Paladin's Prize (Age of Heroes, Book 1) (52 page)
Crowds laughed as other actors dressed up as Avalanche and carried the great knight around piggyback, chasing after their fellow mummers dressed up as Urmugoths or even dragons, beating on them with silver-painted models of Hallowsmite.
Of course, the real Thaydor was used to all the fuss. Wrynne watched him introducing his father to various dignitaries, and she couldn’t help smiling to herself.
No, the hero treatment would hardly turn his head now after he’d been subjected to it for years. She had to admit King Baynard’s final act had shown wisdom, naming the famous paladin as his heir. It was a relatively easy transition for the people, too, since they already knew and trusted him. Command sat easily on those broad shoulders.
The night waned as more elegant entertainments than those in the provinces were brought before them—dances, acrobatics, the dramatic reading of poems. Wrynne stayed at the feast for as long as she could keep her eyes open, but near midnight, she was exhausted after the long day’s whirlwind of activity.
Her head was spinning as the reality of her new role in life finally started sinking in. She took leave of the gathered company after Jonty’s beautiful song in their honor.
Of course, rascal that he was, he could not help but sprinkle a few droll jibes in among the praise. Recalling the bard’s stated mission of keeping an eye on the powerful for the people’s sake and taunting them when necessary, Wrynne gave him a big hug when he was through. She and Thaydor both welcomed their friend’s intent to keep them honest.
“Thank you…for everything,” she said earnestly, looking up into his twinkling green eyes. “You are very dear to me, you know.”
“Likewise, lass—I mean, Your Majesty.” He winked. “And you are most welcome.”
Fondly pulling away from him for now, she went to thank the contingent of ambassadors from Aisedor for coming.
They still looked a little dour at the tragedy that had befallen their sovereign’s daughter, but since the man who had engineered it was dead—namely Lord Eudo—they seemed mollified by Thaydor’s earlier talk of trade advantages that he could offer as a token of his thanks for not declaring war on Veraidel in retaliation.
No doubt, the king of Aisedor would be watching closely to see what manner of man had risen to the throne in their neighboring country.
The bards of Lyragon to the east had also sent a merry contingent. They had talked nonstop to Jonty, and indeed, to everyone, and by now, they all were especially drunk.
Jonty had whispered to her and Thaydor earlier that he had officially been invited to Lyragon to act as a judge in the annual bardic competition. This rare honor seemed to amuse him greatly, though he tried to keep a serious expression, assuring them it was a cutthroat contest. Only the most respected of minstrels were chosen to join the panel of judges responsible for determining who would be named the best bard in all the land.
Still saying her good nights, Wrynne thanked the slurring Lyragonians for coming, and was treated in return to a flamboyant litany of the loftiest compliments any queen had ever received. Her eyes were stars shining through a sea mist, her lips were summer roses, et cetera, et cetera, along with the courtliest of bows.
One of the bards actually fell over as a result of too deep a flourish, and promptly passed out on the floor.
Thaydor arched a brow.
Jonty looked at his colleague and shrugged. “Been there.”
She chuckled, then went and hugged each member of her family. She smiled at her mother’s fussing, well aware the woman couldn’t help herself. She laughed at her father’s jolly bear hug. As she curtsied to her gruff, scar-faced father-in-law, she tried not to let the old warrior notice that she still found him utterly intimidating. Yet every time the War Hammer opened his mouth, he said the sweetest things.
Like father, like son. She supposed she’d get used to him soon. Then she said farewell to her siblings and the bubbly Lady Ingrid, as well.
“I’ll be there soon,” Thaydor promised as he walked her to the doorway.
The entire banquet hall rose when she stood to leave, then a whole entourage of servants, footmen, ladies-in-waiting, and guards—led by none other than bearded Sir Berold and scar-faced Sir Sagard—escorted her through the palace to her gilded apartment in the residential wing.
Two maids assisted her in unfastening and lifting away her heavy brocade gown. They started taking all the pins out of her elaborate hairstyle, once her crown—her
crown
!—was removed. This was set safely back on its pillow to be returned to the royal vault until it was needed next.
She stared at it as they whisked it away. Never in her life had she ever thought she’d own a
crown
, diamond-crusted or otherwise. She had never wanted greatness or riches. She had only wanted peace.
Love.
And she had definitely got that.
He walked in the door shortly after she had dismissed her attendants. They had left her with her hair hanging loose over her shoulders and her tired body wrapped in a simple silk dressing gown over her white shift.
In the mirror’s reflection, she watched her darling husband step into the room. Thaydor let out a weary exhalation as soon as the door had closed behind him. She rose from her stool at the dressing table and went to him.
“There she is,” he said fondly as she slipped her arms around his waist. “Alone at last.”
She sighed with happiness as he leaned down and kissed her.
“How are you feeling?” she murmured.
“Fairly worn out,” he admitted.
“I’m not surprised.” She undid the sword belt around his waist for him. “But that’s not what I meant.”
As she went and set the dress sword aside, he looked at her curiously and started unbuttoning his coat.
“I meant do you feel any different, now that you are officially the king?”
He shrugged. “Not really.”
She returned and helped him slip the coat off his shoulders. “I see. Steadfast.”
“That’s me. King Clank, according to my sister.”
