Genre: Epic Gay Fantasy
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Blood, conquest, and glory at his side becomes respect and admiration—and longing
The Marjar attack on Mycea sets in motion a series of changes in the ruling structure of the empire that will forever impact the lives of three powerful men. King Meshia, supreme ruler of the empire, Sebastian of Cardin, Commander of the Third Empirical battalion, and Sebastian's Cardinian lover, Leo, a gifted healer beyond any that have come before him.
King Meshia has a secret, one that might lose him his crown. One that would certainly diminish his capacity to rule and lead the empire's forces into battle. One night of unbridled passion, one weakness, one longing that could bring the monarchy to its knees.
Sebastian of Cardin, Commander of the Third Empirical Battalion knows that love comes in many forms. He lives it, he breathes it. He is unapologetic. The military and his home in the Entertainment District in the Neter Colony on Mycea suit every aspect of his life.
Leo of Cardin, a conjuring Cardinian, an anomaly of nature. Skilled in his craft. A force to be reckoned with in his own right. His relationship with Sebastian does not define every aspect of his life. He too has a secret, his family heritage placing him in a position of incredible power.
Their world in turmoil, they will be called upon to embrace the love in their lives and abandon their long-held prejudices against one another in order to preserve the survival of their people.
Excerpt:
The immense, ancient forest shivered as the ground rumbled,
releasing a shower of twigs and moss down upon him, peppering his hair and
shoulders with the dank stench of evergreen canopy centuries undisturbed. The
sky darkened, deepening the damp cold as one of the few remaining empire ships
lumbered past overhead.
Sebastian urged his horse forward, gripping tight to his
sword. The hilt was slick with blood and sweat, threatening to relieve him of
the only weapon capable of delivering him to what was left of his world. If
there was indeed anything of importance left at all.
He peered back over his shoulder. He had spent as much time
as he could searching through the rubble. Shouting down through every crevice
that might have encapsulated his companion. A wet, shallow breath shuddered
past his lips. There was no way of knowing for sure if he had managed to escape
to safety. Not without heading into the tunnels to search for him.
No
time.
Sebastian nudged his horse's side, pivoting his mind as well
as his body away from the urge to bolt toward the escape route they had set the
colony's civilians on.
Either
he has survived, or he hasn't.
Resigned, Sebastian regained his focus and surveyed the battalion of men awaiting his next order.
Their squinting, crud-rimmed eyes betrayed an exhaustion they would never admit
to. Exhaustion and defeat. It was etched into the weary creases of their stoic
faces. Faces the likenesses of which had lined the central courtyard of the
once opulent empirical palace.
Sebastian glanced over his shoulder again—one final time.
They had been unable to save the empire's capital. Its massive marble columns,
elegant domed buildings, and ornate fountains had crumbled, succumbing to the
unrelenting barrage of strikes designed to bring the colony down.
He expelled a breath and tightened his reins, his horse
dancing, pummeling the wet, rocky ground beneath its hooves. His men. They
weren't prone to entertaining the temptress of defeat. Had proven so repeatedly
over the years even though she'd visited often—alluring and seductive, enticing
them with the promise of restful, mind-numbing
peace upon their submission.
They would never succumb. They would lay down their lives
for him, without question. Their job now—to ensure there were no additional
civilian casualties—that the colony's subject-occupied tunnels weren't overrun
by enemy forces. They needed to reach the precipice above.
Sebastian rose, balanced high in his saddle, his sword arm
circling over his head, maneuvering to restrain his horse from breaking away.
He let the bloodlust build in his gut,
heating and hardening his already rigid muscles and coloring his vision.
Then it erupted—released,
vengeful, echoing throughout the hills—a howling, guttural promise of death.
Acrid smoke from
the fires burning below made it impossible for Meshia to see which direction
the Marjar foot soldiers' hordes were moving. He had led his battalion up into
the steep hills surrounding the valley. He hoped to ascertain a clearer picture
of where the enemy troops were heading, but his efforts were proving futile.
