Sneak Peek

By G T GRETZ

Collection: The Fallen Ash Series (Companion Novel, book 1)

Genre: Fantasy | Romance | Apocalyptic/Post-Apocalyptic

For hours on end, Haros sat in Keirah’s guest room and paid her as little mind as he possibly could as she berated every dress the staff brought her. Nothing was to her liking or sensibility, and he was damn near out of wine. Which wouldn’t have been the worst thing if he hadn’t already drunk the entire bottle of rum he’d smuggled from the kitchen after fucking Icarid so hard he had to sit down and share a cigarette before he made his way upstairs. And that handful of Lady Cap mushrooms was second-rate, and the high had worn off about an hour after he crammed them down his throat halfway to the Guest Chambers. Hell, for good measure, before shoving through the door, he whispered a quiet prayer to whichever one of the gods gave the most shits, that he might have enough patience and intoxication to survive till dinner. Then he’d, at least, have the pleasure of food to keep him occupied.

It was nothing compared to the satisfaction he’d found in fucking Icarid, or the new girl in the kitchen who thought it was her place to join them. She was great, not that he caught her name, but she wasn’t the best he’d ever had. He’d keep her in mind for a rainy day if none of his favorites were around.

Then there was Icarid. He was a beautiful man beneath the layers of his pomp suit. He was sculpted and lean and had the thrust power of a damn ox. His wife, who rarely traveled with him, wasn’t half bad either. She screamed Haros’ name when he hit the right spot, while her husband was more of the whimpering sort. Either way, Haros would have preferred to listen to his name rolling from quivering lips and on panting breaths than to spend another minute listening to Keirah whine about fabrics and colors and how the Edithir fashion was grossly outdated.

She tried to hide her incredulity between sweet apologies and the batting of her long, curled lashes, but something about her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. There was no hiding the obvious disgust in her complaints. She hummed and sighed and slouched with every offer. There was no pleasing her, and he figured the same was true in bed, too. She would moan and groan in all the right ways, just as she’d practiced, but she’d lay there like a dead fish because she didn’t know how to enjoy herself for even five minutes. No amount of bobbling breasts or pretty eyes could make up for that sort of lackluster. It was worse than masturbating with peeling callouses.

The staff shuffled around again. Another rotation of dresses Keirah would hate. Haros watched as Lidynia and Hesrin whispered to each other and shoved the discarded items back into the wardrobe. Mercede turned away, rolling her eyes as Keirah scoffed at the assorted jewelry options. Of the three, Lidynia was the sweetest. She was a petite thing and a roommate to his favorite maid, Amberese. While he had no proof of it, he was sure they were more than just roommates. There was something about how they sucked his cock that was a little too similar. The biggest difference, though, was that Amberese was better at it. Lidynia, though, was cute as hell and when she looked up at him with her big green eyes, it always sent him right over the edge.

Haros shifted, his dick stiffening at the thought of it. With any luck, one day he’d convince them to entertain his whims together. If they ever had a day off, fuck even an hour off at the same time. He glanced over his shoulder as the next round of dresses funneled in. A smirk twisted the corner of his lips as he spotted the curvaceous woman with long, dark braids wrapped in an attractive halo around her head.

Amberese kept her eyes forward as she paused at Haros’ side, arms full of more long dresses she knew Keirah would hate. She bit her lip and rocked on her toes. Haros smiled, reached over, and ran his fingers up the back of her beautiful, dark leg. “A few less dresses wouldn’t look bad on you.”

“Stop,” she giggled, her face blooming into a soft pink.

“If you insist.” His fingers fell away. “But if you need help putting those down…”

“Later,” Amberese whispered back. “I’m done at nine.”

“And you’ll finish by nine-fifteen.” He smirked.

“Haros,” she giggled again, shrinking as her cheeks reddened.

