Summer of the Unicorn

by Kay Hooper

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Fantasy Romance; Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

In a thrilling romance from New York Times bestselling author Kay Hooper, a sensual enchantress shows an earthbound adventurer how to harness the power of fate.
 
Warrior, sorceress, and siren, Siri is the guardian of the last herd of golden unicorns. She was born to fulfill her destiny, but now this once peaceful world she loves is in danger, threatened by the arrival of two men: brothers, rivals, and heirs to a doomed kingdom. Both seek the prize Siri guards, but only one possesses the heart and courage to win that prize. Only one has the strength to capture a legend with love—a forbidden passion that could save or destroy all that Siri protects. For the man called Hunter Morgan is more powerful than even he knows. . . .
 
Hunter comes from a world at war, with machines, with reality, with itself. His birthright as protector of the planet comes at a heavy cost, for now his only choice is to defeat his own brother. What begins as a test of strength becomes an epic battle to save a beautiful woman born out of legend. With the intoxicating force of Siri’s love, Hunter’s legacy is at last revealed. But first he must put an end to the treachery and peril that could destroy them both.
 
This ebook includes an excerpt from another Loveswept title.

Release date: November 7, 2017

Publisher: Loveswept

Print pages: 337

Sample

The King was dead.
 
King Jason had been a hale and hearty man still in his prime, and no one had been prepared for his death of a sudden fever. The death of a king must always be traumatic for his country, of course, but never more so than when that ruler leaves behind him no children to inherit his crown. On Rubicon, the Morgan family had ruled for nearly ten thousand years, and although much of the governing remained in the hands of the elected Council of Elders, the ruling family wielded considerable power and was held dear by the populace.
 
Pacing slowly along a deserted hallway in the quiet palace, Tynan, Speaker of the Council, pondered the problem that his fellow Elders unanimously had placed in his hands. Grimly aware that his seat as Speaker could well depend on his solution, he was determined to satisfy everyone—no mean feat.
 
The people demanded a king, and were loud in their determination to see a Morgan assume the throne. The Council was also united in its determination that the ancient ruling line remain unbroken. And the Court itself, though politically silent on the subject, felt a definite favoritism toward one of the princes. Tynan felt the same favoritism, and so it was inordinately difficult for him to be objective.
 
There were two princes, both legitimate Morgans, both of an age to rule. The problem was that they were the same age. They were, in fact, half brothers, born of different mothers. Jason’s younger brother Darian, a scoundrel if ever one had walked, had married his betrothed with the full approval of his brother; three years later, he had persuaded his brother to reinstate the ancient law allowing male royalty a second wife. Jason considered it prudent to agree, since tests had shown that he himself would never father an heir; numerous offspring through Darian would ensure the succession.
 
But no one, least of all Jason, expected both of Darian’s wives to announce their respective pregnancies on the same day. And since Darian, forever reckless, broke his neck out hunting before either of his sons was born, the boys’ birth dates became of paramount importance: Since both boys were legitimately sired by the heir to Jason’s throne, the oldest, by law, would rule after Jason.
 
The natural course of events should have solved the dilemma, since Elena, Darian’s first wife, was by the best estimate of the Court physicians six weeks pregnant when she made the announcement, and Caprice, the second wife, eight weeks pregnant at that time. However, since a span of two weeks between two first childbirths must always be a dubious margin, no one dared to guess which child would enter the world first.
 
Brooding, Tynan paced slowly through the open double doors and onto the wide terrace. He stood gazing out over the peaceful, secluded garden of the palace, then sighed and rested his weight on the low stone balustrade. His black hawk’s eyes wandered aimlessly for a moment, then became intent as he saw a man and woman walking some distance away. The man was tall and powerful, his black hair thick and shining in the sunlight. His head was bent attentively toward the older woman on his arm.
 
Caprice. The man beside her might well have been her contemporary rather than Hunter, her son, for Caprice still had the face and figure of a girl, and a girl’s laugh. Her black hair was still too wild to obey the Court fashions, and her blue eyes still flashed with wicked temper often enough to startle the Court even after so many years. She was Queen, just as Elena was, though neither would ever rule because they were not Morgans born.
 
Fiery Caprice, who had been, Tynan knew, the wife of Darian’s heart. There were those who still maintained that she seduced her prince, even some who claimed she possessed the legendary mystical powers of the Hillpeople, with which she had enchanted him. Tynan knew better. Darian had been ensnared by her beauty and spirit, but he had not been the victim of supernatural powers. Anyone witnessing one of their temperamental clashes, during which Caprice flung breakables at his head with abandon while Darian laughed and dodged skillfully, would have been conscious of observing a very typical marital drama.
 
Widowed before she could give her prince an heir, Caprice had lost her spirit for a time. But the birth of Hunter had renewed her life. And, though troublesome in most matters, Tynan reflected wryly, she had been rigidly circumspect regarding the birth of her son more than twenty-five years before. With a Court Wisewoman and two ladies-in-waiting in attendance, Caprice had delivered her son, seen to it that his birth was duly and punctiliously recorded, and followed the Wisewoman’s advice in naming him.
 
Tynan sighed unconsciously, his black eyes expressionless as he watched Caprice and Hunter disappear on the far side of the garden.
 
It should have been simple. And it was ironic that Elena, the sensible bride chosen for Darian in his cradle, should have been the one to precipitate the complicated situation in which they were all now enmeshed. Elena, the quiet, reserved first wife, eclipsed in nearly every way by the more beautiful and lively Caprice.
 
