Pawns of Salistya
Pawns of Salistya is book one in The Queendom Series;
an epic fantasy romance tale filled with political intrigue, forbidden love, prophecies, and a healthy dose of banter.
Enjoy the first chapter and welcome to Fyriane!
Chapter One
Many would gasp, tell me, ‘You're a ridiculous person for not wanting your parents alive.’ And to that, I only need respond with one word:
Wrong.
Followed by, if you were a woman and grew up in the Queendom of Salistya, you’d be picking up what I’m putting down pretty fucking quickly.
My year-long debate reared its ugly head the night before my first wedding anniversary.
The debate in question? Determining which path was less desirable.
Option one: forced to marry the King of Arlom. A man I not only had zero interest in past the physical, but who also drove a wedge between me and the man I did love.
Option two: the above didn’t occur. The catch? My darling parents and equally charming brother remained alive, and I lived what was unquestionably a dreadful life.
Either way, the game was futile.
The premise of me sitting idle and swirling my wine while my – objectively speaking – attractive husband shovelled his food in a manner that could only be described as carnal was far from the picture-perfect scene.
I gulped back my drink. In the next instant, blonde flashed in my peripheral vision as an attendant left their position by the wall to refill my glass. Now this was what I called service. A high priority one at that.
It seemed extremely obnoxious that ten Arloman attendants stood by as Eliasson and I ate dinner. Eleven, including the only Salistyan in the room. Rynelle stood out like a sore thumb with his brunette locks and moss green eyes, a sharp contrast to the blonde-haired and blue-eyed Arlomans.
‘You’re awfully quiet tonight, Valare. Do I need to be concerned?’ Eliasson’s voice drew me out of my reverie.
Feigning shock, I ran my hand teasingly down his leg, stopping mid-thigh. ‘You say this like I’m not a demure, introverted, and compliant wife all the time, husband.’
Eliasson’s ocean-blue eyes rolled as he swatted my hand away. ‘Because you’re not. I can see that mind working, and it can only mean you’re devising a plan for Goddess knows what. I’m not in the mood tonight, Valare.’
Funny that, I wasn’t either.
A deep breath in and a quick sip stifled an unsavoury retort. My uncharacteristic self-control was exerted for one simple reason: my husband was acting really fucking weird. It was safe to assume his last-minute meeting this afternoon hadn’t been favourable.
I mustered a smile. ‘Let’s put my uncharacteristic nature down to the waxing moon and beautiful wine, shall we?’
When he shook his head, I resisted the urge to run my hands through a wayward lock that had escaped from his low bun. Something told me he’d tied it back on purpose. It was my favourite hairstyle. Which boded the question: was my abnormally grumpy husband trying to get laid?
The answer was yes. Always yes.
Not that I was necessarily opposed to it. Afterall, the mage in me thrived on the contact. It didn’t seem to discriminate on the person. My heart, however, was another thing.
Eliasson cleared his throat and pushed away from the table, gaze unwavering. Expectant. Definitely down to fuck.
‘Dinner was lovely as always. I’ll take my leave to prepare for the rest of our evening,’ I purred. Not one to miss an opportunity to enjoy the small delights of the continent, I finished the rest of my wine and stood.
A cursory smile was spared to the attendants as I meandered between the back of Eliasson’s chair and the brown lounge, heading straight for my room.
Just before the door shut, my husband’s sharp ‘Valare’ halted my steps.
I looked over my shoulder. ‘Yes?’
‘Wear something white. I want to relive our wedding night.’
Let’s not.
In a perfect world I would reply with a snarky ‘Sir, yes Sir’ and stiffly nod as though I were a trainee back on the Isles. Instead, I settled for pursing my lips and staring holes into the back of his blonde hair. ‘As you wish, husband.’
The moment I shut the door, I rushed to the adjoining bathroom.
A relieved sigh escaped me as a tingling sensation in my palm spurred water into the bathtub. Flame, borne from my other hand, coasted across the water until it was an adequate temperature.
Making quick work of scrubbing every inch of my olive skin, I towelled myself down and ran through the bedroom to the opposite room. Another round of fire spurted from my palm, travelling to the candles strategically placed on the central table in my wardrobe.
I picked out a simple yet sexy white silk slip that fell to mid-thigh – sans bra and underwear. I aimed to please.
A quick glance in the mirror revealed just how frizzy my waves were. Grabbing the dark brown strands, I tied it into a bun and surveyed my form.
Goddess, white was a good colour on me. My lime green eyes were extra sharp tonight. A swivel left and right confirmed my generous breasts and backside looked good. Hourglass figure emphasised nicely with the dress’ subtle cinched waist.
We were on.
On light feet I skipped out of my room with a wave of air magic to quell the candles’ flames. I sent a prayer of thanks to the Goddess Wystia when discovering the attendants were nowhere to be seen.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
‘Come in.’
Before the door shut, Eliasson had me in his arms. His palm cupped my cheek and tipped my head up for a soft kiss. Then another. And another.
A wave of cold air doused me as he retreated, lazily appraising me the same way I did him. My legs pressed together as arousal pulsed through me. There was something about his lean yet muscular build and heart-shaped youthful face that just – physically – did it for me. The blonde brows that rose, almost in disbelief at having me here. Or perhaps it was simply due to his pale skin, so different to us Salistyans, that made it feel … foreign. Different.
‘Does my clothing choice please you, husband?’ I purred on a slow spin, calling upon my rigorous training in the art of seduction.
A gruff laugh. ‘You know it does, wife. Come here. I want to make love.’
And just like that, the spot between my thighs was drier than the Hudrielle Desert. Because making love?
Potentially the worst approach to sex, yet it was the most powerful method to lure him into my façade of a devoted wife.
Sauntering past him, I laid back on the bed and leant up on my elbows. With a coy smirk and a nod, I beckoned him forward. ‘As you wish, my King.’
Without missing a beat, he pounced. The clear passion written across his features almost made me feel bad.
Almost.
Unfortunately for King Eliasson, I’d had extensive training lulling him into a false sense of security, which was critical to my mission.
A mission King Eliasson wouldn’t appreciate.
Unfortunately for King Eliasson, I was sent to kill him.
