Blurb:
Shanna
has spent her whole life waiting—waiting to be old enough, waiting for the day
she must pick a consort, waiting for a chance to finally overcome her
despicable stepfather… and waiting for someone to finally banish the loneliness
that comes with being a queen-in-waiting one step away from being murdered.
On the
eve of the two-week event during which she must pick a consort from a bevy of
suitors, two strangers arrive claiming to have been invited—though she knows
full well they did not receive any such invitation. But the handsome,
mischievous Prince Kallaar is too intriguing to resist, and his quiet bodyguard
too compelling to ignore…
But she's
learned the hard way never to let anyone get too close, and on the verge of
gaining true independence her stepfather will stop at nothing to see she never
gets it.
Excerpt:
Megan Derr © 2017
All Rights Reserved
Prologue
Shanna
sighed in the gloom of the stables, enjoying the dark and quiet, even the smell
of horse, dragon, and manure.
Gingerly
touching her sore cheek, the result of a stepfather who’d succumbed to a rare
fit of temper and struck her, she went to get some treats for the animals.
After
she’d given apples to the horses and hazelnuts to the dragons, she pulled out
the small flask of wine she’d brought with her, upended a bucket to make a
seat, and settled in front of her favorite dragon’s stall for a night of
drinking.
She’d
prefer to be making merry, a proper ceremony honoring her mother, two years
dead now, but of course her worthless stepfather, Mercen, preferred a much
smaller, quieter, and more somber affair. Just one more occasion for him to do
what he needed to further his own goals while paying token respect to the woman
who’d made him consort.
At least
it was late enough she’d be left alone out here. Everyone else was asleep or on
duty. The only person who’d be in the stable at that hour was Tikki, the stable
boy, and even if he woke and realized she was there, he’d leave her alone.
All the
problems of the day—week, month, past two years—tried to rise up, but Shanna
had endured more than her fill of them for the present. They’d have to wait
until tomorrow. Instead, she drank wine and tried to focus only on happy
memories of her mother, the sorts of things her mother would tell her to think
about.
She’d
almost managed to achieve a good mood, or something close enough, when she
heard voices outside. Voices that were not speaking Remnien. If she wasn’t
mistaken, they were speaking Morentian, which was bizarre. Morentians didn’t
travel this far north very often, and certainly not in the dead of a winter
night.
Pushing
to her feet, Shanna headed for the stable doors—and barely jumped back in time
to avoid being whacked in the head by one.
Two
figures, accompanied by horses, hurried into the stables and closed the doors
behind them. The shorter of the two said something, and Shanna caught snatches
of “finally” and “snow” and something she didn’t understand but suspected was a
curse. Her mother had never taught her those words, though Shanna had tried to learn
them.
“Can I
help you?” she asked.
They spun
toward her, going still a moment before removing the snow-crusted wrappings
from their faces—which revealed extremely handsome men, tired and travel-worn
though they were. Shanna swallowed, painfully aware suddenly of her own unkempt
state: the old, ragged dress she’d thrown on, her hair only loosely knotted
back, the bruise slowly forming on her cheek.
Oh, what
did it matter? She was a princess—a queen in waiting—what did it matter if she
looked good to a couple of travelers she’d never see again?
“I am
sorry to disturb,” the shorter man said, mouth curving in a smile that reminded
Shanna of the kitchen boy, Benni, who caused no end of trouble but always
charmed his way out of it with smiles like that. “We are humble peddlers from
Morentia and not accustomed to your wretched snow. We were hoping to reach the
royal castle tonight, but I honestly have no idea where we are right now.”
Shanna
laughed. “You’ll be relieved to know you’ve reached your destination, though
you’ll have to wait until morning to peddle your wares. But come, there are
places aplenty for you to stay the night, and the kitchens can give you a
meal.”
“We’d be
most grateful, Lady…”
“Shanna.”
Both men
stilled again briefly before venturing farther into the stable, closer to
Shanna. She moved backward a few paces and nearly collided with one of the two
lanterns that lent the stables light.
The
shorter man said something in Morentian she didn’t understand, the words spoken
too low and fast to catch. “You are no lady, but the fine princess herself,”
the man said, his wickedly charming smile returning. “We are most honored to
make your acquaintance, my princess.”
Shanna
shivered. My princess. She liked the way he said that.
“Shall we
tend the horses before you attempt to flirt with someone too good for you,
Kallaar?” the second man asked gruffly.
“Yes,
Ahmla.” Kallaar glanced back at Shanna. “Where should we put our horses, Your
Highness?”
“This
way.”
Once the
horses were tended, Kallaar returned to her side immediately, almost but not
quite standing improperly close. “Now then, what brings a lovely princess to
the stables so late at night? And all alone. Surely there are better places to
be in this terrible weather? I should think anywhere else at all would be
better.”
“It’s not
that cold.”
Kallaar
looked at her like she had lost her mind. “There is snow.”
Shanna
laughed at his affronted tone. “Yes, but it’s early winter yet. Soon it will be
so cold every breath feels like knives in your lungs, too cold even for snow,
and everything that ventures outside unprotected freezes immediately.”
“How can
it be too cold for snow?” Kallaar sounded affronted. “That sounds like a
nightmare come to life.”
Ahmla
made a noise that sounded like agreement.
“I’m
certain many people say the same about the heat of Morentia. What brings you so
far afield this time of year? Surely your wares could wait to be traded in
weather you find more pleasing?”
