The Princess Knight

Book 2: Scarred Earth Saga

by G.A. Aiken

Genres: Historical Fantasy; Humorous Fantasy

Synopsis

In New York Times bestselling author G.A. Aiken's gripping new fantasy romance series, the Blacksmith Queen must confront armies and pretenders desperate to take her new-won crown. But with the Princess Knight at her side and a centaur warrior clan at her back, she'll risk everything for victory . . .
LONG LIVE THE QUEEN
Gemma Smythe dedicated her life to the glory of battle. With her fellow War Monks, she worshipped the war gods, rained destruction on her enemies, and raised the dead when the fancy took her. Until her sister Keeley became the prophesied Blacksmith Queen, and Gemma broke faith with her order to journey to the Amichai Mountain and fight by Keeley's side.
The Amichai warriors are an unruly, never-to-be-tamed lot, especially their leader-in-waiting, Quinn. But when the War Monks declare support for Gemma's ruthless youngest sister Beatrix, the immaturity of her key ally is the least of Gemma's problems. She has to get to the grand masters, dispel their grudge against her, and persuade them to fight for Keeley and justice. If her conviction can't sway them, perhaps Quinn's irritating, irreverent, clearly unhinged, ferocity will win the day . . .

Release date: November 24, 2020

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 370

Sample

As soon as Brother Gemma led her platoon of monk-knights into the monastery courtyard of the Order of Righteous Valor, she knew she was in for some horseshit.

Not hard to figure out. When one was part of a brotherhood of vicious, violent, and war god–loving warriors, one learned to sense when the winds of change had shifted.

She stopped her horse in the middle of the courtyard and examined the area. Her squire, Samuel, stopped next to her.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“No.”

“Is there something I should be panicking about? I’m very good at panicking.”

She already realized that, but at least the boy knew himself well.

“I don’t think there’s a reason to panic.” At least not yet.

She dismounted from her horse and handed the reins to Samuel.

“Dagger did well, didn’t he?” the boy asked, petting her horse’s muzzle.

Gemma had been forced to replace her beloved mare just two months back. She still missed Kriegszorn, but Dagger had proven his worth in battle.

“Dagger has done very well. Your suggestion was a good one.”

“Thank you, Brother.”

The small, tentative smile on Samuel’s face suddenly faded and Gemma knew that, yes, those winds of change had definitely shifted.

She turned and saw Master Sergeant Alesandro walking up to her.

“Brother Gemma.”

“Brother Alesandro.”

“Your presence has been requested in the Chamber of Valor.”

“Why?”

It amused her to see Alesandro’s left eye twitch simply because she insisted on asking “why.” That’s why she asked “why.” Just to watch that left eye twitch.

“Because it’s an order,” he told her.

“But you said request. A request is not an order. An order is an order. A request is more of an option, so I ask why to find out if it’s something I really want to do. And quite honestly it’s—”

“Brother Gemma!”

Gemma blinked. Twice. “Yes, sir?”

He pointed at the monastery.

“So it is an order? Fair enough.”

She faced Samuel. “Bed down Dagger for the night, would you, Samuel?”

“Of course, Brother.”

She gave him a wink so he wouldn’t worry—even though she knew he would anyway—and headed toward the monastery.

Alesandro followed right behind, which didn’t concern her. He always acted as if she was about to make a wild run for it. He seemed to continually expect the worst from her. She wasn’t quite sure why, other than he simply didn’t like her. But that was his choice. She knew that not everyone was going to like her. She was fine with that. She was a war monk. She rode into battle and cut down her enemies without a thought. She and the platoon she led had just cut down an entire band of thieves that had been attacking undefended villages. She still had blood on her face and hands. With that going on in the world, why would she care if the master sergeant of her monastery liked her or not? She was more concerned about whether she’d managed to keep her knights alive.

She had. What else mattered?

They arrived at the Chamber of Valor, one of their most important rooms in the monastery, and Gemma walked in. She immediately assessed what she saw before her.

Grand elders were in attendance. Monks who worked directly with the grand master of their order on important decisions. Also waiting were her three battle-cohorts, Katla, Kir, and Shona. Bound together from day one, the four of them had trained together since they were novitiates, had experienced their first battles together, had risen through the ranks together, and to this day were as close as four people could be after washing pieces of their enemy’s brains out of one another’s hair.

