Key Sneaky Peek

I have a little surprise for you, friends!

I wanted to do something special to celebrate the release of my newest book, Champion's Key. Scroll down for a little sneak peek of the prologue and the first chapter.

Enjoy!

Prologue

Sunset Mountains, Esland

Two years ago

He dropped to the snow, the wind snatching his anguished screams. Foundling, dark as the grave, slithered up his veins, hungry to possess the light. The Champion writhed as the darkness creeped toward his heart and the power connected to it. Xeno grinned down at his victim in triumph, reaching for his prize, his greasy, ice-flecked hair immovable in the storm. The sword’s runes glowed, and a bolt of light shot out to attack Xeno’s hand, contorting his fingers.

He yanked it back with a growl. “Release the mantle, Champion!”

“To you? Never.”

“Your death is inevitable. Pass me the mantle. You know as well as I that if you don’t pass it to someone while you still have your wits, you risk losing it forever.”

The Champion uttered a pained laugh. “Even if I were willing, it wouldn’t stay on you, unworthy as you are.”

“That’s the problem with you Champions, ever the optimists. Who’s to say I’m not handing the power off to someone worse than myself?” he asked with wicked amusement.

            The Champion forced his mind to work past the dark poison already fogging his thoughts, to figure out who was capable of such evil. Xeno turned to face the city far below, tipping his chin up as if he might take in the whole of Esland, staring through the darkening sky toward the south.

            South.

            “No!” The Champion rolled to his side, punching a hole in the snow as he attempted to steady his weak body. He pushed to his knees, clutching his stomach. “You’ll corrupt the realms!”

            “A small price to pay for the reward.”

“How long have you been working for the Shadow Master?”

Xeno smirked, fully enjoying the pain etched on every muscle of the Champion’s body. “The boy will never be able to properly wield its power. He doesn’t have the belief. Leave the mantle and sword with me. I’ll take good care of them.”

The Champion let go of his wound, grabbing the sword with blood-slick hands. Never mind that the successor wasn’t here. Everything would be revealed in its proper time.

            The Champion of Realms’ voice lowered as he called forth the mantle’s power. “You’re wrong.”

He raised the sword above his head, pushing past the pain. Protector, whiter than snow and brighter than lightning, shot skyward. When the light faded, the sword disappeared with it. He collapsed, the darkness rushing in without the mantle there to slow its progress.

Xeno sneered. “This isn’t over. I will find a way.”

“You won’t succeed,” the Champion whispered as Xeno left him there to die.

There was one thing he absolutely must not forget. He repeated the phrase over and over, holding on to it as his blood pumped out onto the snow and his thoughts crumbled like rocks in a landslide.

 One

The lanky servant looked sharply left then right, his round eyes taking in the castle with confusion. Briar tugged the strap of his travel bag up higher on his shoulder.

“If it’s too much trouble, I can find my way to the king’s office,” he offered.

The man picked up the pace, clearly new and clearly very lost. “The king was insistent that you be brought to him immediately.”

He’d noticed. The process was normally laboriously slow. Never mind that he was the liaison or that his father was before him. The kingdom of Esland made up a good half of his childhood memories. That didn’t stop the less friendly guards from overriding the opinions of the others. More often than not, they took their sweet time opening the gate, searching him and his belongings just because of his elven blood. Things got easier once he gained entrance. Many of the castle servants had known him since his youth. It tended to mitigate their fears. In cases where it didn’t, the prospect of the king’s displeasure or his daughter’s wrath outweighed any concern or anger over his presence.

Briar cleared his throat, tilting his head to the right, to the office the servant didn’t recognize. He approached the open door hesitantly, his beakish nose crossing the threshold.

“You can send him in,” the king called.

The scrawny man took Briar’s dusty bag with two outstretched fingers before offering an awkward and completely unnecessary bow.

Briar pulled his shoulders back with an inhale. “Your Majesty,” he said as he bowed before the king. “You wanted to see me?”

King Arden set down his quill. He straightened, adjusting his elegant black and silver doublet. “Yes, Briar. Please, come sit.”

            Briar rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants. Two years after stepping into his father’s shoes, he still questioned if he was suited for the role. His late father was a half-elf, the son of an elven father and an Eslandian mother. He could blend almost seamlessly into either world, a talent Briar didn’t possess.

            “Thank you for coming so quickly. I’ll be leaving this afternoon to assess a situation that requires my immediate attention, and I need a man I can trust.”

            “Of course, Your Majesty. We can leave right away.”

            “Actually, I need you here in my absence.” King Arden stroked his short silver beard, his dark brows pulling together. “To look after Princess Rosalyn.”

            Briar nearly choked on his saliva. Surely, he was joking.