“Well, if you ask me, a kingdom could do worse than have a lawful, good, serious, responsible, just, virtuous Clank for a leader.”
He laughed. “When you put it like that, the damned bard might be right. I really am just a boring stick, aren’t I?”
“Oh, not at all!” she scolded with a chuckle, sliding her arms around his waist. “Especially not to me.”
“Are you sure?” he murmured with a taunting gleam in his eyes. “You wouldn’t rather have your good friend Reynulf here with you right now?”
“Not on your life!” she exclaimed, turning bright red.
“Good.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her against his chest with a roguish tug, then he lifted her off her feet and carried her over to the bed. “Because here’s a secret for you, sweeting: I’m not always that virtuous.”
“Oh, I know,” she whispered, a thrill running through her whole body as he laid her down. “Neither am I.”
“Believe me, I remember. But let’s just keep this between you and me,” he said as he nuzzled her earlobe. “We wouldn’t want to scandalize the world, now, would we?”
“Leave them their illusions,” she breathlessly agreed, then she closed her eyes in dreamy delight as he began kissing his way hungrily down her throat.
He took her breast in his hand, flicking her nipple with his thumb. She cradled his head against her neck and arched her back in yearning under his possessive touch.
“Oh, darling, I want you so much,” she whispered, trembling for him.
“I’m all yours.” He raked his fingers through her hair and claimed her mouth again almost roughly.
He drove her wild, consuming her lips with his hot, wet kisses, his tongue filling her mouth. Wrynne caressed him everywhere, shivering with anticipation for her ravishment. Her body burned for her mate with unquenchable fire. Her fevered hands glided over his silken, sculpted abdomen, up his muscled chest and then down to his rampant manhood, stroking, teasing him until he couldn’t bear it anymore.
With a low, seductive laugh, he pinned her hands to the mattress above her head. She could feel his heart pounding against her body as she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer with a needy moan. “
Take me
.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” came his wry, husky answer.
Then he did—with great gusto and quite heroic valor, of course.
What the servants in the corridor must have thought at the way the headboard banged against the wall, she barely dared imagine. But neither of them cared. The starlight streaming in through the window silvered his sleek, powerful silhouette as he rode deep between her thighs, giving her everything—it was the only way Thaydor knew how to love.
And that night, when he conquered her completely once again, she conceived a son.
Just as the oracle had promised.
Coming Soon!
AGE OF HEROES, BOOK 2
Muse of Fire
Bard, charmer, and adventurer Jonty Maguire travels to Lyragon, where he soon suspects his bardic brethren have fallen under the sway of a necromancer. To break their dark thrall will require a song more potent than any he has ever sung before, and to bring it forth, he will need the help of the most powerful muse he can find.
The legendary fire muse, Capricia, beautiful and deadly, swims like a mermaid in the lava of a volcano on the edge of the Dragon Sea. But a dream has been growing in her heart of flame…to become human, live a mortal life, and experience for herself the passion she has inspired in others for a thousand years.
When the handsome Runescar Highlander arrives seeking her help, the muse offers Jonty a deal fit to strike terror in the heart of any wayward, womanizing bard.
I will give you your song if you’ll show me your world—and teach me the meaning of love…
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Romance fans!
While you’re waiting for Jonty’s book, I welcome you to check out my twenty previous bestselling historical romances. But if
Fantasy
is more your cup of tea, I’ve got more of that for you, too!
Separate from my romance books, I also co-write “clean” all-ages fantasy adventure novels with my husband, a former teacher, under the pen name E.G. Foley. Our Gryphon Chronicles series is suitable for Ages 10 and Up. Set in a magical version of Queen Victoria’s England, it’s as much fun for grownups as it is for kids. Check it out below!
(The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 1)
The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 1:
THE LOST HEIR
Strange new talents…
Jake is a scrappy orphaned pickpocket living by his wits on the streets of Victorian London. Lately he’s started seeing ghosts and can move solid objects with his mind! He has no idea why. Next thing he knows, a Sinister Gentleman and his minions come hunting him, and Jake is plunged headlong into a mysterious world of magic and deadly peril. A world that holds the secret of who he really is: the long-lost heir of an aristocratic family with magical powers.
But with treacherous enemies closing in, it will take all of his wily street instincts and the help of his friends—both human and magical—to solve the mystery of what happened to his parents and defeat the foes who never wanted the Lost Heir of Griffon to be found…
“A wonderful novel in the same vein as Harry Potter, full of nonstop action, magical creatures, and the reality that was Queen Victoria’s England.”
~The Reading Café
About the Author
Noted for her “complex, subtly shaded characters, richly sensual love scenes, and elegantly fluid prose” (
Booklist
), Gaelen Foley is the
New York Times
,
USA Today
, and
Publisher’s Weekly
bestselling author of twenty historical romances from Random House/Ballantine and HarperCollins. Her award-winning novels are available worldwide in seventeen languages, with millions of copies sold. Gaelen holds a BA in English Literature and lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, Eric, with whom she also co-writes family-friendly “PG-Rated” fantasy adventure novels for kids and adults under the penname E.G. Foley. (Book one in their Gryphon Chronicles series,
The Lost Heir
, has been optioned for a movie!)
