Her mission was simple — get close to the Prince, and kill him. . .
Kayden entered the palace under a lie, one designed to get her close to the Prince. On the outside, she may look like a princess but beneath the mask, a killer lays in wait — for the perfect moment.
Dvarius was not ready to take the crown, nor was he ready for a wife . . .
But due to his father’s unexpected death and an archaic law — he must find a bride before he is allowed to take his rightful place on the throne.
And the one woman he wants — just might be the one who is there to kill him…
he struggled to focus on the warm brown of his eyes as he looked down at her in alarm, but darkness closed in; stealing the moment from her.
Her fingers would not obey as she attempted to reach out to him; no longer able to feel her limbs as the blood drained from her body . . . taking with it any hope of reconciliation.
All the fantasies she had only just begun to weave shattered and blew away like ashes — and there was time for only one thought.
Well, this wasn't part of my plan.
ayden tilted her head slightly, looking at the painting in front of her — a depiction of their last great battle; airships resplendent, guns blazing as they flew to meet the enemy.
She almost expected the tiny puffs of smoke to drift off the canvas and float away right before her eyes.
And it was obvious why this painting was hung here — in this room.
Of course the royal family would keep this here, where only they can see and appreciate it.
They certainly would never consider putting it in the city museum, where it could be appreciated by the common folk . . .
With the almost constant state of upheaval in Auralius over the past fifty years, it was no wonder most of the people detested the Fortine family.
Looking around the Great Hall, at the overwhelming luxury, she couldn't help but wonder . . .
Have they ever even seen the city — especially the worst parts of it; the dark alleys, the filthy ditches, the pitiful shelters?
Shaking her head to clear the images, she looked around again.
She'd been shown pictures of this room during her preparation, but nothing could have prepared her for the opulence. It was certainly not something she would become accustomed to anytime soon . . . especially considering how much time she had spent in those ditches and back alleys.
The walls of the palace were draped in silk the color of champagne, the marble floor inlaid with gold accent pieces, the windows sparkled as only crystal could — and that was just this one room.
And the people in the room were even more grandiose.
if that were possible . . .
The women dripped jewels and high-class cosmetics. The men sported ridiculously high top hats and diamond-studded walking sticks.
Even though she stood among them, attired in the same luxury, weighed down by heavy jewels and buried in thick make-up, Kayden felt every inch the dirty street urchin she had been for many years. It took every ounce of nerve she had developed to stand her ground.
At least the smile is easy since everyone is wearing the same insipid half-smile.
She affected a carefully practiced, slightly bored, expression — while memorizing every detail around her — since it was impossible to know what information she might need later.
This was one of the first lessons operatives were taught when they entered the Order.
By now her own observation skills were so finely honed, it was simply habit.
She moved slowly towards the row of buffet tables that commanded one end of the enormous room.
Her stomach was too knotted up to accept food, but she could at least have a glass in her hand as she made another circuit.
She resisted the urge to reach up and tug on her hair as she stood, swirling the liquid in her crystal goblet.
I could blend in so much better in my usual black.
It was the first thing she had been overruled on for this assignment. She had pointed out that her dark red locks were a flashing beacon and would draw far too much attention to her.
Of course, Drey had insisted — not only would maintaining the dark black rinse she used for covert missions be too much trouble — but the natural red of her hair might be enough to draw the right attention from the prince.
JC Morrows – writer of YA Christian speculative fiction, drinker of coffee and avid reader – is a storyteller in the truest sense of the word.
JC has been telling stories in one form or another her entire life and once her mother convinced her to write them down, she couldn’t stop.She finished her first speculative fiction novel purely for the enjoyment of her mother – also known as her biggest fan.
She gives God all of the glory for her talent and ability!
“And the LORD answered me, and said, Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables, that he may run that readeth it.” Habakkuk 2:2 KJV
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JC Morrows is giving away a copy of Reluctant Assassin. The giveaway is only available to U.S. addresses.
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