Novels by erigin remetio

That evening, as the sun bled into the western horizon—toward the strait—she couldn’t stay indoors. She went to the highest western tower, a disused watchtower, and stared out as if she could see across the leagues.She wasn’t alone for long.“He’ll be alright, you know.”Leigh started. King Alistair stood in the tower doorway, wrapped in a plain cloak, looking more like a tired grandfather than a monarch. He joined her at the parapet, leaning heavily on the stone.“I didn’t mean to disturb you, sire.”“You disturb everything, my dear. It’s rather refreshing.” He looked at her, his keen eyes missing nothing. “He told me about your message to your father. And about the map. You have a mind for this. A mind I haven’t seen since his mother.”Leigh stayed silent, unsure of the royal game.“She was from the northern marches,” Alistair continued, gazing out. “Could ride and shoot better than any of my knights. Hated court. Loved the wind. She died bringing Charles into the world. A difficul

They were summoned to the Council Chamber—an unprecedented inclusion of the potential brides in matters of state. King Alistair, looking older than he had days before, sat at the head of the long table. Makil stood at a map of the coastline, his fingers pressed to a point marking the strait. Various advisors, military captains, and the distraught western trade envoy filled the room.“We cannot divert ships from the northern patrol,” a grizzled admiral was saying. “The Barrier Isles are restless. Sending even three galleys would be an invitation for rebellion there.”“Then what?” the trade envoy implored. “Do we let these water-rats strangle our commerce? They’ve taken twenty souls hostage! They demand a ransom in gold, or they start sending fingers.”Vanessa stifled a sob. Adelaide patted her hand mechanically, her own fear evident.Makil’s voice cut through the worry. “A direct naval assault is what they expect. They’ll scatter into the coves we cannot navigate, then regroup when we

Chapter 4: A Fortress of Sand and BoneFor three days, the castle breathed a lie.The official story, delivered by a stone-faced Gerald to the ladies over a tense breakfast, was that a loyal, long-serving steward in the east wing had succumbed to a sudden brain fever, causing a regrettable disturbance. He was now being tended to in the secluded gardens of the royal hospice, and all was well.Adelaide accepted this with wide-eyed, sympathetic murmurs. Vanessa sketched a sad-looking rose. Briana’s gaze had turned speculative, dissecting the lie for the political weakness it might reveal. But she said nothing.Leigh knew the truth, and it sat in her gut like a shard of ice. She had seen the haunted wreck of Prince Charles, the living ghost who was the keystone of Makil’s entire architecture of distrust. She had also seen the utter devastation on Makil’s face before he sealed it away again. The man who had sparred with her, who had conspired with her over maps, had vanished. In his place

Chapter 3: The Breaking of QuietThe rider did not see the King. The message, sealed with wax the color of dried blood and stamped with the rearing stallion of the Eastern Courier, was intercepted by Gerald and delivered directly to Makil in his father’s stead. The King was “indisposed” with a megrim, a convenient fiction for the headaches of state that Alistair increasingly delegated to his son.Makil broke the seal in the stark silence of the war room, a place of maps and models that smelled of pine resin and anxiety. The parchment was coarse, the script hurried.To His Majesty,Movement confirmed in the Iron Pass. Not raiders. Sigils sighted: the Shattered Wheel. Numbers unknown, but estimated three score or more. They move at night, using the old smugglers’ trails. Lord Valerius’s patrols are engaged in skirmishes. He requests reinforcement, or at minimum, a royal decree to raise the border militias to full strength. The quiet is broken.- Captain Arlen, 3rd Eastern ScoutsThe Sha

Chapter 2: The Unseen CurrentsThe scream that woke Makil was not a memory.It was sharp, short, and female, cut off with a gasp of effort. It came from the gardens below his window, in the deceptive hour before dawn when the world belonged to guards, ghosts, and fools.He was at the casement in three strides, still in his sleeping trousers, the chill morning air raising gooseflesh on his bare chest. Below, in the mist-shrouded knot garden, two figures moved.One was a guard—Petyr, from his bulk—and he was on the ground, clutching his wrist, his training sword lying in the dew-slick grass several feet away. Standing over him, holding a practice longsword with an alarmingly familiar ease, was Leigh.Her hair, freed from its severe knot, was a dark braid over one shoulder. She wore not a dress, but men's riding leathers, fitted and worn soft with use. They did not hide her form; they revealed it as something functional, powerful. She wasn't breathing hard."Again," she said, her voice c

Chapter 1: The Crown of ThornsThe castle stones remembered the screaming. Makil knew this, the way one knows the taste of old wine or the particular ache of a healed break. The gray granite of the eastern corridor held the echo of it, even now, a decade gone. He paused as he always did at the third arched window overlooking the training yard, his fingers brushing the cold sill where Charles’s blood had once seeped into the mortar, impossible to fully scour away.It wasn’t a physical stain anymore. The servants had been thorough. It was a memory stain, visible only to those who knew where to look, which meant it was visible only to Makil.“Your Highness?”Makil didn’t turn. He knew the respectful shuffle of his steward, Gerald. “The carriage?”“Passed the outer gatehouse, sire. They will be presented in the Sun Parlor within the hour. Your father requests your presence now.”“My father,” Makil said, his voice flat as the winter moors beyond the glass, “can wait for the hour it takes t