HEIR OF SIN

  FALLEN SINS

  BOOK ONE

  C. L. QVAM

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, historical figures, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © C. L. Qvam, 2024

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. Furthermore, without in any way limiting the author’s and publisher’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The Author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models. For press & permission requests, contact the publisher at contact@qvamington.com

  Published by Qvamington Press, Sep 2024

  Qvamington Press is an imprint of Qvams Forlag

  ISBN 978-82-94035-09-0 (eBook/ePub)

  ISBN 978-82-94035-10-6 (Hardcover)

  ISBN 978-82-94035-11-3 (Paperback)

  Cover art by Maria Spada, www.mariaspada.com

  Ornamental break created with Canva

  Map illustrated by the author

  Publisher website: www.qvamington.com

  Author website: www.chaselouiseqvam.com

  CONTENTS

  Author’s Note

  FAQ

  Prologue

  1. The Hunt

  2. Caught

  3. Obsession

  4. Engagement

  5. The Djinn

  6. Spoiled Fruit

  7. A Deal

  8. Promenade

  9. Checkmate

  10. Hunter

  11. Touched

  12. Predators

  13. Prey

  14. Devoured

  15. Peaches

  16. Lies Served

  17. Lady Indulgence

  18. Into Faerie

  19. The Inn

  20. Betrayal

  21. Possession

  22. August

  23. A Witch’s Ritual

  24. Puppet Masters

  25. Divine Fire

  26. Aftermath

  27. Regret

  28. Release

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Bonus Scene: Honeymoon

  Book two: ARC Interest & preorder info

  Acknowledgement

  About the Author

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Dear reader,

  if you’re happening upon this book after reading my former works, you might find this slightly different than what you’ve come to expect. For one, it has open door spice *insert mischievous smirk here*. For another, it is less plot-heavy than the Spindle of Life trilogy, and the world-building is much simpler.

  While my debut fantasy trilogy was written to hit on emotional and difficult themes close to my heart, this romantasy was written as a break from those heavier topics. Not that there won’t be some hurt and valuable take-aways in this book as well, but because we all need some escapism from time to time. Including this writer.

  Mostly written to enthral and make your toes curl, I hope you’ll enjoy this book nevertheless!

  FAQ

  Is this series connected to your other series?

  Yes. Although it takes place in an entirely new realm, this realm does exist within the same universe as my previous books and, chronologically, Heir of Sin takes place after my debut trilogy.

  Do I need to read your debut trilogy before this book?

  That depends! It’s recommended if you’re a YA fantasy fan who loves to build theories, hunt for Easter eggs, etc., in which case chronological or published order will make this easier. BUT…

  I’d definitely start here if you’re a romantasy reader with a preference for romance and explicit spice. Worst case scenario, Heir of Sin is a quick read that may easily be reread after you’ve read my debut trilogy.

  Finally, above all, if you’re a fellow mood reader – hi! – then you picked this book for a reason. Kick your feet back, cuddle up under a blanket, and enjoy.

  Any content I need to be aware of?

  This book contains a few scenes featuring bullying, a drugged drink, and a scene with sexual coercion that happens pretty early in the book. My choices for including them are personal, but also to offer representation for those of us who have gone through similar things. For a full list of content warnings and where to expect them in the book, please visit www.chase.qvamington.com/contentwarnings

  There are Easter eggs and teaser crumbs dropped throughout the book to past and future titles, particularly towards the end.

  At last, an apology to a friend who coincidentally and unfortunately shares the same first name as a rather unsavoury character in this story. The resemblance ends there.

  This book uses British style and spelling and is written in the author’s second language.

  To the women who were made to feel small so that the men would feel big,

  I give you Elijah.

  PROLOGUE

  Djinns will take your whole hand if you give them a finger.

  At least, that’s what my nan used to say.

  ‘What if you give them the finger?’ I once asked.

  ‘Then they’ll take your hand, and body with, and take you⁠—’

  But wherever they would take me, I never learned, as my parents interrupted with, ‘Home! They’ll take you home, Keira. To be scolded by your always-loving-but-horrified parents. Isn’t that right, Mama?’

  My nan would shrug and go about her cooking, passing me a wry little wink with a slice of whatever ingredient was at the mercy of her cutting knife. In that wink was a promise that she would tell me the rest later – later that day, later when I was older – but later never came. Not when I became a teen. Not as I made my first steps into adulthood. At first because my parents would always intervene, but now – now they can’t even do that.

  I wonder, what they would have said in this moment, if they could see my soon-to-be-nineteen-year-old, should-know-better-self, holding a vintage oil lamp, prepared not only to give any djinn within it my fingers, but whatever else was in my possession as well. My late mother’s jewels. Thornfield Cottage. My firstborn – I’d give it all to have my wish fulfilled.

  Everything and anything besides my body, really.

  That, surely, would defeat the purpose of the wish.

  When I was younger, I always assumed nan meant the djinn would take me to the shadowlands or other realms where demons and monsters still existed. That’s where they were rumoured to come from, before spilling into Illnora and the realms beyond.

  Once a bit older, smarter, and slightly less immature, I’d begun to wonder if my old Grandmama’s warnings held a more nefarious meaning. That the djinns would simply take me, as I am, and have their way with me in the same way the town’s pastor would describe as sin.

  The same thought occurs to me now, leaving me hot and cold all over, but I shake it from my mind.

  Djinns were said to have been godlike creatures: powerful in their magic, angelic in their appearance, of which they could change at will. Shapeshifters. I can’t imagine what they’d want with someone as ordinary as me.

  Of course, they could confound my mind like the folks of Faerie and make me want them. Or…they might not even need to go that far. All who swore they had seen a djinn would declare them to be easy on the eye. Or so I’ve heard. I don’t actually know anyone who’s claimed to have seen one, except my nan. And she never said more about her encounter except that she recognised the djinn for what it was and chased it off her porch with a rolling pin.

