The heretic royal, p.1
The Heretic Royal, page 1
Also by G. A. Aiken
The Dragon Kin series
Dragon Actually
About a Dragon
What a Dragon Should Know
Last Dragon Standing
The Dragon Who Loved Me
How to Drive a Dragon Crazy
Light My Fire
Feel the Burn
Bring the Heat
Can’t Get Enough (ebook novella)
Dragon on Top (ebook novella)
The Scarred Earth series
The Blacksmith Queen
The Princess Knight
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
G.A. AIKEN
THE HERETIC ROYAL
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
EPILOGUE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2023 by G. A. Aiken
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-3510-2 (ebook)
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3508-9
CHAPTER 1
“Deal with them.”
He could not actually hear those words over the sound of all the thundering hooves crashing against the ground—his queen’s battalion charging into the town the false ruler had built for herself and her friends—but he could hear the unknown woman’s words whispering through the wind, could see her in his mind, standing tall and gesturing toward their riders with a toss of her hand.
He tried to yell a warning to the soldiers he was forced to ride with. He himself was no soldier, of course. He shouldn’t even be here! But King Marius, the Wielder of Hate, had ordered him to go, and his master had not opposed the command. He was there, apparently, to “help” the soldiers in this attack, and then bring back news of what he’d witnessed. He knew his king didn’t expect most of these soldiers to survive; what he really wanted was an idea of how many troops the false queen had left after her battle with the king’s half brother. Cyrus the Honored had a powerful and hateful god on his side, but this false queen had still defeated him.
As the battalion had approached early that morning, racing toward the massive gates surrounding the false queen’s tower, he truly thought this would not be much of a battle. More like a slaughter. Something the soldiers’ true queen, Beatrix, loved to indulge in. But then the chattering wind around them had picked up and, suddenly, the ground beneath their feet shook. Again and again and again. Like something heavy hitting the earth. He tried to stop the soldiers. He warned the commander that they must turn back, but he was summarily dismissed. Ignored. These soldiers had no time for magicks or those who wielded them, when bloodshed and undefended females were on the horizon. So the battalion rode on toward the gates of the false queen’s kingdom. They rode on, even as he screamed at them to stop. His caution was no longer due to the moving ground but to what he saw on the other side of those massive gates. Or, rather, looming above them.
Heads and shoulders. Giant heads and shoulders that were encased in armor with openings that allowed scaled wings to freely unfurl from their backs.
He screamed and screamed to the soldiers, but either they continued to ignore him or they couldn’t hear him over the sounds of all those hooves. Or maybe their lust for destruction was simply too high for them to see the danger right in front of them. They rode on and he was by their side even after they took the gate down. But then an enormous head—wearing a helm so large a small family could happily live in it with a few pet dogs—appeared in the space between the now-open gates. It drew in breath and almost all the soldiers’ horses came to a crashing halt. Prey always knew predators, so the horses that hadn’t crashed into each other and fallen to the ground, attempted to turn and run away, despite their riders’ snarling demands to keep going forward.
He didn’t wait for his horse to react; he turned it away and was charging off when flames, powerful and unforgiving, ripped apart the battalion he’d just left behind. He heard the screams of the men and their horses. At least the ones who weren’t immediately disintegrated by the inferno, like the commander and those he’d handpicked to ride by his side as they led the charge. They were wiped out before they even knew what was happening. But the rest of the battalion . . . they screamed. And screamed. He knew some would try to roll on the ground to put out the flames, but it would be of no use. These weren’t the flames of an out-of-control wildfire burning in a forest. No buckets of water or helpful animal skins thrown over writhing bodies were going to help.
He kept riding, even as he used his mind and magicks to call out to his master to warn him. To beg his master to use his strong powers to open a doorway and yank him back to the safety of the true queen’s palace.
But as he felt his master respond to his panicked call, asking him what was wrong, the horse he rode abruptly stopped at the sound of a low whistle.
A calm, low whistle he didn’t have time to think about before the horse went up on its hind legs, tossing him off in the same moment. He wasn’t much of a rider, and the horse had been given to him by one of the soldiers. Meaning the beast had no loyalty to him whatsoever. So when called to stop . . . it stopped.
He fell hard, barely able to wrap himself in a protection spell before he hit the ground. He’d saved himself a broken spine, which was the most he could ask. It still took him time to get back to his feet because the wind was knocked out of him. But, to his triumph, he did get up. He did stand on his shaky legs.