Last of those awaiting Gemma’s arrival were several generals, including the dreaded Lady Ragna. The monk-knights called her “Lady” Ragna because she was not a lady and they all hated her. Not exactly a joke that played well but few cared. Whenever the woman walked by, the area cleared like rats running from a burning forest. The only ones who didn’t run were the monk-knights chosen for Ragna’s army. She had her own legion, used only when called upon by the grand master and elders.

And then there was Brother Sprenger and a few of his minions. Sprenger hated Gemma, so she was surprised to see him here. Unless he had another complaint to lodge against her. Over the years, he’d had quite a few of those. So many she barely noticed them anymore. They came in scrolls and she had to listen while a general informed her of what she’d done wrong. When it was over, she’d put the scroll in a box. One day she planned to piss on that box, but not yet. She wanted something substantial to piss on. A real tower of piss-scrolls.

Gemma took her place beside her battle-cohorts, bracing her legs apart, clasping her hands behind her back. She waited while one of the generals began to drone on about . . . something. She honestly wasn’t paying attention. Life was too short to be this bored.

Finally, after a good thirty minutes—she hadn’t even had a bath yet! Did they not see she’d just come back from another hard-won battle? Couldn’t all this have waited until she had gotten the blood of her enemies out of her hair? It was so damn sticky! She wanted nothing more than to scratch her scalp with both hands!—the general got to the point.

“On this day, we brothers are here to advance you cohorts from lieutenants to majors and to grant upon you all the benefits that accompany said advancement.”

Huh. Look at that. She was getting a promotion. That was nice.

“Please, Brother Shona, Brother Kir, Brother Gemma, and Brother Katla, repeat after me—”

“Wait!” a voice rang out.

Brother Thomassin, an elder, looked up from the important missives he’d been reading during this whole boring ordeal. “Brother Sprenger?”

Sprenger walked into the center of the chamber and stood there a moment for maximum effect before announcing, “I refuse to sanction this advancement for Brother Gemma.”

Thomassin stood so fast, his chair skidded back, nearly knocking out his poor assistant, which was actually kind of funny because the man was six-five and nearly three hundred pounds. He’d fought in more wars than Gemma could count. But then so had Thomassin.

Gemma’s battle-cohorts didn’t hide their annoyance either. They dropped their proper “listening to their superiors” poses and stood ready to argue with anyone and everyone.

The only one who didn’t react much was Ragna. Although she did smirk. The bitch.

“She is not ready for such an advancement and if you insist on this course,” Sprenger continued, “I will be forced to take this to the grand master.”

“Excellent,” Thomassin shot back. “Why don’t we all take it to the grand master this very minute? I’m sure he’d love to hear your reasons as to why—”

“It’s okay.”

The brothers stopped arguing and everyone focused on her.

“What was that, Brother Gemma?” Thomassin asked.

“I said it’s okay, Brother Thomassin.” She shrugged. “I’ll wait until next time.”

“No,” Katla pushed. “You will not wait until next time. We all go now or we all wait—”

“Do not get hysterical.”

“I am not hysterical. I’m pissed.”

“If you don’t get the rank now,” Shona reminded her, “you’ll have to wait another five years before you’ll be eligible again.”

Gemma shrugged. “Those are the rules.”

“How are you okay with this?” Kir asked. “I’m not okay with this.”

“But I am okay with it.” And she really was. Of course, the reason she was okay with it was because—

“How is that possible?” Sprenger asked, now standing right in front of her, leaning in close to ask her the question. “Are you plotting something?”

That was such a weird, insane question. “Plotting what? What is there to plot?”

“Your battle-cohorts will be advancing. You will not.”

“And yet . . . life goes on. Amazing, isn’t it? For example, we had this pig—”

“Pig?”

“Yes. And Daddy loved that pig. He didn’t think he’d ever get over the death of it. But the pig had piglets. And soon, he had to go on. Because there were piglets to take care of. You see?”

Gemma let her smile fade and she began to frown, focusing her gaze on his jaw.

“Brother Sprenger . . . is that a rash?”

“What?” he asked, leaning away from her.

“Yes. Right . . .” She took her middle finger and forefinger and slid them along her own jawline. “Here.”

He instinctively slapped his hand over the old wound, his glare for her and her alone. When her smile returned, wider and—she was sure—brighter than before, he took that same hand and pulled it back as if to backhand her.

“Brother Sprenger!” Thomassin barked, stopping Sprenger before he did something he could not come back from.