A throat cleared, soft and polite from her opposite side as a small, mousy woman stepped forward. She kept her chin up and her hands folded in front of her skirt. Her dark brown eyes remained focused on the princess, though she addressed Amberese. “Are you being paid to entertain or provide a wardrobe?” Neither the faintest smile graced her pale pink lips, nor did a blush creep across her almost translucent pallor as she looked the young woman over and then darted to Haros. Her voice was as sweet as the ringing of a silver bell, but the scorn laced in her undertone was unmistakable. “If you’re bored, I might suggest you try conversing with your betrothed instead of the staff.”

“And you might try minding your own business,” he replied as he lifted his half-empty glass to his lips. It wasn’t the first time Keirah’s personal chambermaid had made it a point to correct his behavior. It hadn’t worked the first, second, or even eighth time, but she tried all the same. If anything, she was getting on his nerves. He couldn’t move without her noticing and judgment flickering behind her pretty little face. She kept stoic, unreadable to the naïve, but he knew better. No one was so placid. And her persistence to maintain such an eerie, calm facade irked him. It was a damn good thing he had wine.

Mira rolled her eyes and reached over, gently taking the glass from his fingers before he had so much as a taste, and set it down on the table. She was the smallest thing he’d ever seen with the audacity of someone twice her size and a hundred times her authority. Haros looked from the glass to the chambermaid, eyes narrowed as she kept her fingers firmly on the stem. If there was one person in the entire world he hated at that moment, it was her. Mira, the chambermaid so perfect at her job that he couldn’t even enjoy the simple pleasure of getting shitfaced drunk with an audience. No, she had to intervene and remind him of his duties, and responsibilities thrust on him—fucking him without even bothering to buy him a drink first.

“In case I was at all unclear earlier, Princess Keirah is my business. So, if you’re going to continue to drink like a fish and fuck like a rabbit, I recommend you prioritize her before adding my entire maid staff to the list of things you plan to do tonight.” She said, her gaze lowering as her fingers slid from the glass and returned to their delicate clasp in front of her dress.

Haros looked her over. She was too audacious in the way she spoke to him, as if he should give a damn about what she thought. He scoffed, “you bitch.”

She smiled, not bothering to look at him as her staff fluttered around the room, trying their best to soothe Keirah’s dismay over her choices. Without so much as a nod or step in any direction, she spoke sweet and soft to the maids as she gave orders like gentle suggestions. They were quick to do as she said and worked together like honey bees for the sourest queen in the hive.

Haros sat back, running his fingers along his jaw as he watched a moment longer. There was something about the chambermaid that he couldn’t ignore or place, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. With Keirah, it was easy. She was objectively cute on the outside but so ugly on the inside that it was poison to her looks. She was the sort to justify her selfishness under the guise of altruism. It was disgusting. But when it came to Mira, the servant she kept damn near joined to her hip, Haros wasn’t sure what it was about her that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Either way, she crawled under his skin, and no matter how hard he tried to push her out of his head, she damn near lived there. And, to make matters worse, if the spoiled princess didn’t choose a dress soon, they’d be late for dinner and his father, among many others, would get the wrong impression. Or maybe it was the right impression. They wanted an heir, and Haros wanted the hell out of the second-worst deal his father had ever made on his behalf. The first was the day he decided it was time for Haros to carry the Legacy.

Dinner, if they made it on time, would be a disaster. He’d have to suffer through their sly looks and coy smirks. All the while, he would choke down the Ordaithahn dishes he’d never once considered good. Everything was dripping with fat and butter and salt and no other spices. It was as if they never once bothered to trade with Tallus for cinnamon and cumin, and if they bartered the right way, they could get their hands on some saffron, too.

Of course, it was abundantly clear by their favorite dishes they couldn’t have cared less about making food taste good when they could spend a fortune on sheer quantity. Marrying a woman from Ordaithahn was more of a condemnation than a blessing. Their food was terrible, their culture was dry, and their fashion was centered wholly around layers and plumage and left so much to imagination there was only disappointment to be found after the labor it took to undress. Of all the kingdoms, none were half as stuffy and self-absorbed.

