Title: At the Border of Destiny

Author: C. Quince

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/08/2026

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 360

Genre: Historical Fantasy, Historical Fantasy, Heroic Fantasy, Sword & Sorcery, Folk Horror, Low Fantasy, Folklore, Epic Battles, non-explicit romance, fifteenth century, medieval England, magic, witchcraft, ghosts, royalty, Christians, Pagans, knights, interracial/intercultural, political intrigue, uprising, HEA

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Description

Murad is an Imperial Messenger, and he has a secret… He’s a witch.

On a visit to the foreign court of Mercia in Britain, he has a vision of the crown prince, Aaron, in serious trouble.

In his desire to save Aaron’s life, Murad becomes entangled in Mercia’s political strife, border disputes, and rising Paganism.

At the heart of the conspiracy, Murad encounters a powerful blood witch who has plans to sow division in the land.

Her magic is too strong for Murad on his own, so he seeks out new allies in two very different witches: a green witch, and a Viking seer.

As lines are drawn in the sand, both at court and on the battlefield, Murad stands with Aaron, bolstered by their allies. Together, they can unite Mercia for good.

At the Border of Destiny
C. Quince © 2026
All Rights Reserved

Aaron didn’t want to cause a scene. Once his father had made up his mind, he would not be moved. Clearly, he didn’t want to quit his public court yet, which meant Aaron would have to catch him alone later tonight to speak of politics.

Aaron bowed before the king. “Yes, Lord.”

“Music!” The king commanded, effectively silencing any further discussion as the lively pipes and flutes swelled.

Aaron felt a fool standing there, and he didn’t like that feeling. It wasn’t like his father to dismiss him like that, especially in public.

Lady Lora, the king’s consort, had a small smile on her pretty face. For the briefest moment, her gaze met Aaron’s, and the look she gave him was strange. Aaron might almost have said it looked smug.

Then again, he was tired after a long journey from the border, and he’d almost been killed several times in the past few days alone. Perhaps rest and a warm meal would be beneficial.

Once he and his men had battled past the eager courtiers, of course.

Aaron did not care for court when it was busy like this. Court was complicated enough when it was only the king and the ealdormen, but out here in the public melee, there was scarcely room to move or to think.

Yet through the crowd, Aaron spotted three figures who stood out. One he recognised, the other two he didn’t. All three were dressed similarly in red and blue silk tunics over baggy trousers gathered tightly at the ankles, with fur-lined boots and matching cloaks. Two of them wore hats of a unique style. They were unmistakable by appearance; these men were messengers.

Some called them nomads, descended from the great horse riders in the east. Steppe warriors; Eastern Turkic and Mongol. Others called them Hospitallers or Venetians, knights of the west, and spies for the pope. But the messengers were a multi-ethnic group who existed in almost every kingdom and every empire, to the edge of Christendom and beyond, all the way to the far east. The purpose of their group was to deliver messages from kingdom to kingdom, a reliable communication service on roads too dangerous for most to travel. They were bound by oath to be the impartial messengers of rulers, clergymen, and scholars.

Aaron had met Master Kai before and had heard great stories from his travels. He was unmistakable with his Mongolian appearance, his long black hair, and his beard and moustache styled so uniquely.

The other two Aaron had not met. Curious, he approached the trio to greet them.

“Master Kai! I thought that was you.”

“Lord,” Kai replied, bowing his head. “It is good to see you again. Please, allow me to present my messenger companions, Lorenzo and Murad.”

Aaron looked at the two men he didn’t know. One was a tall, older man with tan skin, short dark hair, and stubble. The other man was short in height, long-haired, brown-skinned, and perhaps Aaron’s age. He was the one who commanded Aaron’s attention.

“Greetings to you both. First time here?” Aaron asked them. He had not met them before; he was sure of it. He would’ve remembered the younger one and his smouldering good looks.

Aaron’s biggest weakness was good-looking men, especially the ones who looked like they could handle themselves in a fight. When his sister had still been at court, she had often teased that Aaron only fell for the men who looked like they could kill him without breaking a sweat. (She wasn’t wrong.)

This handsome young man in front of him bore two long scars down the side of his face, probably from a sword or a knife. They were old, long since healed, the scarred skin a few shades lighter than the natural brown of his complexion. To Aaron, the scars were a symbol of victory, of survival. Their pattern was complementary to the curves of the man’s face, like an artist’s brushstroke on canvas.

The young man had shiny black hair hanging loose to his shoulders from under his ornate hat, longer than most Christian men wore their hair. The neatly trimmed beard on the lower half of his face was cut short around the mouth to make his plump lips more prominent. At least, it seemed that way to Aaron.

Aaron knew he’d gazed too long when the young man raised his eyes, a rich brown, and caught him staring. He didn’t look away but held Aaron’s gaze for the longest moment.

 

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Quince is a MENA-British author who lives in England, enjoys sci-fi and fantasy, history, and Halloween.

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