“I was just going to suggest a good healer in town who can help with that sort of rash, Brother,” Gemma lied. She shrugged and looked to Brother Thomassin and the other elders. “Since I am no longer needed here . . . ?”

Angry and frustrated for Gemma but not wanting to turn the situation into a bigger dilemma than it already was, Thomassin dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

Gemma gave her cohorts a wink and, with a miming action of her hands, a promise of celebratory drinks of ale later that night, she removed herself from the Chamber of Valor.

But before she’d taken three steps toward higher floors and the sleeping cells of the brothers, she was picked up by one of the grand master’s assistants and carried to his private study like a sack of rye.

“Is this necessary?” she asked the man. “I could have walked.”

The assistant knocked once on the door to the study and brought her inside, placing her in front of the grand master’s desk. He then quickly walked out, closing the door behind him.

“I’m assuming you wanted to see me?”

Busy writing on a parchment, he told her to wait by gesturing with a flick of his hand. Gemma went across the room to the small statues standing on one of the many bookshelves and picked up a representation of the war god Morthwyl that one of the monks had created out of stone. Although they respected and called to many war gods in their prayers, it was Morthwyl who was their main deity. It was his name they called when they rode into battle. It was his table they hoped to feast at when they died a death of honor and blood.

“Stop playing with that.”

Gemma put the war god she’d been using to attack another war god back in its place on the shelf. “Sorry.”

“I saw the seer today.”

“The pretty blond one? Or the old hag? Or the one with the twelve kids? Or the one who said she ate her twin while still in her mother’s womb? Or the one who controls fire?”

“No. Gary the sorcerer.”

“Ohhh. Yes, of course.”

“He has some terrifying information about the future of our brotherhood. Some of which, not surprisingly, involves Brother Sprenger.”

“But Sprenger started it.”

The grand master stopped writing and looked up from his parchment. “Sprenger started what?”

Gemma blinked. “Nothing.”

“Gemma.”

“Joshua.”

In this room, when they were alone . . . she could call the grand master “Joshua.” He’d been her mentor since the beginning. Before he’d become grand master. The one who’d guided her through all the tough times, had been there when she wasn’t sure she could make it through. But mentor and mentee didn’t really describe their relationship; it was deeper even than that. Did that mean she took Joshua for granted? No. She would not ask him for anything she didn’t think she deserved. Nor would she ask him to fight for her over something as ridiculous as rank. They didn’t waste their relationship on horseshit. It was too important to both of them.

“So what did the seer want to tell you?”

He motioned to the chair across from his desk and Gemma dropped into it.

“The Old King will die soon.”

“Good.”

“Yes.”

“But I guess that means one of his idiot sons will replace him?”

That’s when Joshua stared at her for a long moment.

“What?” she asked when he didn’t reply.

“The seer actually sees a different ruler.”

“Oooh. Interesting. Someone we can fight for? Or someone we’re going to have to kill? I’ll be honest . . . I’m not sure which I hope for. Both sound intriguing.”

“I honestly don’t know the answer to that question. Because the ruler he sees, Gemma . . . is your sister.”

Truly confused, she could only ask, “Sister? Which sister? I have a lot of sisters. And brothers and cousins and aunts, uncles—”

“Beatrix.”

She gazed at her mentor for longer than she meant to. She gazed and gazed until it happened all at once. The laughter exploded out of her so hard that she ended up on the floor, rolling around in her blood-covered tunic and chainmail, barely able to stop herself from pissing on it as well. It went on for ages, Gemma unable to stop herself, even as tears streamed down her face and her laughter turned into desperate coughs and struggling for air.

But, eventually, she noticed that Joshua did not join in with her laughter. Unlike most of the brotherhood, Joshua did enjoy a good laugh from time to time. So when he didn’t this time, she forced herself back into the chair and asked while she wiped her tears and gave a few remaining chuckles, “You are kidding, aren’t you?”

When he did not reply with a very strong, “Of course I am!” Gemma’s laughter died in her throat, along with a bit of her soul.

“Beatrix can’t be queen,” she argued. “She’s a child.”

“To be queen or king, she just has to be out of the womb.”

“She has no training.”

“To be a royal? She could be a head in a jar and still be an effective royal.”

“But I hate her.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that fact will come into play.”

“It should. It should be the most important thing in the universe.”

“You know we’re monks, yes? Humility and all that.”