The idea of sharing a room with her was exhausting. And he didn’t want to even consider having to share a bed. By gods, it’d take a week, at least, to get through all the petticoats and frill and lace to find the woman underneath!

Edithir wasn’t that way. He could go to a bar, or club, or even to the cave where the herbalists communed with their gods and find a woman half naked without making it through the doorway most days. Keirah’s kingdom was tight-laced, from bodice to boots. In truth, he’d not visited Ordaithahn more than about twice since he’d come of age, and the only thing he’d enjoyed about it was how easy it was to get cheap drugs and blowjobs after midnight. The red-light district was a few cocktails short of a party, though. It was, unfortunately, strictly business.

“What do you think of this one?” Keirah spun around, holding up a baby blue dress with a scooped neckline and a soft white train dragging along behind it.

“It’s not my favorite.” Haros shrugged.

“Which one is?” She cocked her head, crumpling the dress in her hands.

“You have dark eyes,” he sighed, “and wearing anything pale makes you look sick.”

“Then what do you suggest I wear?”

“Whatever you want,” he breathed, glancing at Mira as if to beg her for help. He didn’t want to placate the princess, pretending to give a single fuck about what she wore. Mira took no notice of him as she hung the rejected dresses and passed them off to Amberese to return to the closet. His eyes narrowed as he looked her over. She and Keirah could have been dreadful sisters for how similar they looked. Turning back around, he leaned against his hand. “It’s not like it’s going to be decorating my floor anytime soon.”

Keirah stared at him, tight-lipped, with a blush creeping up her cheeks. She knew before the meeting ever started that he had no interest in her. He never did, not really. Even as children, as nice as he was to her, they had little in common besides living in the shadow of siblings more suited to rule than themselves.

It was a shame they never had the chance to bond over their lost brothers. Perhaps what lingered between them wouldn’t have been so shallow and on the cusp of sexual. She would have liked to have that closeness with him, the intimacy he flippantly shared with everyone else, but the way he looked at her was not the look of a man who saw her as a potential partner. He looked at her the way her brothers did. And it made her miss them more. If only Haros could have understood the pain it had caused her to lose them, then perhaps they could have commiserated, and she would have felt a little less alone.

Of course, there was always Mira. She understood what it was to lose family, but the guilt that came with raising that subject was more than Keirah could stand. And there was the matter of wanting a partner. Suitors saw her as a pity more than a prospect. So, it was no wonder that during the memorial service for their brothers, slain in the cruelty of war gone to an extreme, she sought him out. And found him.

Her heart still raced a little when she thought about it. He was precocious. And not in a hundred years would she have thought she’d walk in on one of her favorite servant girls on her knees in front of him. Perhaps it wasn’t just anger that provoked her to scream at him the way she did. If she was honest with herself, she would admit she was jealous. Haros was handsome and tolerated her when no one else would, and if he’d come to her instead, she would have offered more than just her mouth to him.

“I think I have a burgundy dress that might suit you for the evening, your Highness,” Mira spoke up, straightening her back with all the professionalism of a headmistress. “While it isn’t your usual style, it’d be an honor to lend it to you.”

“Oh,” Keirah blinked, spinning on her toes, “thank you, but I’d rather wear something from Edithir to make the right statement.”

“Of course, Princess.” Mira lowered her gaze with a bashful smile so practiced it almost looked real.

“It doesn’t matter what you wear,” Haros said, standing and brushing himself off, liquor flooding his head and dulling his inhibitions. “They all think I’m fucking you either way.”

“Probably because of your reputation.” She muttered.

“If you don’t like it,” he stuffed his hands into his pockets, “you shouldn’t have agreed to a marriage, sweetheart.”

