King's Bride (Chronicles of Urn Book 1), page 1
KING’S BRIDE - Chronicles of Urn #1
Copyright © 2023 by Beck Michaels
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Duplicating, publishing, sharing or uploading this ebook in any form is illegal. The author reserves all rights to pursue legal action for any unauthorized publication, duplication, sharing or uploading of this book.
Cover art by Salome Totladze
Formatted by Whimsy Book Cover Graphics
Rose dome art by Afsana Ali
Maps by Saumya Singh
ISBN 978-1-956899-09-2
PLUMA PRESS
Published May 2023
www.beckmichaels.com
CONTENTS
Trigger Warning
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Pronunciation Guide
World Guide
The Seven Gates
King’s Kiss
Acknowledgments
Also by Beck Michaels
About the Author
TRIGGER WARNING
Hello!
King’s Bride is the first book in the Chronicles of Urn, a prequel series of standalone romance stories held in the same world as the Guardians of the Maiden. You don’t need to read GOTM to read this book, and you won’t spoil anything if you read out of order.
TRIGGER WARNING: This is a New Adult dark fantasy romance. King’s Bride contains explicit sexual content, language, graphic violence, abuse (not by MMC), and past SA trauma (the act is not shown but given to understand, and not done by the MMC).
For all those who believe in the impossible.
PROLOGUE
Once upon a time, there lived a cruel beast in a castle of ice and roses. His magic coated the land in an endless winter until the day a bride came to burn it all down. This is the grim truth behind their tale, dark as it may be…
CHAPTER 1
With life came death, and Sunnëva hunted it now to delay her own. Her boots sank quietly into the deep snow as she moved in on her target, careful not to make a sound. Drawing back her arm, the bow string faintly creaked as she aimed. The crow cawed, and its cry echoed through the sky. It invited paranoia to graze her spine like a whispered breath, but the hollow pit of her stomach won over all reason.
She released her arrow. It landed, hitting the crow. Black feathers and blood splattered bright red in the snow. Sunnëva’s breath clouded in the frigid air with a sigh of relief. She quickly ran to snatch up her kill before another creature thought to fight her for it.
Her chapped lips stung as she whispered a quick prayer of thanks to all Seven Gods for granting her this small mercy. She also prayed the King wouldn’t notice one of his crows missing. Hundreds of them loitered around his castle. He could spare one to feed her family.
Sunnëva shuddered as the frigid air bit at her numb cheeks. She tugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders. The gray pelt she wore on top hardly kept her warm. Strands of her blonde hair stuck to her frosted lashes as she blinked against the bright sun gleaming over the land beyond the cliffside. Nothing but endless, vile snow in all directions.
Sunnëva hated the sight. Hated that white was all she’d ever known.
Not that the land was ever another color, despite their fairy tales. This part of Urn had always been frozen. So much so they dubbed it the Everfrost.
Only one person was to blame for it.
In the distance, castle peaks rose above the misty fog. It glinted like a diamond in the sun. How comfortable that tyrant must be in his fortress of ice, living off the wealth he took from the clans while they all simply froze to death or starved because of his cursed magic.
Sunnëva’s stomach rumbled, and she sighed. Yanking out the bloodied arrow, she stuffed her kill in a sack. It would barely suffice. Maybe she should have gone fishing instead.
Turning her gaze to the seas in the east, her heart leaped at the sight of ships sailing on the waves. Their gray sails flapped with the white Morkhàn emblem of her clan: a jagged snowflake with twelve points.
They were back.
Sunnëva bolted into the dense forest and hurried home. Leaping over the creek bordering their land, she ran toward the huge Azure Tree outside of her village. It had a white trunk and blue leaves resembled stars of sapphires. Seeing it always made her smile because it stood out against the landscape, as if in defiance of the perpetual winter.
Passing under its canopy, Sunnëva entered her village.
Few were people out in the cold, but the ones she saw were thin and hungry. Their bleak stares followed the trail of blood leaking from her sack as she hurried past.
“The ships are back,” Sunnëva announced. “The clansmen have returned!”
That sparked life into their faces, and their voices rose with excitement as they rushed down the path to the docks to greet their sons and husbands.
“Did you hunt something good today?” an old clansman asked her.
His grandson peeked out from behind him, shivering under his furs.
“A bony bird. Hardly any meat on it,” Sunnëva said. At their hopeful expressions, she sighed and handed the old man the sack. “Make it last.”