Then a voice behind him asked, “And what are you doing, wizard?”
He froze, piss running down his leg even before he looked behind him. That’s how great was the fear their kind caused. Just knowing they were around made a man or wizard soil himself.
Even the fact that it sounded like a female voice gave him no comfort. The females were known to be more ferocious than any of the males.
He forced himself to face the thing that had spoken to him. Like the others he’d seen, this one was covered in armor and weapons. A helm on its head; chainmail and plate protecting the important parts of its body. It stood over him like the false queen’s tower, but he’d felt no dread looking at that tower. It was just something to be brought down, hopefully with the false queen’s family inside. That would bring the true queen great joy!
But his chance to prove himself to his queen and master were now gone.
The creature gazed at him for what felt like forever until the tall, ancient forest trees behind it began to move and another one of those things appeared.
“What are you doing?” the new one asked, its voice male.
“Found this one trying to escape the fate of that army over there,” the other replied, gesturing with a black talon.
“Ooooh,” the male said. “Breakfast.”
“You can eat later. Should we take this one back to Annwyl?”
Even though the dragon was not speaking to him, he opened his mouth to insist that, “Yes, you should take me back to whomever you want,” in the hopes of garnering a few more seconds of life. But something tore through his chest with such force, he felt his heart tear from its moorings. With only a few seconds of life left, he looked down to see that it wasn’t a spear that had gone through his body but a . . . tail?
A tail covered in scales with a sharp point at the end. A point that now held his still-beating heart. The attack had been that swift.
“Keep the horse,” the owner of the tail ordered. “He’s good stock. But no mercy for anyone who would abandon their own army to run away.”
He felt his body floating away from the ground and assumed his god had come for him. But as his sight dimmed and the last of his breath and blood left his body, he realized that it was the tail still stuck in his chest that was lifting him.
“And,” the male said from the enveloping darkness, “if you’re hungry, have this one’s heart. It seems quite juicy.”
“Kill all of them!”
She forced herself to open one eye to see if she was still alive or on the next plane of existence. Maybe with her ancestors waiting for her. Or maybe she would be floating in space, waiting for her soul to be called back to earth for a newborn.
But no, none of that was happening. Instead, she was still in the middle of the fortress training ring, behind her sisters, with a crazed warrior woman standing in front of them . . . and dragons. She was surrounded by gargantuan dragons.
Dragons that could speak. Just like she spoke. They could also smile, laugh, and appear annoyed. All the things that Ainsley considered uniquely human, they could do.
Of course, they could also fly, breathe fire, and crush any human merely by stepping on them.
And yet, despite the many things they could do to destroy all life around them, it wasn’t the dragons that made Ainsley the most afraid.
Although terrifying, the dragons seemed restrained in their immaculate armor and polite conversation. She could almost imagine some of them offering a “beg your pardon” before treating a defenseless human like a pastry treat shoved into one of those horrifying maws.
No. Her fear and, she was guessing, the fear of her sisters, was centered on the woman. The human woman standing before them in a sleeveless chainmail shirt and leather leggings and boots. She had big, strong arms covered in scars; two short swords strapped to her back; and long, loose, dark brown hair with golden streaks that looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in years. But even with that hair covering most of her face, Ainsley could still see multiple scars going from one side to the other. Some were long and jagged, going from her forehead down to her jaw. Other scars were short but deep. All proving that the woman had been in more than one battle and had survived.
It was her eyes, though. Those dark, gray-green eyes that made Ainsley shudder.
Because they were the eyes of a madwoman.
A madwoman with control of dragons. A lot of dragons that could talk and use weapons beyond their ability to breathe fire.
The suns weren’t even up, and it was already a shitty day!
The madwoman pointed at her eldest sister, Keeley, and demanded, “Is it you? Are you the enslaver?”
Keeley opened her mouth to speak, but only an odd squeak came out. Ainsley leaned around her to see her face, and Keeley cleared her throat before trying once more. She didn’t even manage a squeak on her second try. All that came out was a weird grunt.
Eyes wide, Ainsley’s second oldest sister, Gemma, looked back and up at Keeley.
“What are you doing?” she hissed between gritted teeth.
But all Keeley could manage was a panicked fluttering of her hands and a shake of her head.