            “I know it’s not ideal. Two weeks is a long time–”

            “Forgive me, Your Majesty.” He needed to tread lightly here. As liaison, Briar was expected to maintain a close relationship with the Eslandian royal family, Rosalyn most especially. They were supposed to be an example of how things should be. It was why they were introduced as children. The distance between them couldn’t last forever. It shouldn’t have been there in the first place. That was on him. So was reestablishing a healthy relationship, which would be difficult considering she could barely stand to be in the same room with him. “Why not Caspian?”

            Caspian was, after all, the Attendant to the Heir. King Arden had borrowed from the Xiomaran term palace attendant when he created the role. Unlike in Esland where servants were thought of as holding a low position, Xiomarans considered serving in the palace an honor. In promoting his cousin’s orphaned son to Attendant, Arden had elevated Caspian’s status, spoken well of Xiomarans, demonstrated his daughter’s rule would be different, and given Rose a guard and companion. Considering Rosalyn had ousted every guard before him except Briar, the council could hardly complain.

            “I’d be willing to help him set up a guard rotation if he likes.”

            “It’s already done. I want you and Caspian both on this, with you taking the lead. I’ve already spoken with him, and he agrees. I’m giving you full responsibility for her protection while I’m away.”

            For. Two. Weeks. He groaned inwardly. “Your Majesty. I’m flattered, but–”

“She’ll come around.”

            “And if she doesn’t?”

            “Briar.” The king leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Rose hasn’t been herself lately. She’s detached, withdrawn. I confess, I’ve struggled with what to do. I can’t afford any distractions. I need someone I can trust.”

            Briar frowned.

            “You’ve noticed, then?”

            He kneaded his palm with his thumb, nodding slowly. “I’d hoped I was imagining it.” But he’d known in his gut.

            The click of stilettos echoed in the hall.

            “You’ll forgive me for not mentioning this to her earlier.”

            “What?” He hadn’t told her?

            His mouth went dry as she walked in, confident in six-inch heels. Satiny blue-gray fabric covered her from neck to ankle, gathered at the waist to accentuate her lithe figure. A mass of brown sideswept curls tumbled down the front of her dress. Her father could insist that she wear more clothing than an Eslandian grandmother and she’d still turn every head in the room.

She planted a kiss on his cheek. “You wanted to see me? I–” Her eyes collided with Briar’s as he stood, bowed.

“Princess Rosalyn, you’re looking well.”

Rosalyn’s mouth hung open for a moment. “I, um, thank you.” She ripped her gaze from his and addressed the king. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the liaison was here.”

He brushed off her refusal to refer to him by name. It was probably for the best.

“Sit, Rosalyn,” King Arden said before she could get very far, gesturing to the chair beside Briar’s.

Rose obeyed, jaw tightening. She crossed her legs, and the fabric of her dress slid, parting above the knee. The gold straps of her stilettos crisscrossed her calves like vines on a trellis. She blushed when she caught him staring, tossing the length of fabric over the secret slit. She shot him a glare that said, “Go ahead, tell on me. See what happens.”

His Majesty wasted no time relaying the purpose of their meeting to his daughter. Her eyes widened with shock. Briar braced for the inevitable protest. She did not disappoint, words flying from her mouth with a tempest-rivaling force.

“I’ve made my decision. I will not be swayed. Liaison Dylan will have full authority in matters of your protection.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, Rosalyn, that if it concerns your safety, his authority will be higher than yours.”

The flattering pink filling her cheeks deepened to an angry scarlet. “But Father–”

“I am not only your father but your king.” He tapped the desk decidedly. “I will hear no more arguments over it.”

Next to Briar, the princess fumed, her jaw clenching to the point he thought she might snap the bone. There was no turning back now. For either of them.

“May I go?”

“Yes, you’re free to leave.”

She rose and curtsied to her father. “Liaison.” She didn’t bother to cast a glance his direction as she pivoted and left, heels stomping.

“Give her time.”

Briar was convinced all the time in the world wouldn’t make this easier.

The king vacated his chair, motioning for him to follow. “One last thing, liaison. There will be a party tonight.”

The situation was getting worse by the moment.

“As you know, the council is displeased with my break from tradition. I have not yet betrothed Rosalyn nor do I intend to anytime soon. However, in an attempt to appease them, I’ve invited the council and any nobles whose sons are of eligible age.”

“The bachelors themselves won’t be in attendance?”

“No, it was a compromise of sorts. I pointed out to the council that my daughter has a strong, independent spirit. If they wanted her betrothed, they were better off approaching this with caution.”

“And they agreed?”

“After I told them Rosalyn refused to be paraded around like a prized pig. Her words, not mine.” The king sighed wearily. “Tonight could be tricky to navigate.”

Tricky wasn’t the half of it.

Blessings,

J ♡