Page 2 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

“Hear me,” she bellows, “all of you!” Her dark eyes scan the room, finding every face, every ounce of fear. Then she turns her cold eyes back to the High King, gazing deep into his very being.

“A cursed sickness shall poison everything the wrongdoer touches.” As the sorceress speaks, a thickness takes hold of the air, ripe and thrumming with power. Dark, old magic. Older than even the kingdom itself.

Her eyes fall on the child. “But by the blessing of Theelia, the righteous heir and lost golden daughter will unite as one. For from the bonds of love will come the ultimate sacrifice. And only from that sacred gift, shall these wrongs be made right, and this curse be broken.”

With the final word uttered, a flash of lightning strikes the High King’s throne.

The bronze wails and splinters right down the middle.

Gasping, the High King falls to his knees. He places a palm to his chest, eyes wild, as if something is not right.

Perhaps it never will be again.

“You shall keep your broken throne of bronze,” the sorceress tells him, anger seeping into these last and final words. Her quiet rage is so unholy, that even the gods turn away. “But I shall take pleasure in descending into hell while knowing your reign has been spoiled forever.”

Thunder roars. Then her body goes limp and crumples to the ground.

One does not need to approach her to know that she is dead.

The crowd shrieks.

Then the High Queen turns to her husband, her beautiful face twisting in horror.

“What have you done?”

Chapter One

MANY YEARS LATER—Slyfell, the Gold Court

Icome alive when night falls.

Swinging my legs from the bed, I tiptoe across the small room, careful not to wake my sister, Acantha. Pulling my cloak from its hook on the wall between our beds, I drape it around my shoulders while making my way toward the window.

I push open the glass pane, careful to guard it against the wind. Over my shoulder, Acantha lays in her bed, still sound asleep.

I reach for the tree that sits right outside our window and firmly grasp the closest branch. Our house is not very tall, but falling from this distance would surely result in several broken bones. Pushing the thought from my mind, I pull myself over the windowsill and clasp the branch with my other hand. Like I’ve done so many times before, I pull myself up and swing my body, so my legs make contact with the tree. Lifting my feet from the trunk, I position them on lower branches. I wait a moment, so I’m sure they’re sturdy, and then I start to climb down.

Once my feet touch the ground, I pull up my hood, looking back at the house one more time. The window is ajar, moving slightly in the wind. Even if Acantha wakes up, I’ll be long gone.

I head for town, moving swiftly. The only place bustling with activity is the tavern, lit by candlelight. Ale-infused laughter slips through the cracks as I pass. I’m sure the inn’s guests sleeping in the rooms above aren’t pleased about the noise. That is, if they are in bed and not drinking themselves into a stupor with the others.

The night is clear, save for the occasional cloud or two that passes in front of the moon. It’s picturesque, shining brightly over my head to light my path. If I had my sketchbook with me, I’d draw what I see.

I turn the corner, keeping close to the buildings, and duck into the stables as soon as I get the chance.

Moving further inside, I find what I’ve come for.

Loren lounges in a spot of hay, with his hands clasped behind his head. Moonlight washes over him, highlighting the planes of his bare chest. His dark eyes instantly find mine, deep with hunger. His light brown hair is tousled and unruly, curling slightly at the ends. He stands when he sees me.

“You came.”

“Of course I did,” I tell him, staring up at his handsome face. His lips part, eyes roaming down my body.

“Mmm, good.” Loren grins, and it makes me weak in the knees. “I’d have been driven mad with longing if you hadn’t come.”

I touch his chest, slowly moving my hand up. Not once breaking eye contact. “And you think you would have been the only one?”

“No,” Loren breathes. “Not at all.”

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