Book Title: Wicked Lovely (The Black Blade Chronicles, Book 1)
Author: J.K. Hogan
Publisher: Euphoria Press
Cover Artist: J.K. Hogan @ www.wickedpixeldesigns.com
Release Date: October 12, 2021
Genre: M/M Fantasy Romance
Tropes: Enemies to lovers
Themes: Adventure/quest (kind of Game of Thrones-esque but queer)
Length: 90 000 words
It is the first book in the series and not a standalone story. There will be an HEA over a three-book arc. The first book isn’t quite a cliffhanger, more of a to be continued ending.
Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited
A new series that combines the adventure and magic of epic fantasy with the enchantment of romance
Blurb
Darkness grows in the realm of Taleth. To the west, a power-hungry despot schemes to conquer kingdoms and territories alike by chasing an ancient elven prophecy that could give him the power to rule all. In the east, after a prince’s murder goes years unanswered, a princess learns there was much more to her brother’s death—and to her life—than she realized.
The House of Kjenelach is shaken to its foundation when Princess Sigrid is stolen away. Her faithful guardian, Sir Senne Clayward, reluctantly accepts help from his nemesis, a notorious halfling mercenary of questionable morals—but indispensable tracking skills—called Kasimir vas Hjardar.
Kasimir makes his living hunting monsters, both creatures and men. While he exists outside the law, he lives by his own unassailable code of honor. At the top of that list: never harm a child. When he turns down a contract to kidnap Sigrid and later finds out she was taken by someone else, he offers his help to the prickly knight tasked with protecting her.
Together, they embark upon a journey across the continent to save Sigrid and foil King Prosper’s plans to conquer Taleth. The way is fraught with dangers and pitfalls, from supernatural beasts to Senne’s deathly fear of magic, but they must not fail, for Sigrid may very well be the savior of the realm: the long prophesied Aisnellach Fuil. Somehow, the two men must set their differences aside and work together to rescue Sigrid, and possibly find love along the way.
Wicked Lovely
The Black Blade Chronicles, Book 1
Copyright © 2021 by J.K. Hogan
Kasimir’s face itched. It was getting in the way of the lovely dream he was having. He’d been just about to put the man who’d ruined his life on the rack and stretch him with relish when the tickle became a stinging slap.
Reluctantly, Kasimir blinked his eyes open, which turned out to be rather difficult because his face seemed to be caked in a dried substance. Mud, he thought as he attempted in vain to wipe it with an equally muddy hand. That was when he noticed the girl.
She crouched on the bank, just beyond where the fen gave way to solid ground. She was as fey-looking as any human Kasimir had ever laid eyes on, this pale-skinned, copper-haired girl with huge green eyes tipped up at the corners. Her long hair was pulled into twin plaits that hung over her shoulders all the way to her waist. It was an impressive mane for a girl he imagined was probably about ten—as far as Kasimir could tell, though he was no authority on children.
She watched him with a single-minded intensity that was almost frightening in one so young. When she noticed he’d awoken, she cocked her head like a bird but said nothing. Kasimir carefully twitched his muscles to determine his state of paralysis and found them to be mostly functional. With a tremendous groan, he hauled himself to a sitting position, panting from the strain before he was through. The girl still hadn’t made a sound.
They stared at each other in silence. Kasimir felt something unfurl within him, felt himself change in some way. It was as if he somehow knew meeting this girl would change the course of his life. He shook his head against the fanciful thought.
But Kasimir’s muscles ached, and his body stung from a thousand scratches, though they’d already begun healing. He jerked his chin at the girl. “Oi, give us a hand then, would ya?”
Her eyes widened and she scrambled to her feet, reaching out a tiny hand. She was surprisingly strong for such a little bit of a thing. She helped him to stand and he brushed himself off, though it did little to chisel away at the caked mud.
As he checked his weapons, wiping the foxglove tincture off the blades with a spare rag, he studied the girl. She was dressed like a boy, in brown leather trousers and a dark green jerkin. How had she gotten out here to the middle of nowhere? Just as he thought it, he was startled by a snort, and he noticed a horse stamping in the woods behind her.
“I thought you was dead,” she said. “I never seen no dead’un before, so I ’ad to come closer. But y’not dead, are ya?” Though her impudent manner of speaking could rival that of any sailor on Ailsa Skjarl, the buttery tones of her accent screamed high-born.
Kasimir imagined a poor governess in a manor somewhere was not long for this world—either for losing the chit, or for her speech alone. He opened his mouth to say…he wasn’t sure what, but she beat him to it. “What are you doin’ all the way out ’ere?”