“I come
from a very bossy family, and there are things that must be done, and I am the
one to do them,” Kallaar said, looking oddly intent for a man who probably
traded in bobbles and knickknacks. “Not that I mind, of course. I am just as
bossy and demanding as the rest of them—” He gave a snickering Ahmla a look.
“Anyway, despite our grousing, we are happy to be here, my princess. Now, I do
not suppose there is anywhere in this place where a couple of frozen strangers
might thaw?”
“I think
I can help with that,” Shanna said, smiling in a way she hadn’t since her
mother had died two years ago. Hard to find anything to smile about when she
was a prisoner in her own castle, constantly afraid she would join her mother
in the afterlife while Mercen stole their kingdom.
“Splendid!”
Once they were outside, Kallaar offered his arm.
Amused and
charmed despite herself, Shanna made to accept—and slipped on a patch of ice,
but even as she drew breath to scream, she was scooped up before she hit the
cold, hard ground.
Shanna
blinked at Ahmla, who held her like she weighed nothing, and was shockingly
warm for a man who had seemed cold and miserable. “Are you all right?” he
asked.
“Um. Yes.
Thank you, Master Ahmla. That would have been a nasty fall.”
“My honor
to serve, princess.” Instead of setting her down, though, Ahmla carried her all
the way to the castle and only put her on her feet once they reached the stones
of the kitchen yard, which were kept clean by the staff so they could work
safely.
“Thank
you again,” Shanna said and hastened inside to hide her flushed face.
In the
kitchen, she found the late-night cook in the pantry and requested she see
about food and beds.
Returning
to Kallaar and Ahmla, she said, “You’ll be taken care of quite well from here
by the staff.”
“It’s
most appreciated, my princess. You are even kinder and more gracious than
rumors say.”
Shanna
highly doubted any such rumors existed, but she smiled all the same. “It’s
sweet of you to say so.”
“No, it’s
not. Don’t encourage him,” Ahmla said. “He’s enough of a brat.”
“You
wound me,” Kallaar said with a pout.
Shanna
laughed. “I will leave you to charm sweets from the cook, for I must to bed. It
was a pleasure to meet you both. Perhaps I’ll see you again before you continue
your travels.”
“Count on
it, my princess. I could never leave here without seeing your lovely face at
least once more.”
Ahmla
lifted his eyes to the ceiling, and even the cook snorted as she brought them
bowls of the soup kept on the fire for staff and soldiers working through the
night.
Smiling
again, Shanna bowed her head as they bowed. “Goodnight, dear sirs. Sleep well.”
“And you,
my princess,” Kallaar said. “Sweet dreams.”
As she
headed off to her room, still smiling at Kallaar’s antics and how nice it had
felt to be held so easily by Ahmla, Shanna thought maybe for the first time in
a long time, her dreams just might be sweet.
Purchase Links
When did you write your first story and what
was the inspiration for it?
The very
first thing I wrote was on a prompt for the Palace of Keys. I never finished
it. But I went on to write all sorts of other things, so it did its job.
Do you have a writing schedule or do you just
write when you can find the time?
When I
find the time, though that's mostly in the evening.
Briefly describe the writing process. Do you
create an outline first? Do you seek out inspirational pictures, videos or
music? Do you just let the words flow and then go back and try and make some
sense out it?
I'm not
much on outlines. I might use a rough one here and there to remember things I
want to do, but mostly I go without. Notes are of more use to me, since I
always have to research the most random things (like military camp food in
medieval India), or keep track of various ages, titles, scars, tats, and other
such details. I always have a rough idea of the story when I start, and I like
to discover the details as a I go and refine everything in editing.
Where did the desire to write LGBTQIA+
stories come from?
Slash was
what I loved, and where I felt at home, and that has since broadened to the
rest of the spectrum.
How much research do you do when writing a
story and what are the best sources you’ve found for giving an authentic voice
to your characters?
Depends
on the story. Some don't require much, others require PILES. Like right now,
when I have the time, I'm working on research for The Stolen Court, which
requires researching a) dams built in the 1600s b) how to blow it up c)
everything that pertains to cutting off a hand d) floods e) so much other
stuff. And I'm also working on various bits of research for the remaining books
in the High King series and the last book in the Lifesworn series. Fantasy by
nature requires building a culture, and that means researching all sort of
things, from the obvious (castles built in the sixteenth century) to the most
random (strap-ons in medieval India). But then you get a story like Dragon
Magic, where I know all the medieval elements from previous research, and the
bulk of it is an intensive magic system that I have to make up, so minimal
research is required and mostly I just hate myself for deciding someone should
have telepathy because the only thing more fun than remembering one of the
people in your crew can read minds is remembering that when you have to write
foursome sex.
What’s harder, naming your characters,
creating the title for your book or the cover design process?
Title, I
guess. If it doesn't come to me straight away, I always have a hard time coming
up with it. I'm still not happy with 'The Only Option' but I never could think
of a better one.
How do you answer the question “Oh, you're an
author...what do you write?"
I write
queer romantic fantasy, most often. Sometimes, I just say romance. Sometimes, I
just say fantasy. But I feel it's important to say what I do honestly and
without shame or fear, because our genre deserves to be acknowledged and known
and not everyone has the luxury of honesty, but I do so I feel I should use it.
I generally only lie when I'm alone and feel unsafe.
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About the Author:
Megan is
a long time resident of LGBTQ fiction, and keeps herself busy reading, writing,
and publishing it. She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. When she’s not
involved in writing, she likes to cook, harass her cats, or watch movies. She
loves to hear from readers, and can be found all over the internet.
To
President George Cane, the assembled group represented “the full force and moral
authority of the United States of America.”
