Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Cael has always walked the thin line between healer and outlaw, but when he learns Quin, the true king of Lumin, has been captured, he risks everything to reach him. Disguised as “Haldr,” Cael infiltrates Iskeldir’s court, tending to Quin’s wounds while keeping his own identity buried. Each stolen moment between them is a battle of sharp words, lingering touches, and the ever-present danger of discovery.
But Quin’s freedom comes at a cost. To secure his release, Cael must do the win the Medicus Contest, a ruthless competition designed to prove Lumin’s superiority in healing magic. With only alchemy and wit, Cael must outmatch spell-wielding rivals, outmanoeuvre those who would see him fail, and outlast the unseen forces working against him. When the final trial demands he enter the callous regent’s memoryscape, Cael faces an impossible risk his soul to save those trapped inside or lose everything. Including Quin.
In a world where healing is power and love is a battlefield, how far will Cael go to protect the man he can never have?
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
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Iuncork a small vial, tip the contents down my throat, and stagger into the courtyard of our borrowed refuge. Three steps, and the timber walls, beams, and upper balcony tilt drunkenly. The cobbled courtyard shifts, rising in waves beneath my feet. Lykos, the crusader who destroyed my magic, is a shadow at the well, hauling water as though the world owes him tribute. Megaera, my former intended and near murderess, sweeps past in a flash of crimson, her movements doubled in my blurred vision.
“And you worry I’ll poison you,” she murmurs, catching my arm and guiding me to a bench. “You do a fine job of that yourself.”
“Is he mad?” A younger voice cuts through my haze, and Zenon, youthful and wide eyed, emerges carrying a steaming bowl. “This is the third time this month.”
Megaera takes the bowl, her tone breezy as she spoons the bitter concoction into my mouth. “He calls it trial and error. I call it a slow march to an early grave.”
But only through trial and error can I heal; only through a lot of it can I forget.
The thought settles heavily in my gut, but I push it aside. My newest desire since arriving in Ragn has been to learn every alchemic healing method possible, practice each to perfection alongside my aunt and stranded companions, and, above all, avoid any thought of Lumin royalty. . . . Specifically, where they might be three months after we parted. Or how they might be faring. Or whether one in particular has had any stray thoughts about me.
“It’s all he does,” Zenon grumbles. “He barely even sleeps.”
I swallow, my throat clenching around the foul taste, and my limbs begin to seize. Megaera assures Zenon I’ll be fine shortly and nudges him back to his reading lessons at the courtyard table. I silently count two minutes in my head—the time it takes for the antidote to neutralise the poison crawling through my veins.
My vision sharpens first. The courtyard snaps into focus, the distorted waves settling into stone. Lykos abandons the well, his broad shoulders tensing as he grabs his spear and prowls toward Megaera. His lips curl as he presses the tip between her shoulder blades.
Megaera, ever unruffled, tosses a cloud of pale dust over her shoulder. Lykos staggers back, coughing violently, spear falling to his side.
She spins with a mocking laugh, crimson cloak flaring. “I’ve won every round, crusader. When will you learn?”
His dark eyes flash with frustration—and something else. Fascination. “What was that?”
“One of Cael’s poisons.” Her voice lilts. “Be a good boy, and I’ll give you the antidote.”
“You—” Lykos topples, unconscious, before he can finish.
Zenon peers over the edge of the table, shaking his head. “I can’t believe women used to swoon over him.”
Megaera smiles faintly as she kneels, tipping the antidote into Lykos’s mouth. “He has a certain brutish charm. Pity about what’s in his head.”
“Should we drag him inside?”
“Leave him. The spring air will do him good.”
They mean well, all of them. Stuck here in Iskaldir with me, longing for somewhere else—someone else. Especially Lykos and Zenon. It’s like they have a place they’re supposed to be, a person waiting for them.
As soon as I can, I’ll find a way to get us back to Lumin.
I shake my stiff arm and leg, willing sensation to return. The town bell tolls—Arcane Sovereign! It’s quarter to five already. I’m due at the temple in fifteen minutes. Last time I was late, Prins Lief made me write lines by candlelight under the watchful eyes of the temple statues. I’m now certain I believe in ghosts.
My arm tingles as feeling returns, and I leap to my feet. Megaera calls lazily after me, “Your curacowl’s by the stove. You nearly cooked it.”
I snatch the white healer’s hat from its perch, inhaling a faint whiff of smoke as I cram it onto my head. Delightful. Pulling the veil down over my face, I grab my bag of remedies and bolt.
The courtyard door bangs shut behind me, and I step into the heart of Ragn, a coastal town cleaved in two by a glacier winding down from the pine-covered mountains.
I hurry along cobbled streets lined with timber houses and glance up at the peaks. Perched on one is a stone castle, its battlements silhouetted against the fading light; on the other, catching the golds of the sinking sun, stands the temple of the gods—the place I need to be.
Swinging right, I enter the town square, where a wall of celebratory music and masked dancers hits me like a wave. They whirl around enormous stone runes set into the ground—a wedding celebration.
I zigzag through the throngs of revellers. “Excuse me—sorry.”
From a balcony overhead, someone shouts, “Release the runes!”
Four massive gulls are set loose from the rooftops, their wings beating as they scatter pebbles into the crowd below. A roar of delight erupts as hands shoot skyward, scrambling for the falling stones.