Enemies? Rivals? Something Else Entirely? 

Cael is losing his way—until Quin sets him back on his path. Sparks fly, but whether it’s from tension or something deeper . . . well, that’s the real mystery.

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“I’m clever enough not to fall, Cael. The question is – are you?”

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The King’s Man is well on its way! Just this past weekend, I sent Book 6 off to the editor, meaning the whole series is complete and set for release. Today, I want to give you your first real taste of Book 1, along with a glimpse at what’s waiting for you in this series.

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A Sneak Peek at The King’s Man (Book 1)

“You have a tendency to pull the reins too hard around tight turns.”
“Tendency. How many times have you seen me turn my horse?”
His lips curve faintly. “Enough to notice.”
I snort, throwing back, “You’re reminding me of someone else I once knew. He also thought himself the king of horsemanship.”
“Was he?” Quin’s gaze flickers toward me with a spark.
I huff. Maskios, king? “I was on top of him! I’ll always be on top of him.”
A dark laugh rumbles out of him, low and knowing. My words don’t fool him, and somehow, that makes my cheeks flush.
“I really can ride,” I snap, trying to claw back dignity. “I grew up playing drakopala.”
“Is that so?” There’s no surprise in his voice at all, almost like he’s bored, and it grates.
“Just focus on the path before one of us tumbles into the abyss.”
His dark chuckle stirs something sharp and uneasy inside me. “I’m clever enough not to fall, Cael. The question is—are you?”
His words dig deeper than they should, unsettling my confidence. The cold wind tugs at my cloak, and I remember how easily he’d seen through me before—the way he tested me at the academy, uncovered my lies, forced me to face truths I wasn’t ready to admit.
The memories slip in unbidden: the little girl’s wide eyes, the herbs I’d tossed aside, her body limp by the river. A life wasted, a soul I sabotaged.
Quin’s voice cuts through, soft but pointed. “I was harsh earlier. You’ve lost someone dear to you.”
My hands ball around the reins.
He speaks again, voice gravelly, as if the words weigh on him too. “Other people’s someones are waiting desperately for our help. Scared children, dying ones.”
Futures shrinking by the second.
I can’t stop the ache in my throat, the flush of shame crawling up my neck. How could I have refused? How could I ever pray to my forefathers again?
The wind howls as we ride on in silent contemplation.

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