The valley floor was almost entirely obscured by drifting smoke—the forest in
flames all around them.
Meshia grunted and set his shoulders in
defiance, his horse shifting beneath him, impatient and anxious to be on the
move again. Off in the distance, immense plumes of orange gas and smoke sprung
up, dotting the landscape with surreal volcano-like eruptions. The deafening explosions
ripped cavernous holes in the forest floor, tossing trees as though they were
nothing more than tinder. He cringed in frustration as the gut-wrenching din of
iron twisting and popping continued overhead. His massive fleet of warships was
being systematically ripped apart by plasma fire
and sent plummeting to the ground in brilliant bursts of ignition and flame.
In the distance,
he could see bolts of purple lightning illuminating the smoke. Tobias was
exerting his profession's limits to assist them, but the aged wizard was no
match for the Marjar fleet. The entire empire and everything it stood for was
in jeopardy if the Marjar succeeded in taking the planet of Mycea. As it was,
much of the Neter colony, the hub of the empire, containing the governmental
headquarters, the homes of the royal court, and Meshia's residence within the empirical
palace, had received indeterminate damage.
He strained to
see through the smoke, searching for the recognizable gait of the only
commander he truly trusted. A man that had come to be in his life through the
most unusual of circumstances. A man that ought not to have been there at all.
—And perhaps that would have been preferable.
Meshia grunted again
and backed his horse away from the steep edge of the hillside, admonishing
himself for allowing his state of mental disquiet. The signal had been sent.
He will arrive here safe—soon.
Meshia turned in
his saddle when he heard the familiar exhalation of his wife, Lakeda, as she
rode up alongside him.
"This is not
looking good," she said as she peered out through the smoke-filled haze. Their once beautiful city
was in ruins, and the elegant forest that had surrounded it scorched beyond
recognition.
Meshia looked
over at his wife, her hair framing her brave face whipping in the wind being
generated by the fires below. Her fitted breastplate was tarnished and dented,
and she gripped her sword firmly in one hand. Lakeda was a fierce warrior, and
she had taken her place at his side on the throne, and the battlefield, from
the very first day since they had wed. As the ruling king of the empire, he had
chosen well. A queen such as Lakeda, brave, caring, and approachable, had
strengthened the civilians' trust in them.
Thankfully, they managed
to save many of those civilians by sending them into the tunnel system that ran
beneath the colony out into the surrounding hills. They would be safe down
there for as long as it took the empire's military to handle things on the
surface. It looked as though the tunnels may become the permanent home to many
more than already lived there from his current vantage point.
He adjusted his
sword and stood up in his stirrups to get a better look but could only see a
few battalions of Marjar foot soldiers. He sunk back into his saddle.
"We weren't
prepared for this—at all," he whispered.
A waft of thick
smoke drifted up into his eyes as he squinted toward the sky. It was teeming
with Marjar ships, and they were proving to be relentless in their quest to
take the planet.
"Where did
the Marjar find those ships?" Lakeda said. "They don't have the
technology to build ships this advanced. We don't even …"
Meshia briefly
chastised himself for failing to see any warning signs leading up to this. Most
of the territories under the empire's control were not technologically advanced
enough to launch an assault such as this. The empirical military's current
range of weapons had always been more than sufficient. Still, as Meshia looked
up to the skies, he could see that his slow-moving
warships were no match for the destructive capabilities of the smaller and
faster Marjar fleet. His ships were falling out of the sky like bugs over a
fire.
He had no idea
who had assisted the Marjar in acquiring the advanced technology, but it was
wiping them out.
"We need to
regroup," Meshia said to Lakeda, "and
attempt to drive the Marjar foot soldiers deeper into the forest and away from
the underground tunnels. I do not want them getting anywhere near the civilian
population. Hopefully, we can hold them off long enough for the Supreme Council
to send us some reinforcements."
"Your
Majesty, the request for assistance was sent over a week ago."