He accepted it with trembling hands and his eyes watered. “Thank you, Sunnëva. We are grateful to you for keeping the clan safe while the Earl was gone—” The old man gasped when he saw what was inside. “Sacred Gods.” Insipid fear drained all the color from his face, and he shoved the sack back at her. “I can’t take that. You would bring the King’s wrath upon my house.”
“Nothing will happen.” This wasn’t the first time Sunnëva had hunted a crow, and no one had come for her yet. “It’s not one of his. We’re too far from the castle.”
The old man shook his head. “It’s not safe.”
No place in the world was safe. The land was a coffin of ice, and they had been buried inside it a long time ago.
Sunnëva frowned. “Is your fear worth starving for?”
“I would rather our souls cross the Seven Gates at peace in our beds than at the end of the King’s scythe.” He rushed off with his grandson, nearly dragging the poor boy away from her.
She glowered at her reflection in the bloody puddle forming by her feet. The clans believed crows were omens to be of death, for they were said to caw when a life would end.
It was merely a stupid superstition.
Sunnëva continued toward the longhouse, the Earl’s hall. It was a rectangular structure with a high roof. The smell of burning firewood and warmth welcomed her when she entered. Her younger sister was sewing by the fire. Ansa was a pretty, dainty thing who looked younger than her eighteen years.
Blonde hair swished around Ansa’s soft face as she looked up. “What did you catch?” she asked eagerly.
“Never mind that,” Sunnëva said as she hung the sack on a hook by the door, then propped her bow and quiver against the wall. “They’re here.”
Ansa’s bright smile wavered, and Sunnëva saw the dismay on her face.
“Come.” She sighed. “We should greet Fen at least.”
Ansa grabbed her cloak, and they ventured outside, following the last group of villagers on the path to the shorefront. Sunnëva inhaled the brine scent carried by the winds, letting the sounds of lapping waves guide her. A shallow coastline appeared beyond the trees, where their gathered people greeted the clansmen. Their joyous voices almost drowned out the soft weeping of wives and daughters crying over the dead carried off the first ship.
Sunnëva spotted her father and elder brother standing on the dock, overseeing the rest of the fleet coming into the wharf. A majority of the ships had made it back, and they were filled with chests and barrels.
“Father,” Sunnëva greeted as she and Ansa approached. They bowed their heads to him as owed to the Earl of the Morkhàn clan. “I am glad you returned home safely, and with plenty of bounty.”
Her father was a large man, layered in armor and fur, with a long broadsword on his hip. His blond hair and thick beard looked lighter, tinted gray, his face marked by the seas and
At his derisive tone, the little excitement she felt at seeing him after so long settled like heavy rocks in her chest. She shouldn’t have hoped for a pleasant greeting.
“More than half the ships carry loot,” her elder brother said, crossing his arms. Bjorn looked like a younger version of their father, and he carried himself in the same manner.
Sunnëva glanced past them. “Where is Fenrin? And Rune?”
“I am safe, and no harm has come to me. Thank you, dear sister, for caring.”
“If you were harmed, you would not be here now.” She stood on her toes, searching among the clansmen as they carried cargo onto the deck.
“I don’t see Fen,” Ansa said worriedly.
“He’s fine,” their father groused. “Stupid boy injured himself and won’t stop mewling about it.” He marched onward with Bjorn, barking at Ansa that he was hungry.
Sunnëva tried not to assume the worst. She told them he wasn’t ready to go on a raid. She stayed put until she spotted a familiar cloaked figure helping her younger brother climb out of the last ship.
“Fen!” she called, rushing toward them. “Thank the Gods you made it.”
Fenrin looked tired and pale, but his face lit up at the sight of her. “Of course I did. You worry too much.”
His dark blond hair was loosely tied at his nape, tangled in thin braids. Matted strands stuck to his sweaty forehead and temples. He was a lanky boy for his age, and two heads shorter than the one supporting him.
Rune smiled beneath the hood of his long, black cloak. “Were you worried about me, too, Su?” The deep rumble of his voice vibrated through her chest, sinking low past her stomach.
Sunnëva smirked as she admired his sharp jaw, shadowed by dark his stubble and firm mouth. “Not in the slightest.”
His amber eyes glinted with amusement. They were flecked with copper, giving them a warm, reddish tint. “You know you missed me.”
“I am willing to bet you missed me more.” She let her gaze roam appreciatively over his broad frame, adorned with leather greaves, gloves, and boots. He was clad as a warrior.
And she couldn’t wait to remove every piece.
His mouth curved as if he could sense her thoughts. The man knew exactly the hold he had over her.
