Court of Paravel Series by Brianna Hale – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Sun, 12 Jul 2020 13:57:33 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Court of Paravel Series by Brianna Hale – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Breaking Her In Read online Brianna Hale (Court of Paravel #2) http://www.ilovenovels.com/breaking-her-in-2-read-online-brianna-hale Sun, 12 Jul 2020 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/breaking-her-in-2-read-online-brianna-hale Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Court of Paravel Series by Brianna Hale
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Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
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Breaking Her In (Court of Paravel #2)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Brianna Hale
Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
B08CD3GXTK
Book Information:

There are two things I know for certain: horses are better than people, and women are more trouble than they’re worth.
The revolution in Paravel was a celebration, for most. There’s just a different set of assholes at the top, kicking down the ones below them. And that’s where I am, at the bottom of the pile, and luscious and brazen Lady Aubrey is at the very top.
s in her tight-fitting jodhpurs. It’s not the first time a society girl has thrown herself at me to make Daddy angry, but this is the first one I’ve wanted to catch and toss down in the hay.
Aubrey is a filly who refuses to be tamed. I’m determined to break her in and make her mine—before my family’s past rears its ugly, traitorous head, and she’s snatched from me forever.
Author’s note: Cassian Bellerose is a bad-tempered beast with his eye on a high-class filly. The Court of Paravel books continue chronologically. It’s recommended that they’re read in order.
Books in Series:

Court of Paravel Series by Brianna Hale
Books by Author:

Brianna Hale


Created with Vellum

1

Cassian

“Cassian Bellerose. Sit.”

I dig my thumbs into my belt and glare at the suited man. Jakob Rasmussen, the King’s Head of Security and an all-around pompous dickhead. I move the toothpick from the left side of my lips to the right with my tongue, and stay where I am.

Rasmussen leans his knuckles on his desk, glaring at me from beneath heavy brows. “Bellerose. Your stables are only yours by permission of the King. I can have them allocated elsewhere within the hour.”

My eyes narrow. Prick. They’re my fucking horses and my fucking stables. My mother had the buildings constructed before she died, and they’ve been my home since before I was old enough to sit on a pony.

I hold the man’s cold gaze a moment longer, and then sit, propping my booted feet noisily on his desk. Bits of horse manure and straw scatter over the polished surface.

Rasmussen shoves my legs, and they hit the floor with a bang. “Is this how you dress when you’re summoned for official questioning at the palace?”

I look down at my faded blue checked shirt, jeans and scuffed boots. I shrug, speaking around the toothpick. “It’s how I dress to run my stables, which is what I should be doing right now. Get on with your questions. You’re wasting my time.”

I’ve had years of informants and People’s Republic tosspots sniffing around me, and I’m goddamn tired of it. I didn’t expect to have to put up with this under the monarchy, as well.

Then again, with a family like mine, I suppose I should have been expecting this.

Rasmussen sits down and makes a show of consulting his notes. As if he doesn’t know exactly who my father was. “Until the revolution, you looked after People’s Republic government’s horses. Is that correct?”

“Nothing gets past you,” I mutter, idly scanning the bookshelves on the other side of the room. My stables are the best and biggest in the capital, and, until two months ago, were home to twenty-odd horses, including Varga’s own black brute of a stallion, Onyx. The Chairman didn’t ride for the last few years of his life, though. Too busy, was the official line from the People’s Republic Party. Too paranoid and ill, more likely.

Now, my stables are almost empty. None of the First Families seem to want to be associated with the stables where Varga kept his horses, which means I’m fucked.

“What’s your political alignment?” my interrogator asks.

“Horses.”

His eyes flicker, as if he’s suppressing the urge to reach out and hit me up the side of my head. He’s a big bastard of a man, with a mean, hard mouth. If he were a horse, I’d castrate the fucker and sell him. Any horses bred from his line would be bad news.

“Are you in favor of the revolution?” Rasmussen asks.

“Which one?”

“This one, obviously.”

The one that put King Anson on the throne. I draw the toothpick from my mouth and examine it. “I thought it was noisy. My horses didn’t like all the shouting.”

“Were you at the palace the day the King announced that the People’s Republic was over?

“No.”

“Why not?”

I know it will sound good if I claim that I supported the revolution, but I don’t give a rat’s ass about sounding good. This is supposed to be a free country now. “I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

I stare at the man like he’s an idiot. “Looking after my horses.”

Rasmussen growls. “You’re doing yourself no favors, boy.”

My jaw tightens on the toothpick. Boy. I’m twenty-six, and the man addressing me can be no more than thirty-five. He thinks he can walk all over me just because of his position. If this is the Paravel that King Anson is creating, then he’s going to find his throat slit just like his parents. “The upper class is reverting right back to the old values, I see. Or those who like to imagine they’re in the upper class.”

Rasmussen’s face suffuses with anger. I know his family. Rasmussen drove a delivery truck, and so did his father. He came from a long line of common-as-dirt truck drivers, so how he managed to secure such a prestigious position at the palace, I have no idea.

I gaze around the office. Dark wood paneling. Oil paintings. Leather-bound books on display. It’s real nice, if you like that sort of thing, but he’s still a nobody. Maybe he fancies himself as a lord and has his eye on a posh lady. These people with their greed and pretension and hypocrisy. Wild horses couldn’t drag me into the Court of Paravel. Not in a million goddamn years.

Rasmussen makes a note on the papers in front of him. I suppose it’s my security file. “Given who your father was, I would have thought you’d want to distance yourself from anti-royal sentiments.”

“Don’t see the point. I never knew my father.”