He snorted at the gall of her, this child asking a grown man to account for his whereabouts. His mind was still muzzy from the poison, his head still pained from the blood fury, so he cast his gaze about for an explanation. When he noticed his satchel bulging with petrified tongues, the gaps in his memory filled.
“I reckon I came out here to kill changelings for gold, didn’t I?” he said incredulously, flashing his trophies. He wondered if he had frightened the girl, but that notion was dispelled quickly when he heard tinkling fairy-bell laughter. Which quickly became an unladylike snort, followed by a guffaw.
“Bollocks, that is!”
“Now listen here, you impudent git—”
Kasimir closed his mouth abruptly when a thick arrow lodged in the ground with a thunk, not six inches from his leather-wrapped foot. Forcing back the simmering bloodlust that threatened to overtake him again from the threat of a deadly enemy, Kasimir squinted at the tree line.
A blood bay charger emerged from the wood, snorting and high-stepping, tossing its head despite the dropped rein. The dropped rein was on account of the rider having nocked a new arrow, which he had aimed and ready to loose right into Kasimir’s chest.
“I’d watch how you address the lady if I were you,” the newcomer said.
Kasimir snorted. “That isn’t a lady. That’s barely a weanling,” he retorted, while sizing up his new foe.
Upon the impressive steed sat a young man with rich chestnut hair, pale of skin and brown of eye, dressed all in black, down to his plated brigandine and studded gauntlets, save for the golden gryphon emblazoned on his chest. A knight, then.
“Even better reason for you to keep a civil tongue in your head, brigand.”
Kasimir’s eyes narrowed. “I’m no brigand. I was just minding me own business when the girl—lady—came along.”
The brat snorted again. “Facedown in the fen, he was.”
The knight didn’t move, didn’t lower his bow, but Kasimir saw his lips twitch.
“I wasn’t facedown, for fuck’s sake. I was on my side.” The knight winced at his crassness but didn’t comment again. “But I’ve done nothing criminal, so if you keep pointing that thing at me, I’m goin’ to think you mean me harm.” Kasimir’s finger brushed the hilt of his sword. He hoped the knight bought into his bluff. On a good day, deflecting arrows was a difficult, though not impossible, task, but he didn’t like his chances fresh from a tussle with changeling poison.
The knight narrowed his eyes, but after a pause, he lowered his bow. “Sigrid, how many times do I have to tell you? You can’t run off like that.” There was something in his expression, as if dealing with the girl sort of pained him. Kasimir almost sympathized. So it isn’t a governess who’ll be strung up for losing the girl, it’s this young knight.
The girl called Sigrid tilted her head in that avian way she had. “I reckon if I hadn’t, this one would’ve drowned in the muck.”
“Just goin’ about me bloody business,” Kasimir muttered again, earning him a glare from the knight.
“Come, Sigrid. Mount up. We must be going before your absence is noted.”
The girl heaved a put upon sigh, but started toward her horse. Abruptly, she turned around and faced Kasimir. “I am afraid I am at a disadvantage, sir,” she began, morphing into the cultured speech of the learned nobility to match her knight’s. “You now know my name is Sigrid, but I do not yet know what you are called.”
Kasimir glanced at the knight, not willing to reveal much of his identity to one who had already branded him a criminal. “Kasimir… My lady,” he added after he was treated to a scowl.
Sigrid mounted her little palfrey and swung the horse around. “Just Kasimir?” she asked with a tilt of her head.
“Yes, my lady. Just Kasimir.”
“Good day, Kas. I know we’ll be seeing each other again. I look forward to it.” She reined her mare around, leaving Kasimir gaping. “Come, Senne, we should go. We mustn’t worry Father or Mrs. Satterwythe.”
Kasimir didn’t miss the exasperated look the knight, Senne, gave her as he wheeled his horse around to follow. Kasimir sneered at their backs. “Kas, indeed,” he muttered.
J.K. Hogan has been telling stories for as long as she can remember, beginning with writing cast lists and storylines for her toys growing up. When she finally decided to put pen to paper, she found her true passion. She is greatly inspired by all kinds of music and often creates a “soundtrack” for her stories as she writes them.
J.K. resides in North Carolina with her husband, two sons, and their pets. If she isn’t writing, J.K. can be found designing book covers at Wicked Pixel Designs, creating fiber art and supplies at Earthbound Fiber Arts watching Hurricanes Hockey and, of course, reading!
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