“We’re not just monks,” she reminded him. “We’re war monks. There’s no humility. There’s swords and blood and, if we’re lucky, very good ale. So what do you want me to do about my sister? Have my parents send her to a nunnery, which I have been suggesting since shortly after her birth?”

Once more, Joshua simply gazed at her without speaking.

“What is that look on your face? Why do you just keep staring at me like that? What aren’t you telling me?”

“This isn’t about your sister being inadequate to lead, Gemma. In fact, the seer seems to think Beatrix will be more than ready to lead as queen.”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “Fine. Then what’s the problem?”

“There is concern about what your sister will do once she’s in power.”

“Because she’s a woman?” There had never been a woman who’d led these lands as queen. Only kings born into certain bloodlines or men willing to take the crown.

“No. Because she might be missing a soul.”

Gemma frowned. “Literally . . . or figuratively?”

“Either or both. It’s unclear at this point. But the brotherhood is not willing to take the risk.”

Sitting up straight in her chair, Gemma asked, “Exactly what does that mean?”

He rested his arms on his desk. “Plans are already in motion.”

“Plans? What plans?”

“To kill your sister.”

“You’re going to kill my sister?”

“It’s not my preferred choice, but I don’t make these kinds of decisions alone. And you know that.”

“The elders. They’ve decided to kill a child.”

“She’s of age, Gemma. And it’s what we do.”

“You don’t know my family. They won’t let this happen.”

“That’s why you need to leave. Now. Go home. Save your family.”

“But Thomassin? Bartholemew? Brín? They all agreed to this as well?”

“It was decided it would be easier to send you home on your own to get to your sister than to try to stop the rest of the elders here. They would just go around us. At least this way, with your help, your sister will have a chance of being saved.”

“But the elders were just trying to—”

“Advance your rank?”

“Yes.” She lifted her hands but quickly dropped them. Sighed. “But Sprenger stopped them.”

Joshua laughed. “He’s such an idiot. If he knew why they were advancing your rank, he would have let it go through. The plan was for you to be sent out on a mission with your fancy new rank. And while you were gone—”

“A separate unit would go kill my sister.”

“Unfortunate but accurate. But I’m not going to let that happen. Any of it. Go save your sister. Put her in hiding. When it all blows over, she can either be queen or go back to her normal boring life with both of you hating each other.”

“But if I do this . . . won’t I be betraying the brotherhood?”

“You’ll be leaving on my orders. They’ll know that . . . eventually.”

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”

Joshua chuckled. “What have I always told you, spoiled child?”

“We have to play this smart,” she said in a high-pitched voice that always made him laugh.

“Now go. Your squire is waiting with your horses by the hidden tunnel in the stables. You can get out that way.”

“Samuel can’t come. That isn’t fair to him.”

“Gemma, he hates it here. He’d rather risk his life with you than stay here in safety.”

“I’m going back to the family farm, Joshua,” she said, standing. “I doubt there will be much danger as long as my dad’s pigs don’t get out of the sty again and chase the children.”

Two years later...

Gemma Smythe raised her shield against the sword battering against it, again and again. When the blows weakened, she swung the shield wide. The soldier attacking her was thrown off, and Gemma moved in, slamming her sword into his side. She yanked it out, and thrust again, this time into his bowels. She tore him open and let his insides spill out before kicking him in the chest to send him spinning away.

Another attacking soldier slipped in his friend’s entrails and went down. Gemma finished him off quickly, removing his head. Then she used that head to distract the soldier behind him by kicking it into his face. She turned away once her own men swarmed the soldier and took him down.

Gemma wiped blood from her eyes and evaluated the battle going on around her.

Annoyed when she didn’t see what she wanted, Gemma bellowed, “Find the duke and his wife! If they’re here, get them!”

The soldiers she led ran off to do her bidding but the Amichai, now loyal to Keeley, suddenly surrounded her, their war kilts, weapons, and themselves covered in the blood and gore of the enemy.

She studied the group surrounding her before calmly asking the one standing right next to her, “What the fuck are you doing?”

That smile. That smile she loathed with such venom flashed. “Protecting you, my princess.”

“Call me that one more time . . .” she warned through gritted teeth, causing his smile to grow. She forced herself to calm down. “You should be protecting Keeley. Not me.”

“But she sent us to you, my lady. She’s quite concerned with your safety and we are here to serve and protect. We wouldn’t want her sister struck down at such a young age, now would we?”

Gemma faced the one being she could barely tolerate. “Why?” she asked him. “Why do you go out of your way to irritate me?”