Gemma crossed her eyes and looked back at the madwoman. “I—” was all she got out before the madwoman pointed at the rune embroidered on Gemma’s surcoat and snarled, “Are you a monk?”
“Uh . . .” Maybe it was the way the question was asked that disturbed Gemma. Or the crazed look in the madwoman’s eyes. But whatever it was, “uh” was the only thing Ainsley’s sister, a war monk who had destroyed enemies without even a moment of regret or fear, could manage at the moment.
Putting all of them in a precarious position. Since their silence seemed to enrage the madwoman.
“Well?” the madwoman pushed. “ANSWER ME!”
He sensed her fear through the wind; the breeze touching the tips of his ears. He sat up and let his gaze examine the lands around him. He saw nothing, but knew something was wrong. Not just from her fear but . . .
The wind. It was the wind that told him something was wrong. There should be no wind on this early morning. It should be still. Calm. But there was a strong wind, making the trees sway wildly back and forth. The younger, weaker trunks appeared ready to snap from the force.
He stood and his pack stood with him. She needed him. He could feel it through the ground beneath his paws. Could smell it in the wild wind that whipped around him. Could hear it in the silence of the early-morning birds and the crows that didn’t caw and croak and complain.
Wasting no more time, he ran. He ran with everything he had. Ran as if the demons of his hell spurred him on with their whips of chain and fire. Because she needed him and nothing, absolutely nothing would stop him from going to her and protecting the human female who had protected him as a pup and cared for him until he was old enough and strong enough to care for himself.
He charged over hills and through villages, past lakes and through rivers, into forests and out of caves until he reached her territory. He and his pack dashed through the destroyed gates, spotting warrior monks and witches and priests standing outside the town walls with their weapons at the ready but none of them making a decisive move to protect the queen who had protected them. He sneered at their weakness, leaping over the burned bodies of soldiers and guards.
He noticed the dragons in the training ring, standing tall and proud in their battle armor, but that didn’t stop him or his pack. Every hell had its own dragons, and they were more terrifying than these mortal ones with their long, shiny hair and rules of etiquette. Hells’ dragons had no etiquette.
He jumped over the clawed feet and charged around the threatening tails so he could reach the human woman he adored. He saw her, standing with two of her sisters. Before them all stood a woman. She yelled at the one he protected and her sisters. He picked up speed, preparing to leap onto the female intruder’s back and take her down to the ground, where he could destroy her before any harm came to his human.
But as he readied his body to leap the last few feet, the woman turned her head. When he saw her profile, he braced all four paws in front of himself to stop his full-speed run. The rest of his pack tumbled over one another in their attempt to stop as well, for they’d recognized the woman too, even though they’d never seen her in person. Had never stood before her. Had never heard her voice. They all still knew her. Everyone in every hell knew her.
Finally spotting the pack, the woman turned to face them fully, and that’s when he spun around and sprinted out the way he’d come.
The children, he realized. He should sneak up to the high tower floors and protect the children. That’s what his human would want him to do. Right? At least that’s what he convinced himself of as he led his pack as far away from the crazed female as he could get.
Ainsley watched the demon wolf that her eldest sister adored—and that adored her back—awkwardly spin around with his entire demon wolf pack and run away.
She blinked. Stunned.
Every one of those beasts had looked right at the dragons and continued to charge in to help Ainsley’s sister, but as soon as this madwoman turned to look at them . . . they ran away?
Over the years, Ainsley had seen those wolves and the lead wolf in particular, put themselves in the most dangerous of situations simply to protect Keeley. But one look at this woman and . . .
They ran away.
Even more frightening than the demon wolves running away was the realization that Ainsley had yet to see any of the centaurs. They had a whole army’s worth of centaurs roaming these lands to help Queen Keeley keep the crown from her sister. Meaning that Keeley couldn’t burp without a centaur rushing to her side to make sure she was safe. And yet the queen and her two royal sisters were surrounded by dragons and not one centaur had shown up?
Had they truly heard nothing? Seen nothing of the many dragons flying overhead? Had they not even smelled the burning flesh?
How was that possible . . . ?
Unless the mighty centaurs were already dead.
Gods, if that was true . . .
It was time to go. With the centaurs burned to ash—most likely—and the demon wolves making a mad escape, Ainsley was not about to stand here and wait to be torn apart by the claws and fangs of dragons. Did this madwoman have claws and fangs, too? She might! There was nothing Ainsley wouldn’t believe at this moment.
