into his tunic sleeve. Every movement reminded
her, perched sideways as she was on the saddle pommel, all that kept her out of
the water and away from trampling hooves was the strength of his arm—and that
arm was trembling. Not with the fear still rattling through her, for he was
Tolemak and a warrior. Nor with weakness, though the wound she had stitched a
scant seven-night before could yet give him cause. No, in that moment when he
had recognized her—in that awful moment after the shock—she’d seen all
too clearly the fury vibrating through him now. And the knowledge that it had
not abated even a whit made her flinch when he bent and his voice lashed at her
ear.
“Tell me, witch, and tell me
true—does Krenin know who you are?”
The question itself startled
Aerid, not its harshness, for she had expected that. Twisting her head, she
caught a glimpse of eyes like coals in a face dark and set.
“I mean,” he said, each word
measured and knifesharp, “either who you are or who you pretend to be.”
She flushed, knowing full
well what he meant. “I—I think not, m’lord. ‘Twas dark and—”
“Then you’ll do nothing to
enlighten him. Hear?”
She heard him clearly
despite the water-song and hoof splashes she was sure prevented their voices
from carrying to Krenin. She understood, too, what underlay his warning. He
wanted no one to know that he, the exalted and invincible Prince of
Val-Feyridge, had been tricked—trapped—into sparing the life of an
Adanak—and a woman!—only to cover the fact he and all his army had been
duped into believing—for weeks!—that she was a boy, and a D’nalian. Oh,
he had chosen well the moment for his question, Aerid thought, a rush of
indignation beating back her shivers.
“Aye, m’lord, ‘tis safe with
me, your secret.”
THE PRINCE OF VAL-FEYRIDGE, Crown of Tolem #1, is available in print and e-book from these retailers:
For the story behind THE PRINCE OF VAL-FEYRIDGE and how it came about, click here for a video:
Are you going to write a sequel to The Prince of Val-Feyridge?
ReplyDeleteThanks for asking, Greta! The sequel, Naed's story, is currently my work in progress.
ReplyDelete