A War is brewing! Find out what happens in Queen of Blood!
Blurb:
For one
hundred years, Seri’s people have lived under the thumb of the Blood, the cruel
and mysterious rulers of Athon. Seri wants nothing more than to put food on the
table and marry the hotheaded but handsome Rilen come spring. But when a
noblewoman asks Seri to be her handmaiden, Rilen insists she move to the
enemy’s castle . . . and spy on the newly arrived prince.
Prince
Graeme has grown weary of his family’s curse. The Blood are powerful and
immortal, but doomed to live in the shadows, flitting from lover to lover,
always in search of the mythic Eterna—the one woman who will sate their hunger.
Now his father has sent him to the outskirts of the empire to stamp out a
rebellious Vidari faction. But when a wild and alluring Vidari girl shows up at
court, he finds himself torn between following his father’s orders and
following his heart . . .
A war is
brewing between Athonite and Vidari, between Blood and man. As uprisings sweep
through the land, Seri and Graeme find themselves at the center of a storm with
only one choice: betray each other, or betray their people.
Excerpt:
“Lady Mila de Vray,” the priest called.
Finally.
Seri braced herself, readying the cords. Ahead of her, the
lady swept into the center of the room, making her grand entrance with small
flicks of her fan. Hands spread like she had been taught, Seri matched her
steps to Lady Mila’s gliding ones as she carried the excessive train of skirts
to the center of the floor. Prince Graeme’s eyes flickered over Seri’s
appearance and then back to the lady before him. If he recognized either of
them, he gave no indication.
Lady Mila sank down into a deep curtsy, skirts pooling
around her.
Behind her, hands tangled in the noblewoman’s train, Seri
hesitated. Lady Mila’s deep bow just emphasized the fact that Seri was still
standing behind her. Was this all part of the game, then? To force her hand and
have her insult the court? Someone coughed, a sound that felt out of place in
the stillness, and she could feel the heat of every eye in the room on her.
They can string me up next to Kasmar, she thought. I will not yield to this.
Biting her lip, Seri closed her eyes and bent her head, the
closest approximation to deference that she could give.
And she waited. Waited for a signal from Lady Mila, or a
jerk of the cords. Waited for the priests to indicate that they would move on.
Something.
Then, someone gave a surprised shout and then a low murmur
rippled through the crowd. Seri looked up, and gasped. A white glow of light
had formed in the center of the room, just above Lady Mila’s head. There was no
brazier there, no candelabra, no discernible source for the glow. It had appeared
suddenly and of its own volition, as if summoned by the gods . . . or the
Athonite goddess herself.
“The Betrothed!” Lady Penella breathed, all tears gone.
Shock skittered through Seri. Lady Mila? Truly? The small, cruel part of her
was disappointed. Lady Mila would be even more insufferable than before. Poor
Lady Aynee had looked to be a more suitable—and amenable—bride for the prince.
The two priests continued to chant the Goddess’s praises,
rapt and exultant. The room hummed with whispers and Lady Mila stood bathed in
the glow, a radiant smile on her face. The prince stood and stepped down from
the dais, and the light continued to grow, until suddenly Seri’s skin felt as
though it were on fire. Her stomach churned and she tugged at the cords, suddenly
desperate to get free, to get out of this over-warm room, away from the
Athonites and their goddess and their strange ways. But before she could move,
a heavy hand landed on her shoulder.
The prince. He had walked right past Lady Mila to Seri. . .
.
And that was when Seri realized that the white light wasn’t
centered around Lady Mila, whose face was pinched and bright red with
ill-concealed rage.
It was on her.
Seri’s body went numb. “It’s not me,” she protested. “It
can’t be.”
The prince gazed down at her for a long moment, dark eyes
emotionless. But she could sense turmoil behind them . . . as if he was as
upset and surprised as she was. Seri moved to turn, moved to flee. This
couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t Prince Graeme’s Betrothed. She was Vidari, and
she had to get home, to Josdi and father. To Rilen—
As if sensing her panic, the prince took her by the elbow,
turning her to face the crowd. His grip was tight on her arm, holding her in
place. “The Goddess has granted me a Betrothed,” he called out in a flat tone
that carried across the still ballroom floor. “Truly, I am blessed.”
The room erupted into wild cheers and angry chatter.
“It’s not me,” Seri said again. “It can’t be.”
“You
echo my thoughts exactly, madam,” Prince Graeme said in her ear. “Now smile.”
Meet Jill Myles:
Jill
Myles has been an incurable romantic since childhood. She reads all the
'naughty parts' of books first, looks for a dirty joke in just about
everything, and thinks to this day that the Little House on the Prairie books
should have been steamier.
After
devouring hundreds of paperback romances, mythology books, and archaeological
tomes, she decided to write a few books of her own - stories with a wild
adventure, sharp banter, and lots of super-sexy situations. She prefers her
heroes alpha and half-dressed, her heroines witty, and she loves nothing more
than watching them overcome adversity to fall into bed together.
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