Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Cael is used to being underestimated. A par-linea healer in a world where magic is only for the elite, he’s fought for every scrap of recognition, and now, he’s finally earned a place in the royal city. But ambition has a price, and when he once again crosses paths with that sharp-tongued merchant who knows too much, their game of wits threatens to turn deadly.
Quin is an enigma, a man who moves through court like a shadow, watching, waiting. His gaze lingers too long, his smirks cut too deep, and when a violent conspiracy unfolds within the palace walls, Cael finds himself ensnared in a battle far bigger than himself. With wyverns wreaking havoc and a high duke tightening his grip, the city is on the verge of collapse. And somehow, Quin is always at the centre of it.
Torn between ambition and survival, Cael must decide who he can trust. But in a world where power is wielded more sharply than magic, trust may be the most dangerous weapon of all.
THE KING’S MAN is an epic romantasy filled with slow-burn passion, courageous choices, and the relentless spirit of a healer determined to beat all odds.
This six-book series is one continuous journey and romance arc and is best read in order for maximum enjoyment.
For readers who Slow-burn romance crackling with tensionA healer hero who refuses to back downCourtly intrigue, masked secrets, and deadly politicsHigh-stakes magic and rebellionPerfect for fans of "The Captive Prince," "The Magician’s Guild," and "The Priory of the Orange Tree."
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Florentius sweeps through the royal city’s maze-like corridors, his green robes a blur against the stone walls. I follow, heart pounding, dreading another of Chiron’s infamous quizzes.
We reach the intricately carved archway marking entry to Chiron’s domain—shelves brimming with jars, the air thick with mingled scents of dried herbs and old parchment.
Chiron’s sharp gaze lands on Florentius and me, entering late.
We hurriedly sit.
“Aquamintis, earthbloom, aetherpelis, mastic resin, silvarias,” Chiron lists. “What ailment can these ingredients treat?”
Makarios and Mikros rise to answer. Makarios thrives on following Mikros, and Mikros rarely misses a chance for a joke. Together, they’ve provided some comfort to the start of my studies.
Before they can speak, Chiron raises a forbidding hand. “Let’s have a green-sash answer. Cael.”
The endless ‘let’s test Cael’ drills. I suppress my sigh and mentally assemble the herbs: aquamintis and earthbloom for stomach issues; aetherpelis as an amplifier; silvarias for tissue regeneration; mastic resin for ulcers. “Gastrotrype helkosis.”
Chiron nods reluctantly. “Describe the treatment process.”
“First, sedate the patient. Then treat the lesions, followed by a sealing spell for post-care.”
Chiron’s expression is flat. “Florentius, explain the more efficient method.”
“Stack the spells to conserve energy,” Florentius answers. “Combine the herbs into basic compounds and apply them in a single, layered spell, starting with sedation—unless the patient must stay conscious.”
Florentius’s answer is quick and precise, earning a rare nod of approval. I grit my teeth.
The room hums with quiet concentration as we weigh compounds and stack spells under Chiron’s watchful eye. Makarios mutters jokes to keep the mood light, but my focus is on the scales, each adjustment feeling like a test of my worth.
“You’re behind,” Chiron’s voice cuts through my concentration, unwelcome but not unexpected. “Without improvement, you will not reach medius-complex competency in time for the fourth examination. Prepare yourself.”
I clench my hands at my sides. The warning hangs heavily. He knows I spend hours practicing. He’s telling me to give up. But I won’t. I force my mind back to its task and shut out all else.
I’m so successful that by the time the change in atmosphere reaches me, all laughter and chatter has died. The air has shifted—sharper, heavier—cutting through the apothecary’s calm like a blade.
I freeze as a limp figure, her drenched form glistening under the lamplight, is carried into the treatment room on a stretcher. Through the open doorway, I can see blood dripping from her mouth, staining the stone floor.
Chiron snaps into action, his calm precision a stark contrast to the chaos around him. But even as he works, the whispers start—the fear.
“Water wyverns,” Florentius murmurs, low enough for only me to hear. The words send a shiver down my spine.
Chiron curses.
My fingers twitch, aching to help—something—as the akla’s breaths slow, each one shallower than the last. Her chest stills.
Silence falls, smothering the apothecary like a heavy shroud. A mage draws a sheet over her, the sound unbearably soft against the deafening quiet.
My chest tightens, and the air grows thick, refusing to fill my lungs. A life lost—so quickly, so easily. Despite the spells of vitalians.
I whisper, hesitantly. “I thought royal bloods can control water wyverns?”
“Evidently not,” Florentius says grimly. “Or they won’t.”
The air carries a faint tang of salt, sharp and unnatural. I breathe in this scent of poison, unease curling in my chest. What else is the royal city hiding? “Any chance to survive an attack?”