by
There are vipers in Arajon, from the Valley to the Bronze.
Grace Harrington, the Dowager Archon of Arajon, is approaching her first anniversary on the throne she claimed following the death of her husband, slain at her own hands.
But her position is so precarious that even the unwelcome presence of the former assassin Nathaniel Morgenstern, watching over her at her father’s behest, cannot protect her from her enemies. The city’s press has turned against her, the Bronze is rallying behind Odessa White, and her last hope of support from the Druids has gone up in smoke.
The lies are adding up. A coup is coming for Grace, and she is running out of people in the city to trust…
Genres:
Pairings: M-M, M-M-F
Heat Level: 3
Romantic Content: 3
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Bisexual
Protagonist 1 Age: 36-45
Protagonist 2 Age: 36-45
Protagonist 3 Age: 18-25
Word Count: 65,000
Setting: Fantasy world
Languages Available: English
Series Type: Continuous / Same Characters
Though Arkadia Lane was plunged into silence when Doran killed the engine of his Devon, the pounding of Nathaniel’s heart in his ears was so loud he feared for a moment his neighbours would hear.
They did not move or speak for several heartbeats. Their breaths were almost synchronised. Nathaniel’s hands, still firm around Doran’s waist, tightened when Doran turned his head over his shoulder to meet Nathaniel’s gaze under the dim light of the apothecary’s windows.
“I guess this is –”
Nathaniel kissed him.
Doran grunted softly, then tilted his head to the side to deepen their embrace.
READ MOREIt was an awkward position, Nathaniel straddling Doran from behind on an imbalanced Devon, Doran’s neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Their noses bumped, their teeth collided. Doran’s hand gripped Nathaniel’s thigh where it rested alongside his, causing Nathaniel to inhale sharply and break for air. He tilted his head down and grazed his lips across the nape of Doran’s neck.
“At the risk of sounding presumptuous…” he murmured, his chest warm and his heart shuddering, “it’s a bit late for you to return to the palace, isn’t it?”
Doran breathed deeply. “Is that your way of inviting me to stay?” he asked, his voice husky.
Nathaniel said, “Would you like to?”
A year ago when Nathaniel had asked Doran almost the exact same thing without even knowing his name, Doran had declined.
This time, Doran fully twisted around in the seat, leaned forwards, and pressed his mouth to Nathaniel’s. Nathaniel issued a low sound and angled his head, deepening the kiss. His hand brushed Doran’s arm, shoulder, waist, and finally settled upon his waist. He pulled Doran closer, sending shudders through them both when their hips aligned.
“If you had any idea what you do to me,” Doran groaned against his mouth.
Nathaniel was similarly affected. “I have some idea.”
Doran inhaled sharply.
“Much as I –” Nathaniel murmured, interrupting his own words to recapture Doran’s lips, “– wish to continue, perhaps we should move this indoors.”
Doran breathed hard and pulled back, his expression flushed and his lips swollen. He glanced at the shop and frowned, now noticing that the shop front’s lights were still on and the door sign had not been flipped to ‘closed’.
“Don’t tell me Gerald stays up and waits for you to return.”
“Not usually,” Nathaniel said, although knowing his luck, this would be one of the nights where the boy was pacing behind the counter like a shark. “Give me a few moments to send him off.”
While Doran secured his Devon, Nathaniel composed himself and made his way to the front door. He brushed his fingers across his lips, touched the mezuzah nailed to the frame, and entered his shop.
COLLAPSE