Before Caprice was confined in childbed, Elena left the palace. As was the custom in her family, Elena had requested permission to return to her mother’s house to give birth; the Council, requiring only that a Court Wisewoman and at least two other reputable witnesses attend the birth, assented. Scrupulously guarded and escorted, Elena had left the palace. No one could have foreseen that a band of Outcast soldiers, the seeds of what would become the People’s Revolutionary Army, would attack the caravan.
 
None of Elena’s escorts dared confess that the woman great with child quite possibly carried the next King in her womb; it would have meant sure death for Elena. The Outcasts, wanting only riches and women, took what they could, slaughtered the male guards, and carried off the ladies-in-waiting.
 
The Wisewoman, old and frail, died in the brief battle. And Elena, left alive in the wreckage of her caravan by men uninterested in her bloated body, began her labor far from any helping hands.
 
And far from anyone who could objectively record the birth.
 
Alone, she gave birth to her son. Alone, she managed to carry him back to the city and to the palace. She arrived, exhausted and so weakened by her ordeal that she was delirious, just three days after Caprice had given birth to Hunter. And Elena maintained that her son, Boran, had been born hours before Caprice’s son.
 
There were no witnesses, and the Court physicians could not—or would not—decide which boy was oldest. And the greatest mark of uncertainty in the minds of all concerned was that Elena had declared her son’s birth hour before knowing that Caprice had given birth on the same day. Yet there was no proof.
 
Jason, reluctant to set one nephew above the other, decreed that both would be raised in the palace, educated equally, provided for equally. Both would be trained in the duties of princes. And, when the time came, one would be chosen as the future King.
 
Being Jason, he would have chosen; he considered it his duty, and his responsibility. But Fate had taken the choice out of his hands. The fever had come upon him suddenly, drawing him down into a coma before he could voice his decision. He had never emerged from that coma.
 
And he left behind him two legitimate princes who could not occupy the same throne, and members of a Council on the horns of a dilemma.
 
Tynan sighed, aware that he was no closer to solving what he had to solve. There was no precedent. The oldest should rule, but if there was no means of determining birth time? There was no doubt both men were Morgans; the vivid green eyes were the distinguishing characteristic of the family, and both were taller than average, another characteristic. Equally trained and educated. Boran was more arrogant; Hunter more charismatic. Hunter was more popular with the Court and the populace, while Boran held many powerful people among his friends. Yet they were evenly matched in intelligence and skill, both capable of ruling and both eager for the throne.
 
As an interim measure, both Hunter and Boran had been named Regents, but neither had even nominal power while so named. Each commanded a legion of soldiers, as was the duty of a prince, but though they commanded their men neither could command their world. The Council would go on making the decisions which governed Rubicon. But the people were restless with their throne empty—and this was not the time for a restless populace.
 
The People’s Revolutionary Army had gained a strong following during the past quarter century and was composed now of many young and eager people of all classes and guilds. They were agitated, ambitious, and careless with their young lives. After ten thousand years, Rubicon’s natural resources had been strained, and the PRA’s rallying call these last ten years had been “Expansion!”
 
Which was, Tynan reflected, all well and good, except that the PRA had set its sights on the only other habitable—and inhabited—planet in this solar system, Nidus. And the PRA wanted to conquer rather than share. The Council was struggling to prevent the PRA from becoming a political group with sufficient power to win a majority in the Council and declare war on Nidus, and to date it had managed the feat. But the Council of Elders was partially appointed by members and partially elected by the populace, and PRA supporters were growing in number.
 
Rubicon badly needed a king to heal the wound.
 
“Tynan?”
 
Rising out of respect for a prince and possibly the soon-to-be King, Tynan bowed slightly. “Your Highness.”
 
“When will the Council vote?”
 
Tynan studied the tall man before him. Boran was the more aggressive of the two princes. “There will be no vote, Your Highness.” And, intent and thoughtful, he watched the reaction to the news he imparted. Which prince? he asked himself. Which prince would make the stronger king?
 
“No vote? The people are calling for a new king, Tynan; they won’t wait much longer.”
 
“I am aware, Your Highness. But there is no precedent for this situation. If there were a vote within the Council, it would be an open vote, with each member’s opinion made public.” He watched that sink in, saw the shrewd, angry reaction.
 
“Cowards, the lot of you! So no one dares to choose their king?”
 
“We meet tomorrow to decide on a means of choosing,” Tynan said, having just decided on this course.
 
Dryly, the prince said, “We could always fight for the throne.” His tone was offhand, but there was something almost eager half-hidden in his expression.
 
Tynan shook his head slightly. “Our world is torn enough; watching our princes battle could upset the status quo.”
 
“Give the rebels something new to yell about, you mean?” The prince considered that. “Perhaps you’re right. But some test of skill—”
 
Neutrally, respectfully, Tynan said, “We will decide tomorrow.”
 
The prince laughed and looked at the Speaker with a great deal of understanding. “They flung the decision at you, and now you’ll fling it back at them. You are a politician born, Tynan.”
 
Tynan stiffened almost imperceptibly. The Council had met in closed session; it seemed this prince had an ear inside that room. Reckless of him to alert Tynan to that. Or was it ruthless rather than reckless? This prince, at least, would know who decided for him—or against him.
 
Softly, the prince said, “I reward my friends, Tynan.” Then, laughing, he turned and strode away.
 
Tynan stared after him, his lips pressed tightly together. Odd, he thought, but the disfigurement on Boran’s left side that he had borne for so many years seemed more visible now. Like everyone in the Court and Council, Tynan had become so accustomed to Boran’s scarred face that he was blind to it. But today he saw the terrible scars as if they drew his eyes like a magnet.