Meshia gazed out
at their remaining troops amassing on the hillside. His wife was right.
Reinforcements weren't coming.
He shook his head in disgust. During the last
assault, many of the men in both his and Lakeda's
battalion had retreated, absconded, heading for the dense forest to the south
of the colony. Likely never to be seen again.
Their numbers had
been decimated by death and dissension; they were in trouble.
Turning in his
saddle, Meshia's eyebrows furrowed with irrepressible concern. The delay was
losing them ground.
"Where is
Commander Sebastian's battalion?" Meshia asked, pivoting in his saddle to
question her further. They hadn't much time.
"I spotted
his battalion making its way up the long ravine at the far side of the valley a
few hours ago." Lakeda held her sword over her head and stretched out her
shoulders.
"We can't
wait for him much longer," Meshia replied. "I'm going to bring what's
left of my battalion down through those trees over there. I need you to hold
your position up at the far end of the valley. I'll try to push the Marjar
troops toward you."
He removed his
sword from its sheath and swiped a vicious arc through the air. "Be prepared
to cut them down once they reach you."
Lakeda bowed her
head. "Your Majesty."
An eruption of
boisterous laughter broke behind them. Meshia sat up sharp in his saddle and guarded a ripple of relief as
Sebastian's form could be seen climbing up the hill's crest through the
overgrowth of brambles onto the flat lookout point.
"Where do
you want me, High Commander?" Sebastian shouted as he strode toward them,
horse in tow, his bare arms and legs covered in a thick layer of battle grime,
his leather breastplate and skirt drenched in blood.
Sebastian ran his
hand across the top of his head, smoothing a few strands of his sleek, black hair
out of his eyes, the bulk of which he had pulled into a knot at the back of his
head. He adjusted his saddle and sword and remounted his horse, looking
formidable as he approached the pair, the poised undulation of his powerful,
war disciplined body matching that of his steed.
"We took out
a few thousand of their men down on the flats to the north of the city,"
Sebastian reported, grinning. "I think I might be wearing some of
them." He pounded his chest, further muddying the smears of blood coating
his breastplate. It sent both men into a fit of deep, throaty, uproarious
laughter that had their massive black warhorses rearing up in excitement.
Lakeda shook her
head in apparent exasperation. Both men reveled
in the chaos that was war. Not entirely unlike herself—but not like this.
She spun her
horse around, kicking up a shower of small stones, and headed for the slope to
take up her position.
Meshia clapped
his hand into Sebastian's outstretched one.
"We've done
it again," he jested, laughing as a complicit smirk lit up Sebastian's
face. "Unwittingly chased her off," he added.
"She's funny
that way," Sebastian said while admiring the state of Meshia's sword. It
had seen some brutal combat this day.
Meshia flipped
his blade over, wrinkling his nose, then sneered. "I'm not sure she'll cut
through butter after that last battle."
"Then we're
in luck," Sebastian replied, edging his horse closer to Meshia’s and
lowering his voice. "No butter. Just … men."
Meshia sighed and
began to turn his horse away, but Sebastian caught his reins, tugging him close.
"Sebastian," he whispered. "Not now."
Sebastian
shrugged. "What? I only want to know where you want me." He tipped his head to one side, seemingly measuring Meshia's
reaction, then released Meshia's reins.
Meshia's brusque
response had Sebastian snorting with amusement and spinning his horse off in
the direction he had been ordered to take, his battalion scrambling to keep up
with him.
—But there
would be no victory today.
The Marjar had
learned the exact location of their battalions
and circled to the far side of the hill under cover of the smoke, closing in on
them from all sides.
Meshia and Sebastian led their men straight
into the fray, slashing their way through endless waves of Marjar soldiers. Lakeda
tried to hold her position in the forest, cutting a swath through the
approaching wall of bodies, only to be swept away by a new onslaught of Marjar
intent on gaining the hillside.
The last thing Lakeda remembered was being struck from her horse and the sound of Sebastian charging toward her screaming her name—then everything went black.
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