New serial for next year

I got to write today! It's been a few weeks (maybe a month!) b/c of the crazy amount of prep that's going into The Bestiary and KMAM stories. But I caught a lull and will be writing all weekend, I'm so excited. ^__^ I'm working on my next serial offering, which is an enemies to lovers sort of thing. I'm really enjoying writing it, so uh, have a snippet?




The Kirfan Meadow spanned the border between Shirfall and Morcia, spanning some three miles in length and twice that in width. It had been the site of some of the bloodier battles of the war, and it only made sense to hold the memorial ceremony there. The sky was overcast, lending to the somber air and the hush that dampened the noise from the people gathered for the ceremony.

Mostly soldiers, Ackley noted as he made his way through the crowd. No doubt they were ordered to attend, and Ackley smothered a sneer, composing his face. He recognized few of them, and those that knew him turned quickly before he could catch their eyes. Their avoidance made it easier to walk forward, continue through the crowd. He should linger at the back, away from the royal entourage, but Ackley refused to be cowed. They'd dismissed him, thrown him out with barely more than the clothes on his back; he refused to give them his pride on top of it.

It was easy to get to the front of the crowd, and Ackley lingered in the shadow of a soldier who was a good foot taller than him and twice again as wide. It gave him a decent view of the open space at the center of the clearing. Two flags were planted in the ground: the diagonal red and green stripes of Shirfall and the white crescent on blue of Morcia. They waved in the chill wind, and Ackley wondered cynically how long the truce would last.

Not long, not if he knew Prince Taceo's intentions. Taceo had made no secret of his hatred of Morcia, too consumed with his rage over his brother's death in battle against them. Never mind all the loved ones that further war would kill. Ackley pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, trying to block out the chill wind that blew through the meadow. Winter was coming early this year, it seemed.

Ackley scanned the crowd, unsurprised to find the Shirfallans and Morcians were keeping completely separate. He was closer to the Morcians than he'd realized—likely one reason he'd been able to reach the front of the crowd with such ease.

The Morcian royal party was easy to spot; the Crown Prince, Beorn Ealdwin stood in front, his cloak a deep violet with golden trim. As per the truce agreement, he and his contingent bore no visible weapons, but Ackley doubted that meant they carried none. The Morcians weren't stupid, even if they had an archaic stance on magic.

Ackley looked then for Prince Taceo, wondering what had finally forced him to consider even a temporary truce. Ackley doubted it was the death of the advisor who was one of the many being honored at the memorial ceremony. It little mattered, he supposed; he had more pressing matters to worry over, such as where he was going to go and how he was going to survive the winter.

The blood in Ackley's veins froze when he locked eyes with Daralis Lambrick across the meadow. What was he doing here? Daralis was one of the few mage-interrogators employed by the crown to get information out of prisoners. He should be in the palace, in the capital three day's ride to the south, not attending a memorial ceremony that was supposed to be cementing the truce between Shirfall and Morcia.

Daralis smirked at him, looking smug and far too pleased with himself. Ackley didn't rise to the taunt, staring steadily at Daralis until he looked away. Taceo hadn't promoted Daralis to his place, had he? No, Taceo would never—Daralis didn't have the right training, and Taceo would never give up one of his prized mage-interrogators. Ackley frowned, watching as Daralis stared down the field—at the Morcian royal party.

Surely Taceo wouldn't try an assassination attempt … but then, Prince Beorn Ealdwin was the only heir to the Morcian throne. Killing him would throw Morcia into upheaval—killing him with magic would be rubbing salt in the wound, considering Morcia's stance on magic.

Ackley shifted from foot to foot, glancing from Prince Ealdwin to Daralis, and then scanning the crowd for Taceo. The ceremony was supposed to begin any moment; Taceo should be in a place of prominence like the Morcian royal party. Taceo was nowhere to be seen, however, and that did nothing to reassure Ackley.

He was overreacting, Ackley tried to reassure himself. Taceo liked to make grand entrances, and the memorial ceremony likely wouldn't be any different. For all he knew, Daralis had been needed nearby—though for what, Ackley couldn't say, since there was a truce and therefore no more interrogations to be held.