“I’m following orders. Isn’t that what you told me to do? Follow orders? To the letter, I believe, was your command.”

He was playing that game, was he? A game she’d played herself a few times when a monk from another monastery tried to take over her own. But those monks always thought they knew better, that their orders were more important than those of her grand master. It had been Gemma’s pleasure to take them down simply by following their orders . . . maliciously.

The Amichai was being unfair, though. She wasn’t some grabby monk in search of power. She was simply attempting to protect her eldest sister, Keeley. The gods-damn queen. At least one of the queens.

For a land that had never had a queen leading it, there were now two. Queen Beatrix, who led beside her husband, King Marius, and Queen Keeley, who led beside no one.

It seemed as if Gary the seer had been right about Beatrix. She was a soulless bitch who would do anything to be queen, even if that meant wiping out her entire family to make it happen. Luckily for the family and for the people, Keeley wasn’t about to let that happen.

At the moment, their world was split into east and west. Keeley was queen of the western lands, including the Hill Lands. King Marius, ruler of the east.

Many believed that Beatrix was merely a royal womb for Marius to plant his seed in, but Gemma and Keeley knew better. Their sister hadn’t done all this not to have the true power of the crown. She would simply have to find a way to manipulate her husband as she manipulated everyone else in her life.

Gemma didn’t doubt for a second her younger sister had already found a way to make that happen. But she couldn’t worry about Beatrix right now. Not in the middle of a battle with an idiot grinning at her.

“No,” Gemma finally stated, pointing across the battlefield to the only queen she cared about at the moment. The one who refused to listen to reason and stay on royal lands as Gemma had strongly suggested. The one who was busy wielding her ridiculous hammer as soldier after soldier attacked her, all of them hoping to be the one to take the queen down and win the rewards promised to them by the remaining sons of the Old King. “Do you not see that the queen is in peril?”

“She has my brother and my sister fighting at her side. What more could she need? Besides, her orders were quite clear, Princess. She wanted me to protect you. You poor, weak thing.”

If her fingers weren’t holding her sword, she’d curl them into a fist and throttle him. Instead, though, she used her annoyance to cut her way through the ongoing battle, making a path straight to her sister, Queen Keeley of the Hill Lands.

“Oy!” she barked at her royal majesty. “Did you send him to me?”

Keeley Smythe, Gemma’s eldest sister and, at one time, the ruler of all eleven of their parents’ offspring, was busy battering at the enemy commander with her favorite hammer.

“Keeley!”

Keeley’s big shoulders jerked in surprise and she yanked up her weapon, sending an arc of fresh blood Gemma’s way. But she was quick and moved to the side so that it hit the Amichai right in the face. His glare was worth everything.

“What?” Keeley demanded, stepping away from her opponent’s caved-in chest. “What you yelling at me for?”

Gemma waved her sword at Quinn of the Scarred Earth Clan, enjoying the way his head jerked back when the blade got a little too close to that pretty but blood-soaked face.

“I said, did you send him to me?”

“You were all alone.”

“And you thought he could help?”

“I’m helpful,” the Amichai argued.

The sisters looked at him, then looked back at each other.

“What’s really going on?” Gemma asked Keeley.

“What are you talking about?”

“You send this idiot to me—”

“That’s a little mean,” he muttered.

“You didn’t even tell me about today’s battle—”

“Well—”

“And where’s my battalion?”

“Now you ask?”

“What does that mean?”

“You seem tense,” her sister said. She took a step back, looked Gemma over. “Your shoulders are tense. Your neck tight. You’re doing that thing again with your posture. Want me to fix that for you?”

Gemma would never understand her sister.

“I’m not a horse!” she snapped.

Keeley frowned. “Uh . . . I know. Wait . . . are you? Is that what you’re saying?”

The Amichai snorted, quickly turning away so Keeley wouldn’t see him laugh. Gemma could only gawk at her.

“What?”

“It’s possible. I was too young to remember your birth. Maybe Mum just snuck you in.”

“I’m saying you can’t just fix me because I’m not one of your bloody horses!”

“Oh! That’s what you mean.”

“What did you think I meant?”

“I really didn’t know. Things with you have been . . . difficult. Since . . . well . . .” She gestured at Gemma and Gemma looked down at the chainmail and bits of armor that her mother had made for her many months ago.

She lifted her gaze to her sister’s. “Since . . . when?” she asked.