“Rune?” Fenrin sighed as he leaned against him.
“Aye?” Rune replied, not looking away from her.
“I know you haven’t seen her in months, but I would rather you not make eyes at my sister while I’m half dead.”
Sunnëva laughed at his flush.
“Oh, sorry.” Rune adjusted his arm to support Fen’s waist and lifted him up, removing the weight off of his foot.
Her laughter died when she noticed the bloodied bandages wrapped around his ankle. “Gods, what happened?” She grabbed Fenrin’s other arm and hooked it over her shoulders. They helped him limp across the dock to land.
“The raids in Carthage ended well, but on the way home, Father sent us to raid Orem.” Fenrin gave her a grim frown, and she didn’t ask why.
Orem was one of the nine clans of the Everfrost, but their allegiance with Morkhàn had long ended.
“Was it a bloody battle?” she asked.
“We caught them unawares, sneaking into their village under the cover of night,” Rune said. “Lord Thorstein had disarmed their Earl. It was an easy victory—if not for the wargs.”
She halted. “What?”
The image of the bony-faced, wolf-like demons conjured in her mind. Their long fangs could cleave through a body as viciously as any sword.
“One almost killed Bjorn, but I got it,” Fenrin said. She raised an eyebrow, and he grinned sheepishly.
“What he meant was that he got in the way,” Rune said.
Sunnëva’s eyes widened, and she looked down at his leg. “Please don’t tell me you were bitten. Warg bites are lethal, Fen!”
He moved back before she could reach for the bandages. “I wasn’t bit. Rune killed it. He killed the lot of them, really. I merely cut myself with my sword when I fell.”
A relieved breath shot out of her. “I wish the Gods would wipe the Shadow Lord and his demons clean from the earth. Along with the King in his damn castle.”
“Aye, that would be a sight,” Rune replied evenly.
Sunnëva winced. She glanced at the two axes strapped to his belt, the blades pitch-black. Nightstone. The only ore that kills demons. What use was a demon slayer without any demons to slay?
“But it’s unusual for them to be this far north,” she said. “We are nowhere near the Waste Lands.”
The south was the Shadow Lord’s territory. She glanced in its direction as if she might catch a glimpse of his black castle, not that she could see anything. Nothing grew in the Waste Lands. The sky was always dark there. The way demons liked it.
“I also thought it strange,” Fenrin said as they continued on. “The demons must be desperate for food to risk coming north.”
It was the same reason the clans raided. To steal food and wealth from others. But all it did was kill more of their youth every year.
Sunnëva frowned at Fenrin’s labored breathing. It was too soon to send him off to battle. She was a shield maiden. She should have gone, but their father wouldn’t hear it. Said it was time her brother learned what it meant to spill blood.
“How badly are you hurt?” she asked him.
“It’s barely a cut.”
“I will call on Gyda to tend to it.”
Fenrin paled further and shook his head. “Don’t bother that old hag. She would probably cast a spell over me rather than heal me.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have pestered her with your mischief then, eh?” Sunnëva teased, reminding him of all the tricks he played on her as a child. “And she’s a healer. Call her a hag again, then Gyda would probably cut off your stones while you’re sleeping and use them in her potions.”
Fenrin’s throat bobbed. “Don’t jest about such things. You know I need them.”
Rune chuckled and smacked the back of his head. “Do you, now? Grand words for a lad who hasn’t bedded a lass yet.”
“Why do you think I need them?”
Sunnëva shook her head. Fenrin had returned from his first successful raid. Maidens would flock to him soon enough.
“This is taking too long,” Rune said. He hauled Fenrin over his shoulder with graceful ease. “Let’s get your weedy arse inside so I can have my filthy ways with your sister.”
He gave her a wink and marched ahead. Sunnëva followed behind, laughing as her brother cursed at him. She was looking forward to Rune keeping his word.
CHAPTER 2
The longhouse came into view as they walked up the path together. Going in there was the last thing Sunnëva wanted. But she told herself the quicker she did, the sooner she could steal away a moment with Rune. They carried Fenrin inside and laid him down on the plank bed of furs along the wall. Oil lamps flickered from the posts, casting a soft, warm light over the wooden walls. Her father was seated in his imposing wooden chair at the head of the chamber, set upon a short dais, as Ansa poured ale into his horn cup.
Rune stood with his arms crossed behind his back and bowed his head. “Earl Thorstein.”
Her father grunted, scowling at Fenrin. “Rune, you may as well be my second son. You’re more capable than that one. See that the bounty is loaded into the storehouse.”
