Enemies bound by desire. Allies torn by fate.
Princess Evangeline has an insatiate lust for power. As her kingdom’s most feared warrior and heiress to the throne, she plans to one day rule in her father’s place, just as she rules over countless men during secret nights of sin.But when the castle falls to a new enemy, Evangeline becomes a slave in her own kingdom, forced to obey the heartless queen’s commands to honor her father’s dying wish: to protect her people.
The princess craves vengeance, but can she resist the carnal magnetism between her and Prince Rune, the queen’s son and royal pawn? And as rebellion brews, can she trust Rune, the man with the power to quench her torrid flames, to be her greatest ally?
As if summoned from the depths of the earth, my final challenger stepped forward. He towered over me like the great castle walls, his shadow engulfing me in darkness. I watched his sword intently as it swayed like a feather between his fingers.
He struck without warning. I was sent stumbling backward after a weak parry, underestimating the power of his swing. But speed was my greatest strength, and I recovered my balance almost instantly. The sheer force of his assaults far overpowered my own, restricting me to the defensive. Each slash of his blade flew by my head at frightful speeds, backed by a guttural grunt. I inched my way backward as each slice brought him a step closer. Without hesitation, my instincts took over, leading me into my signature move.
Gradually lowering myself to the ground, I bent into a squatted shuffle. My competitor’s attacks persisted, unrelenting. He leaned downward to better reach my chest. At just the right moment, when he carried his weight on the ends of his toes, I leapt over his low arcing swing, twisted through the air over his outstretched arm, and landed smoothly behind his hunched frame. Before he could regain his stance and turn to face me once more, I delivered a lethal blow to the back of his knees.
My rival released a monstrous howl as he fell forward, dropping into a kneel. The heavy pound of his knees shook the ground, a quake that silenced the entire training field. All watched in awe as their star fighter lay helpless by my feet.
I looked expectantly at my commander, my racing heart beating in my ears. It was clear by his
crossed arms and knitted brow that he was disappointed in his disgraceful brigade, but from the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, I knew he was pleased with my performance. “Finish the job,” he said in a low voice.
I turned back to face my statuesque adversary. No longer was he the invincible beast he was just minutes before. Down on his knees, he became a shell of his former self, humbled and abashed by defeat. Through his face guard, I could just make out his pleading eyes, ashamed before his peers, begging me for mercy.
With that look, a flood of heat filled my core. A yearning. A hunger. A lustful rage.
I chuckled coldly. How pathetic.
With a skillful twist of my blade, I struck the base of his neck with the flat of my sword, simulating a dramatic beheading and sending his helmet soaring through the air. It bounced through the dirt theatrically, spinning on its edge with a clatter before finding its final place of rest before the feet of the crowd, its hollo interior facing the huddle of defeated men.
A slow clap broke through the deafening silence, echoing across the training field. I lifted my gaze to see none other than King Ricard, ruler of Vitalia. He was adorned in a violet tunic lined with golden thread, a puffed silver surcoat that augmented his considerable physique, and a long, draping cloak exhibiting an intricate design of the royal crest. His threatening stature was only deepened by his austere visage—a thick nose framing a set of demanding brown eyes; a bushy, graying beard matching the shade of his thick, protruding brows; and his lips, normally forming a thin, sober line, now curved in a sly side smile.
The cluster of knights immediately fell to their knees, dropping their heads in a respectful bow. Even the commander knelt upon the dusty ground before his crowned ruler.
But I did not kneel. Instead, I stood boldly, facing my king with my head held high. The monarch stilled his hands. All waited expectantly for him to break the silence once more, this time with his booming voice.
“Well done, Princess Evangeline.”
At his declaration, I sheathed my sword and doffed my helmet to reveal my face. I released the pin from my hair and let it flow down my back in long copper waves, shining like the silver armor it lay upon. My crimson lips wore their own smug grin, perfectly matching that of the king.
“Thank you, Father.”
He struck without warning. I was sent stumbling backward after a weak parry, underestimating the power of his swing. But speed was my greatest strength, and I recovered my balance almost instantly. The sheer force of his assaults far overpowered my own, restricting me to the defensive. Each slash of his blade flew by my head at frightful speeds, backed by a guttural grunt. I inched my way backward as each slice brought him a step closer. Without hesitation, my instincts took over, leading me into my signature move.
Gradually lowering myself to the ground, I bent into a squatted shuffle. My competitor’s attacks persisted, unrelenting. He leaned downward to better reach my chest. At just the right moment, when he carried his weight on the ends of his toes, I leapt over his low arcing swing, twisted through the air over his outstretched arm, and landed smoothly behind his hunched frame. Before he could regain his stance and turn to face me once more, I delivered a lethal blow to the back of his knees.
My rival released a monstrous howl as he fell forward, dropping into a kneel. The heavy pound of his knees shook the ground, a quake that silenced the entire training field. All watched in awe as their star fighter lay helpless by my feet.
I looked expectantly at my commander, my racing heart beating in my ears. It was clear by his
crossed arms and knitted brow that he was disappointed in his disgraceful brigade, but from the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, I knew he was pleased with my performance. “Finish the job,” he said in a low voice.
I turned back to face my statuesque adversary. No longer was he the invincible beast he was just minutes before. Down on his knees, he became a shell of his former self, humbled and abashed by defeat. Through his face guard, I could just make out his pleading eyes, ashamed before his peers, begging me for mercy.
With that look, a flood of heat filled my core. A yearning. A hunger. A lustful rage.
I chuckled coldly. How pathetic.
With a skillful twist of my blade, I struck the base of his neck with the flat of my sword, simulating a dramatic beheading and sending his helmet soaring through the air. It bounced through the dirt theatrically, spinning on its edge with a clatter before finding its final place of rest before the feet of the crowd, its hollo interior facing the huddle of defeated men.
A slow clap broke through the deafening silence, echoing across the training field. I lifted my gaze to see none other than King Ricard, ruler of Vitalia. He was adorned in a violet tunic lined with golden thread, a puffed silver surcoat that augmented his considerable physique, and a long, draping cloak exhibiting an intricate design of the royal crest. His threatening stature was only deepened by his austere visage—a thick nose framing a set of demanding brown eyes; a bushy, graying beard matching the shade of his thick, protruding brows; and his lips, normally forming a thin, sober line, now curved in a sly side smile.
The cluster of knights immediately fell to their knees, dropping their heads in a respectful bow. Even the commander knelt upon the dusty ground before his crowned ruler.
But I did not kneel. Instead, I stood boldly, facing my king with my head held high. The monarch stilled his hands. All waited expectantly for him to break the silence once more, this time with his booming voice.
“Well done, Princess Evangeline.”
At his declaration, I sheathed my sword and doffed my helmet to reveal my face. I released the pin from my hair and let it flow down my back in long copper waves, shining like the silver armor it lay upon. My crimson lips wore their own smug grin, perfectly matching that of the king.
“Thank you, Father.”
💕 To be released July 21 💕
T. Pike grew up in Northwest Arkansas where she swam competitively for more than 17 years. After graduating from Texas A&M University with an English degree and All-American honors, she returned home to pursue her master's in English and write her debut novel: Some Call Me Eve. Now a law student, she enjoys running and hiking with her dogs and exploring the mountains with her partner.
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Sounds like a great story.
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