“Uh . . .” Keeley looked at Quinn but he quickly turned away again.

“I’m not part of this conversation,” he explained to them. “Instead, I’m looking meaningfully off”—he motioned with his entire left arm, gesturing out, his four fingers pointing, the thumb tucked in against his hand—“that way.”

“Since when?” Gemma pushed, now ignoring the battle going on around them.

“Since . . .” Again, Keeley gestured at Gemma’s entire body. “This.”

She wanted her sister to say it. Out loud. For everyone to hear it. “This? What’s this?”

“You know.”

“No. I’m unclear.”

“Uh . . .”

Keeley suddenly reached behind her and when she swung her arm back, she held their cousin Keran. She was more than a decade older than the two of them and a bit of a black sheep because she wasn’t a blacksmith like the rest of their mother’s side of the family, but had belonged to a fighting guild. She wore the scars of those years quite proudly—since she was still alive. She’d even managed to retire while still able to stand and walk on her own. That was mostly unheard of when it came to the fighting guilds.

“Ale time?” Keran asked when she stood in front of her cousins.

“No,” Gemma snapped, disgusted. “We’re not done yet.”

“Oh. Then what do you want? I was in the middle of killing.”

“Keeley needs you to say what she’s too afraid to say.”

“Keeley’s never afraid to say anything. Just this morning she asked her mum if she’s pregnant again or if her ass is just getting wide. I don’t know anyone else brave enough to ask your mother if her ass is just getting wide.”

Gemma leaned around Keran to view her sister. “Tell me that woman is not pregnant again.”

“I think her ass is just getting wide.”

Relieved, Gemma leaned back and said to Keran, “Well, she’s afraid to tell me something.”

“About the snarling? The snapping? The way no one can talk to you anymore?”

“That’s quite a list, Cousin.”

“Or are we talking about the drinking?”

“The drinking?”

Considering there were nightly bets among the troops on how fast the queen’s cousin could down a pint of ale, Gemma was a little insulted that anyone was questioning her occasional drink. Especially if that questioning was coming from gods-damn Keran of all people!

“All right then!” Keeley cheered.

“Oh, wait,” Keran went on, “or is this about—”

“Thank you, Keran!” Keeley said, casually tossing their cousin back into the ongoing battle.

Their cousin wasn’t a small woman but she flew like a leaf on the wind, landed on her feet, and immediately began hacking away with her axe at the closest enemy soldier without even missing a step.

Gemma moved up to her sister, raising her chin so she could at least attempt to look Keeley in the eyes. “My drinking? What drinking?”

“You know what I need you to do, luv?” Keeley asked with her big smile and adorable charm. She pointed at the duke’s castle. “Look in there. See if the duke and duchess have left us anything.”

“You’re just trying to get rid of me.”

“Would I do that to you?”

“As a matter of fact—”

The queen didn’t even let her finish. She just spun her around and shoved, sending Gemma off in the direction of the castle.

It was humiliating.

“Why are you back here?” Quinn’s brother, Caid, asked.

“I was keeping an eye on Princess Bitchy Leggings as the queen asked me to do. But she is in a mood. I’d be better in a fighting pit, unarmed and naked.”

“I didn’t think she was coming today.”

“Apparently that plan changed and the enemy has been paying for it ever since. She’s just been lopping off heads all day. I shouldn’t mind but it seems so senseless.”

Caid shrugged. “At least she’s on our side.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you two,” said their sister, Laila, as she used a spear to fight off their enemies. “But do you two mind assisting in keeping the queen alive? She’s all alone over there!”

Quinn and his brother looked over at Keeley Smythe, Queen of the Hill Lands.

She was swinging her hammer wide, knocking down three attacking soldiers. She then lifted her hammer up and over, massive, sweat-covered muscles rippling as she brought the weapon down, crushing the soldier into the ground. When she buried the head of her hammer into another soldier’s chest—crumpling the steel armor that had been protecting it—the brothers looked back at their sister.

“Are we worried about her?” Quinn asked his sister. “Really?”

Impaling a soldier through his helmet, Laila snapped, “All right, listen up. You two seem to forget who you actually report to since you”—she pointed at Caid with her blood-soaked steel spear—“are lucky enough to fuck the queen. And you”—she pointed at Quinn—“have been lucky enough not to be executed by the queen. So I’ll make it very clear. The only one either of you takes orders from . . . is me.”

“Because you’re Mother’s direct heir? Or Father’s favorite??