Balin Books Novels & Stories

“The first letter read: ‘I, Prince Habeb, the Prince of Suramy demand from you, Banabella, whose name I discovered in my dreams. I beg you in the name of your own god, grant me my wish, and avoid being uprooted from the face of the earth.” The second parchment read: “Because you have hidden Banabella in an unidentifiable place, with the intent of deceiving me, I’ll tread upon your bodies and make your kingdom bare like ordinary earth. Till I see Banabella, the people of Muzagah shall not be privileged to take in air into their nostrils before the sun sets tomorrow. Prince Habeb speaks!’

As I sat down with a plate of eggs and bacon she gave me a shy smile but her wide eyes made her look naive and precious. As we all chewed away I tried a "so...I've only ever heard stories but I don't actually know anything about White Forest...apart from how powerful a pack it is obviously," trying not to give offence. Bella gave me a proud smile "you've got some reading up to do but basically our Alpha is Alpha Romanov, you're unlikely to meet him outside of a ball but his son Bram is future Alpha and they have about a two dozen Beta's." "Me for one," chipped in Ivan with a smile as he continued to stuff his face with eggs.

"Excellent! Did you say a talking swan? So Shambala does have mystical creatures." "Yeah, we had a very meaningful conversation. Where were you?" Anbir repeated his question. "I was site seeing", Rudra smiled recalling his day with Toshani. "All by yourself?" "Kind of. It's a lovely city," Rudra replied almost to himself. Anbir shook his head and went back to his massage. He had swum for hours and his every muscle was aching, though the reward was worth it. ********** Bhairav walked into the citadel library. Casting back his black hood, he laid a huge dusty bundle of parchments on the desk and ran his hand over the leather cover murmuring in Sanskrit.

Leyla before we both moved toward the wooden study tables. Pelin placed the book down with a thud, it was heavy. A faint scent of old parchment wafting into the air. “What is it?” I asked, leaning in closer as she flipped open the heavy cover. “It’s called Beçin Chronicles: A History of the Byzantine Castle and Its Mythical Beings,” she said, her voice hushed, as if someone might sneak up on us, hiding behind the shelves of the library, eavesdropping uninvited.