“It’s for the greater good, the sake of ending the war before it ends the world.” Keirah tossed the dress on the bed and sorted through the darker, warmer colors. “If you’ve paid attention to anything other than your proclivities, you’d know how resources are running out faster than water through a sieve and the plague’s reemerged in at least four districts in two weeks. Between Edithir’s food industry being at its peak, and Ordaithahn’s medicinal superiority, our union could not only make us a fortune but can improve the lives of both our kingdoms and, if everything works out right, it will open the floor to peace talks instead of constant chamber room bickering.”

“You really think that?” Haros smirked.

“Unlike you, clearly, I’ve been preparing to take the throne nearly my entire life. It’s not some arbitrary guess about politics and economy for me.”

“Isn’t it? Those two things actually don’t have much to do with each other.”

“How would you know? Did you sleep with an economist or just the politically savvy chamber speaker?”

“Both,” he lifted his gaze to meet hers, “at the same time.”

“Of course you did,” Keirah grumbled as she looked over the two orange dresses she found slightly more acceptable than the others. “Regardless, the state of both our kingdoms is the top priority. Which, honestly, should come as a relief to you since your parents won’t be cramming every third and fourth-born noblewoman with an eating disorder and inferiority complex down your throat in hopes to make you more suited for the throne. Our marriage will be the turning page to a new chapter, an era of prosperity for generations to come.”

“Well, that’ll be hard to achieve,” Haros muttered.

“You think I’m happy about all this?”

“I do.”

“I’m betrothed to a man,” she turned slowly, “that I’m expected to produce an heir with and he would sooner sleep with the maids because when he looks at me, all he sees is the daughter of the king of Ordaithahn, the people Tallus accused of killing his precious brother. And you’d all sooner believe them and start a trade war with us than hear our side of things.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It is.”

Haros huffed and then chuckled as he dragged his hands through his dark black hair. She was a bigger bitch than he’d realized. She didn’t know a damn a thing, just like everyone else, and was quick to invoke Laz’s name as if he was anything other than a red herring. All those tears his mother squeezed out were for the sake of protecting him. The trembling of his father’s voice during funeral services and memorial ceremonies was a mask for the truth. Lazroth was nothing but a sacrificial lamb, so Haros would live. So, he would have the Legacy and Edithir would remain the quiet god among men. It was the last great power of the Dragon bloodlines. And it was the first to be imparted to the mortals of the world in the War of Gods.

If anyone knew he had it, they’d send out the rallying call to arms, and they’d hunt him down and kill him. Unlike generations before him, Haros didn’t have the luxury of learning how to use the Legacy through training and days, weeks, and months of mentoring from his father and the other kings. Instead, he was left on his own in a cave. The fact that he had any control at all was a testament to his own willfulness.

He didn’t remember when or how he’d come to have the control he did, but changing into the Legacy was almost as easy as breathing. The hard part was silencing its incessant need for something. It was always hungry. The damned beast was a curse, and he had to carry it in secret if he had any intention of living longer than it took for someone to find a clever way of killing him over it.

That was a problem, too. When it came to the passage of the Legacy, it had to move from him to his eldest born. Marrying Keirah and producing an heir meant passing the Legacy the way his father had to him. And for all the pain it had caused him to receive it, and the strife of satiating it day after day, and quieting its constant demands, Haros had resolved to never have a child if he could help it. Especially not after the way fear and hunger for power killed his brother too soon.

“You know what, Keirah,” Haros swiveled as his words slurred, “the last thing I want to fuck is your scrawny ass. So good luck with producing that heir.”

Mira pursed her lips as her eyebrows raised, trying her best not to look at either of them. It wasn’t often anyone rejected Keirah with such severity, and even less often that she had the pleasure of witnessing it. Haros, as Keirah had claimed, truly did see her for what she was and made no attempt to hide how he felt.

“You’re such a pig!” Keirah snapped and threw down the dress and stormed out of the room.

“Am I?” He twirled and swept his hand over his collarbone as the door clapped shut. “Strange how good these pearls look on me.”