To The Princess Bound
Read To The Princess Bound Online
Authors: Sara King
Terms of Mercy:
To The
Princess
Bound
Sara King
Copyright © 2012
All Rights Reserved
Sara King
Titles by Sara King
Guardians of the First Realm: Alaskan Fire
Guardians of the First Realm: Alaskan Fury
Millennium Potion: Wings of Retribution
Terms of Mercy: To the Princess Bound
Forthcoming
Outer Bounds: Tides of Fortune
Outer Bounds: Lords of Fortune
Outer Bounds: Fortune's Fall
Guardians of the First Realm: Alaskan Fang
Disclaimer
At the time of publication, the human race did not have faster-than-light travel, psychic genetic mutations (that I know of), or colonies on other planets. In case you’re still not sure, yes, you are reading a work of fiction. The people and places in this story are not real, people. Really.
Dedication
For Kim Fangel Burling,
Who has a way with plastic spoons.
And who, with the help of her co-conspirators,
snuck this book behind my back,
read it, loved it, and gave it life.
This one was all her, folks.
For Amy Breshears,
A wannabe copyeditor with some seriously mad skillz.
For -----------,
Who would rather remain anonymous because his buddies would mock him mercilessly if they found out he was reading and editing a romance novel. He pestered me for
weeks
(don’t you have ANYTHING else for me to read?) before I dug this one up off my harddrive for him. Turns out, we were both pleasantly surprised.
And for David,
My own personal Dragomir.
Without whom, I would still be twiddling my thumbs.
Foreword
This is a romance novel. If you are one of my fans of
Outer Bounds
,
Millennium Potion
,
After Earth, Form and Function, Alaskan Fire
, or
Alaskan Fury
, this is
not
an adventure story with some romance woven in. In the hands of a traditional publisher, the cover would probably have a handsome, shirtless, dark-haired dude tugging on a chain linking him to a pretty, scantily-clad chick with a defiant look on her face. The teaser on the back would say something about “taming the beast within” and “lighting the fires of their passion.” It’s a
romance
novel.
It’s also
not
a 225-page serial fluff book that you can read in 90 minutes, or blithely start reading in the middle, looking for a sex scene. It’s a
novel
, with a real plot and character-driven story. Please don’t expect to read it in one sitting and then gripe at me for making it take too long to get to the sex (which is at the end). I
will
gripe back.
And, while
To the Princess Bound
is a romance, it has fantasy/sci-fi elements, it’s not set on Earth, and the male lead has psychic powers. It also tackles a taboo that most romances won’t touch with a ten-foot pole: This book contains the aftermath of a despicable off-scene gang-rape as part of the background story, with the act and its traumatic aftermath as a significant thematic element throughout the story. The act is in no way glorified or justified, but is prominent.
On the other hand, there’s plenty of girl-power, (kickass Praetorian women, and a brainiac Princess-heir anyone?) and there’s no way someone could accuse me of advocating women being the weaker sex. Anyone who’s read my adventure novels could tell you that.
Further, Dragomir is not your usual male hero, but he
will
win your heart, get your gi-lines humming properly, and promise you a toe-curling bathtub scene. There are also plenty of milk-out-the-nose-funny moments scattered throughout, moments where the characters will touch your heart as they learn and grow, and moments where you forget to breathe for fear of interrupting the scene. What’s more, the
Terms of Mercy
world is a fascinating new place you’ll want to visit again and again—and you will have the opportunity, as I have 3 other books in the series planned.
And, despite a little darkness in the beginning,
To the Princess Bound
does have a really happy ending, because the best books don’t just portray characters who have perfect lives of cake and roses—they have characters who fall, and fall hard, and the real magic is in watching them pick themselves back up again despite impossible odds. Sound good? Then this one’s for you.