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Devrim’s Discipline Read online Brianna Hale (Court of Paravel #1) http://www.ilovenovels.com/devrims-discipline-1-ead-online-brianna-hale Mon, 04 May 2020 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/devrims-discipline-1-ead-online-brianna-hale Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Court of Paravel Series by Brianna Hale
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Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 51855 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
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(Court of Paravel #1) Devrim's Discipline

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Brianna Hale
Language:
English
Book Information:

I was imprisoned for twenty-seven years for the crime of defending my King. Now I’m a free man, and I rule the Court of Paravel once more. The lords and ladies, the debutantes, the great and the good of Paravel all answer to me.
And yet, social upstart Wraye Rugova is ruining my life.
Lady Wraye is attempting to use my daughter Aubrey as a springboard into the upper echelons of the court. When I find her in my house trying on Aubrey’s clothes, no amount of pleading will move my ironclad heart. Decades may have passed, but I remember how to punish a disobedient young lady.
She’s deceived everyone with ease, but now she’ll face the hardest ordeal of all. Devrim’s discipline.
This is going to sting.
Author’s note: This book contains a Daddy Dom relationship with a thirty-two-year age-gap.
Books in Series:

Court of Paravel Series by Brianna Hale
Books by Author:

Brianna Hale


Chapter One

Devrim

Ivera, the Democratic People’s Republic of Paravel, Western Europe

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

It’s the sound that heralds the beginning of every new day.

I wait, sitting in my jumpsuit, atop my narrow, steel-framed bed in a tiny concrete cell. I can’t call out. Can’t react.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

There are twenty-three cells between mine and the door to the wing, and Prison Guard Wesson’s heavy baton clangs against the bars of every single one.

Thunk.

“Good morning, Archduke.” Prison Guard Wesson grins, baring a mouthful of narrow, yellow teeth. “Has the butler brought your tea? Has he ironed your newspaper and presented mineral water to your dog?”

I stare straight ahead at the sliver of pale blue sky through a high window, beyond his hulking shoulder.

Wesson glances up and down the row of cells. He takes the heavy keyring from his hip and tosses it up and down. He approaches the cell next to mine, unlocks it, and drags a whimpering man out into the concrete corridor.

A manic expression lights Wesson’s eyes as he raises his baton high over his head. At his feet is Ensign Vanderburgh. I was his commanding officer in the King’s Guard when he was a young man of eighteen. Vanderburgh is forty-five now. I’m fifty-three. The last of the King’s Guard will soon grow arthritic and broken. I feel centuries old already.

The baton falls with a heavy thunk, and Vanderburgh gives a cry of pain. He dares to raise an arm to protect himself, and Wesson starts screaming at the prisoner and ruthlessly strikes him across the face. Blood spurts from Vanderburgh’s nose.

Our eyes meet, and I stare at him bleakly. My hands clench on the steel frame bed.

Over Vanderburgh’s grunts of pain, I hear a disturbance. Men yelling. Probably a riot in gen-pop, the main part of the prison that houses the murderers, rapists and thieves. The lucky ones who’ll see the light of day again.

The shouting coalesces into the same thing, over and over. I watch a ruby red droplet of Vanderburgh’s blood slide down the wall, trying to make the words out.

Long Live King Anson.

A name from long, long ago. So long ago, I’d almost forgotten it. Anson, the King’s son, and the only member of the royal family who survived the Midsummer Riots. He was a boy of eight when Paravel fell. By now, he’d be a man of thirty-five.

Has our dear dictator has died? I hear Chairman Varga is decrepit and paranoid these days.

Wesson pauses, his baton held high. Gen-pop will all be beaten and starved for weeks for this display of contempt. They must be insane.

Unless…

My gaze meets Vanderburgh’s. His arms are still raised to protect his head, but his ear is cocked toward the sound.

The chanting gets louder and louder. Through the sliver of window, I see prisoners climbing up onto the prison roof and pumping their fists in the air. Their words become clearer. “Long Live King Anson!”

They wouldn’t dare riot like this, unless the People’s Republic really has fallen. If the monarchy has been restored, then this nightmare is over. We can all go home. I think of my daughter, across the border in France, whom I’ve never met.

Wesson’s face turns gray with shock. The People’s Republic is his whole world. Without them, he’s nothing.

“You’re so fucked,” I tell Wesson, grinning like a maniac.

His eyes bulge. He reaches for his keys, intending to open my cell and kill me, I suppose. Vanderburgh lunges for Wesson’s baton, pulls it out of his grasp and cracks it over the guard’s skull.

Wesson crumples and hits the ground with a thud.

Vanderburgh takes the keys from Wesson’s limp fingers and unlocks my cell. He hands the keys to me and stands at attention.

“Your orders, sir.”

I stare at his wiry frame. The orange jumpsuit with a number sewn over his heart. One of my men, saluting me.

I stand slowly, and I can almost feel the weight of the scarlet uniform and gold braid, across my shoulders once more. “Thank you, Ensign Vanderburgh.”

Ensign. My lips curl into another smile, one of affection this time. “I think it’s time you were promoted. We’ll see to that very soon.”

Vanderburgh grins back. “And today, sir?”

I look up and down the corridor at the men pressed against the bars, straining to see what’s happening. Straining to be free.

“Release all the political prisoners into the yard. There is to be no rioting. No violence. Barricade the guards in the kitchens, and then find out if this news is true.”

Hope glows in Vanderburgh’s eyes, such as I haven’t seen for twenty-seven years. “And if it is true?”

“Then shout it from the fucking rooftops. Long Live King Anson!” I cry, loud enough for all to hear.

All around me, my men take up the chant.

Wesson has awoken and is cowering on the floor, pale and shivering, at the sight of us standing over him. I reach down for the bloodied baton and raise it. Wesson whimpers. I raise it higher, but instead of smashing it over his head, I point into my tiny concrete cell. Wesson scrambles inside. He turns around, just in time to see the door close with a clang.


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