Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Erya royal guard Adrian Westergren is “forced” to team up with amorous but annoying dragon Haru to find the lost prince as a favor to the queen of Caspagir.
Adrian was confident Prince Shey had gone off to pout while his ex-boyfriend Rayne got married.
What he found was a twisted conspiracy deep in the heart of Damardor, in which innocent people were being stolen off the streets and disappeared permanently.
There’s a good chance they’ve kidnapped Prince Shey too, along with something much more dangerous.
Nightmares are about to be unleashed that the world has not experienced in centuries.
Adrian and Haru are in a race against time to save Shey, while Adrian fights to protect his heart from a dragon he wants more than anything in the world.
Broken Prince of Ice is the first book in the Forgotten Gods trilogy. This spin-off from the Godstone Saga will include hidden royalty, gods, magic, secrets, danger, angst, forbidden romance, slow-burn romance, friend to lovers, two romantic couples, and a furious fight to keep the world from burning
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
SHEY THRUDESH-VO
“Get him!”
“That alley! Go! Go!”
“Hurry! Don’t lose him!”
Frantic shouts snapped at Shey’s heels as he raced down the dark, trash-strewn alley. Cold, rancid water splashed the legs of his pants as he pounded blindly through one puddle after another. Light from the distant streetlamps didn’t penetrate the deepest of the shadows, forcing him to plunge into the blackness with no idea of what was waiting for him. Shey ran with his hands out in front of him, catching walls at the last second, barely sparing himself a broken nose or a concussion before bouncing off to head in another direction.
Pain sliced through his knuckles and palms. Rough bricks tore away at flesh. He kept moving even as he struggled to draw in air, and a stitch formed in his side. How long had he been running? No idea. The warren of streets and alleys in the Little Stip Garden District was a tangled knot, leaving all but the most hardened locals lost and sobbing.
Shey had been running and hiding through Little Stip for three weeks, desperate to stay a step ahead of his masked pursuers. The only gardens he’d seen in the so-called Garden District were window boxes a few apartment tenants were attempting to cultivate. The name must have been a throwback to decades ago, years prior to New Rosanthe rolling into Damardor and “helping” to erect tightly packed buildings that blotted out the sky and paved over anything green in the name of removing waste.
None of that mattered. Shey had to keep moving.
Juro was dead.
So was Kaede.
He was stuck in Damardor alone with no way of contacting anyone in Sirelis to warn them of…
Of fucking what?
Two months had passed, and he still didn’t have a clear idea of what was happening in Damardor or why. It had taken him all that time to work his way through the capital of Bellcairn, trying to uncover the root of the darkness that was growing in the city’s heart.
This had started as an investigation into why the demeanor and rhetoric coming out of the government had changed so drastically, making them hostile toward every other country—except for New Rosanthe, of course. Within days, Shey had found that all roads led to the disappearance of people in the middle of the night. From their homes and their beds. Off the streets and from shops.
But from what he could tell, these citizens weren’t dissidents or insurrectionists. Not terrorists or a faction of freedom fighters.
No, these were people suspected of having magical abilities.
Just a year ago, he would have laughed the idea off as ridiculous. There was no such thing as magic. At that time, he’d thought even the stories of the gods and the Great War were nothing more than fabrications.
All that had changed when Caelan Talos appeared in Sirelis and revealed that not only was magic real, but so were the gods. Shey had even tied himself to Kaes, the God of Storms, earning a smidgen of magic.
How could more people have magic? The only other people he knew of who had a spark of magic like his own were Rayne Laurent (his ex-lover), and Adrian Westergren. Rayne was bound to Tula, the Goddess of Life, while Adrian was tied to part-time king and part-time God of Hope, Caelan. Were there others who had struck a deal with the gods? Or were they helpless people who had no magic at all?
Unfortunately, Shey had no way of helping them until he found more answers, beginning with who was doing this. All Shey could surmise was that the Damardor government was acting in secret, plotting some wicked scheme now that the country was on the cusp of being free following New Rosanthe’s near collapse at the death of their emperor.
It had to be the government. The people he’d watched from afar were too well funded, and their numbers seemed vast.
Shey paused in a thick shadow, trying to slow his desperate pants so he could better hear his pursuers. Their hammering footsteps had softened. The shouting appeared to have stopped. Was it possible that he’d lost them in all these winding, narrow passageways? His temples throbbed in time with his racing heart. For the past few days, he’d eaten little, and his body was protesting this strenuous treatment.
Someone was watching him. He’d yet to get a good look at their face. Most of the time, he was barely lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a shadow that darted away. He’d remained inside the one-room tenement he’d rented, opting to barter for food with his many neighbors in the hopes of shaking the group watching him.
Tonight had been his first night out in four days. He’d gone out for food and to get a peek at his tail. Instead, he found himself running for his life. If he escaped whoever was after him, he was heading straight for the border with Uris-Oladul, not that it was much of an improvement, but it would get him one step closer to his home in Caspagir. The important thing right now was staying alive and not allowing anyone to discover that he was Crown Prince Shey Thrudesh-Vo of Caspagir—war would be declared between the two countries before the morning coffee could be brewed.