Shifting nervously again, Ackley tried to ignore the way the hair on the back of his neck rose. He wasn't a bodyguard any longer. He didn't have anything to do with either royal family, so he shouldn't care what Taceo was up to or how much danger the Morcian Crown Prince was in. Still, he couldn't help tapping into his magical energy, pulling it forward, at the ready in case something went down.

The soldiers were getting restless, though a quick glance at the Morcian royal party showed no signs of alarm or anxiety. The entire contingent, Prince Ealdwin included, stood stock still, as though carved of stone. Ackley took a deep breath, settling himself, and switched back to watching Daralis.

A long, loud, single-note whistle cut through the subdued murmur of the crowd, and Ackley's blood ran cold. It was a signal, no doubt, and the way Daralis's mouth curved, it was meant for him. His skin prickled at the wash of magic as Daralis tapped into his own energy to pull up whatever spell he was meant to cast.

Those idiots. If Ackley had still had his position—he would have lost it all over again protesting the stupidity of this move. Releasing the tight grip he had on his cloak, Ackley didn't hesitate, stepping forward. Daralis was already throwing his magic behind whatever spell he intended to inflict on the Morcian royal party, and Ackley reached out with his own magic, no time to find the best counter, and threw it at Daralis's spell.

The force of his magic leaving him made Ackley sway slightly, but he kept his feet, moving towards the Morcians even as he realized his block hadn't worked and Daralis's spell reached them. It hit like a physical wall, obviously targeted to Prince Ealdwin as he stumbled back under the force of it. Something sharp and painful snapped in Ackley's chest, and he gasped, pressing both hands to his heart.

His vision washed out, lost in a sea of white, and Ackley struggled to clear his head. What the hell had just happened? Shaking his head, nearly falling over as that made his head swim, Ackley glanced around quickly, taking stock.

Daralis was gone, lost in the crowd. Prince Ealdwin was still standing, one gauntlet-covered hand pressed to his own chest, and one of the men near him was pointing directly at Ackley.

Goddamn it.

They probably assumed he'd cast the spell, tried to kill their Crown Prince. They'd kill him.

Ackley moved, stumbling back a few steps and crying out when that made it feel like a giant hand was squeezing his heart. Lifting his head, he met Prince Ealdwin's eyes, unsurprised to see the grimace twisting his face. Tentatively, Ackley stepped back again, watching Ealdwin wince as the pressure in his chest increased.

Ackley closed his eyes, trying to pretend that his life hadn't just completely fallen apart in the span of a minute. Damn Taceo anyway! What the hell had he been thinking, trying to kill the Crown Prince of Morcia?

The crowd of soldiers was starting to mill about restlessly, obviously aware something had happened, and how long would it be before Daralis reappeared to try to finish the attempt on Prince Ealdwin's life? On Ackley's life, now, as well. That forced Ackley to move, though he didn't relish telling the Morcians they were stuck with him for the time being.

One of them was already headed his way, his face twisted furiously. Ackley headed towards him, well aware of the eyes on them. The man was taller than he was, his dark hair cropped close to his head. His armor was well-worn but sturdy, and he looked as though he could break Ackley with his hands without much effort. He also looked as though he'd love to do so, his eyes blazing as he reached Ackley.

"You can't kill me," Ackley said, knowing his Morcian accent was atrocious but not particularly caring. "We need to leave."

Whatever the man had expected, that had obviously not been it. He grabbed Ackley's arm in a grip that would bruise, shaking him slightly. "What did you do?"

Ackley hesitated, not sure how much he should say at the moment, with the restless soldiers itching for a fight, Daralis still lurking somewhere, and the Morcians no doubt eager to spill his blood. "I can explain later—"

Biting back a yelp as the Morcian soldier dragged him towards the Morcian royal party, Ackley stumbled along, trying to keep up and trying to ignore the way the pressure in his chest eased as they approached Prince Ealdwin.

"One wrong move and I'll have a knife in your chest before you can blink," the man snarled, glancing around at the crowd that was only getting more restless.

"You can't kill me," Ackley snapped, jerking his arm free. "If you do, it will kill him." He gestured to Prince Ealdwin, who was only slightly shorter than the man who was manhandling Ackley. He looked just as angry, however, and Ackley didn't doubt he'd signed his own death warrant intercepting the spell from Daralis. It was only a slight reprieve that they couldn't kill him immediately.