Also, if
To the Princess Bound
whets your appetite for character-driven sci-fi or fantasy, check out my other books out for Kindle: My adventure sci-fi
Millennium Potion: Wings of Retribution
, plus my Alaskan paranormal adventure/romances
Alaskan Fire
, and
Alaskan Fury
. You can find me at http://www.facebook.com/kingfiction or http://www.kingfiction.com or email me at [email protected] to stay up-to-date with my current novel projects as they come out.
-Sara King
May 3, 2012
Chapter 2: The Princess’s Return
Chapter 3: To the Princess Bound
Chapter 5: To Entertain a Princess
Chapter 11: At Home with an Emp
Chapter 17: A Man Without Mercy
Chapter 19: An Imperial Decree
The Last Emp
Dragomir watched the violet monkshood flowers and grainy white flecks of water hemlock swirl in the cup of amber mead. His wife had made the warped earthenware vessel two years ago, after a trip to the clay-mines down in the valley with the village women. He could still see the gentle impressions that her delicate fingers had scored into the edges of the mug as it had spun on the potter’s wheel. He traced them idly, remembering the graceful way her hands had worked the blue glacial clay. Once put into the village kiln, the cup had come out lopsided and orange, with black stripes where her glaze had accidentally run.
Guess I’m a goatherd, not a potter,
she had laughed, upon seeing the half-crumpled, deformed result that she had pulled from the kiln. She had thrown it away, but Dragomir had pulled it from the trash pit the next morning and filled it with flowers. She had found it on the window-sill and given him a scowl of disapproval, but he had seen her love and happiness overflowing in washes of green and pink within.
Can’t lie to me, missy,
he had said, kissing the wrinkle out of her forehead.
Should know better than try to lie to an Emp.
Dragomir ran his fingers around the drooping edge of the cup, tracing the paths her fingertips had taken. The liquid inside had been made by her, too. Almost eight months ago, now. One of the last batches in the fall, bottled only days before she had gone up into the mountains with him, to pick berries for winter. The monkshood floating within the mead began to blur as he remembered the way she had worn her hair that day. He’d asked her to leave it loose for the trip. Loose and free, because he loved the way the mountain air played with her beautiful auburn locks. She’d complained for almost an hour before he agreed to brush out all the tangles when they got back.
True to his word, he’d brushed her hair for hours, afterwards. He’d combed the blood and bone away and braided it lovingly down her back…
Voices in the front yard made him jerk. A moment later, his door began rattling in its frame with a heavy fist. “Got a sick horse for the healer,” the no-nonsense Brigamond Borer called from the front door. A moment later, he opened the door and peered inside, silhouetted against the brilliant sunny day outside. “You in there, Emp?”
Heart hammering, Dragomir jumped up and grabbed a pot from where it dangled above the stove and dropped it, upside-down, over the cup of mead. The sudden motion was too fast, and the
clunk
drew Brigamond’s attention. The old man peered into the darkness of Dragomir’s living-room, obviously trying to make out the source of the sound. Quickly wiping his face, Dragomir composed himself as Brigamond’s ancient eyes adjusted to the shadows.
“Hey there, Emp,” Brigamond said, finally spotting him. “We got some business for you.”
Dragomir nodded, not trusting his voice as he left the cup of mead behind. “I heard,” he managed, walking to the door. “Whatcha need, Brigamond?” Every ounce of him felt wracked with exhaustion. He was too tired for this. Soul-tired. Just walking to the front door took every ounce of energy he had.
Brigamond Borer and his two eldest sons stood in his front yard with a sick horse. Dragomir could tell it was sick by the way its earthy lines of gi seemed stagnated in its bowels, coagulating there, creating a ball of murky darkness that was rapidly spreading outward, into the creature’s heart and lungs.
He winced, recognizing the animal. A pretty gray, the Borer’s new prize filly, traded just a month ago from a village down the valley. Barely a year old, she was already full and heavy in the shoulder and rump, destined to be an excellent draft animal. She walked with her head down, having to be pulled forward, with none of the bounce that Dragomir had seen a week ago, when he’d visited Borer Farm to get Thunder shoed.