  I believed her back then, my toes always curling as we laughed together. Now, I’m more inclined to believe it must have been a poor, possibly charming, salesman at her door. Still, a smile at the memory tugs at my lips and I’m held back, yet again, from turning the lamp’s wick adjuster, wondering what she would say if she were here.

  But she isn’t.

  None of them are or will ever be again. There is only one person left in this world that I love, and if I don’t do this, he will be gone too.

  I won’t let that happen.

  The twist of the pin is so swift, so impossibly fast that I half-wonder if I touched it at all. Nothing happens, so perhaps I did it wrong or not at all. I’m about to give it another go, when the copper base grows hot and I drop the lamp, startled.

  Thick, soft, violet smoke drifts out of its pipe mouth while I back away, gathering into a thick cloud in the middle of the room. And, as I squint my eyes, my heart pounding in my ears, I can just about make out the silhouette of a man, coming towards me, his smile feral.

  1

  THE HUNT

  EARLIER THAT DAY

  The Nightladies whistled, raising their glasses and bottles of sparkling wine at the people passing them by. Some fluttered their eyelashes at the onlookers, while others angled their bodies so that their full bosoms threatened to topple over their white corsets – much like their baskets brimming with fruit, bread, and cheese.

  Sat on a larger-than-life picnic blanket, dressed in th
eir signature white, the ladies chortled amongst themselves as their startled bystanders reddened and rushed away on urgent legs when addressed. The rest of the villagers did their best to ignore them, focusing instead on their sons appearing from the Thornfell stables, horses in tow, ready and dressed in their scarlet riding coats.

  Perched upon her own horse, Keira’s eyes roamed for one familiar face without luck, when a girl’s voice filled her ears, and the child in question pointed towards Keira. ‘Mummy, that girl is a hunter!’

  ‘That girl is a servant, dear,’ answered the mother, and pulled at the girl’s hand while she eyed the colour of Keira’s jacket – brown like dried blood – as if it were a sign of the plague. Still pointing, the girl scrunched up her nose and turned away from her, the impressed light in her eyes dimming to a dull gleam of disappointment.

  Her smile long gone; Keira longed to call after them that she was a hunter. She was in fact a finer one than many of the young men that would be riding out today. But, for her to ride, she needed to be dressed as a servant.

  Of course, calling out such a thing would only draw unwanted attention to herself and cause her to be refused from participating in the hunt, so she held her tongue and bit back her words instead. There were far more important things at play today.

  It was the first of August, the first day of the annual hunt, and as such the one day a year where all the villagers left the idyllic streets of E’Frion to venture into the first plains of the Woodland Woods where the stables stood.

  E’Frion was a small village not much larger or wider than as far as the eye could see from its clocktower, complete with quaint cottages built in honey-coloured stone, steeply pitched roofs, lilac-framed windows, and flower-filled gardens. It perpetually smelled of wildflowers and the fruitiest delights, except for during the colder seasons of the year when the autumn breeze came in from Oryastes, and the winter wind howled from the north. It would have been a haven – if it wasn’t for its people.

  A Nightlady hollered and blew a kiss towards one of the young riders, drawing Keira’s attention. His mother turned around with a scowl of disdain at the temptress, then faced her husband – perhaps expecting to see the same emotion on his face – and elbowed him in the ribs as he, poor soul, was caught staring a little too amusedly at the young beauties. Then he, too, carefully moulded his expression to mirror that of his wife.

  Keira bit back a smile and looked down so that the riding helmet would hide her amusement. Prudishness and prejudice ran rampant within the town that had retreated into a more conventional life after the age of the Tyrant Emperor.

  Once, Illnora had gone by the name of Equinox; a realm brimming with magic and creatures of all kinds. Split into four courts governed by faeries and elves, there’d been the Summer Court (Theveserin), of which E’Frion belonged, to the south, the Autumn Court (Oryastes) to the east, the Spring Court (Faerie) to the west, and the Winter Court up north. Then came the Tyrant Emperor – the conqueror – and changed it all. Casting the realm into a costly war that changed it forever, setting back progress and modernisation by decades as if it was somehow afraid to move on. Now, all that remained of the old Equinox was restricted to Faerie bordering the moors of E’Frion, but no one from the village really talked about or went there. Except the Nightladies.

  The Nightladies were said to descend from the Tyrant Emperor’s harem itself. A rumour Keira suspected was spread by themselves, although it did them little favours. If their lifestyle wasn’t enough to bring the village’s scorn upon them, such history surely would. But, at least, it permitted them to fetch a prettier coin when the men stole into the night and went to see them. Who wouldn’t pay up for a royal muff?

  One of the Nightladies caught her observing them and ran a finger along the rim of her glass, licking the taste of wine off her finger in a slow, sensual manner.

  Keira’s cheeks went aflame, and she instinctively moulded her face into reflecting the disdain that one was expected to have whilst observing the Nightladies. Just in case anyone caught her looking.

  Once she thought no one was, Keira instantly slipped back into observing them with the same curiosity as before. As if she couldn’t help it.

  It was something about them that caught her attention and curiosity – and always had – in much the same way she felt when she spent time with Isolde of the Woodland Witches; the freest soul Keira had ever known.

  More of a guardian than a friend, but the closest thing Keira had to a friend nevertheless, Isolde made indulgence look like a sport as she enjoyed her partners and wine, with or without witnesses. By the social conventions of E’Frion, Keira knew she was supposed to be appalled – knew she was supposed to judge – and yet she could not help but feel the surge of a thrill upon imagining taking such liberties herself. To share such intimacy with the one she held dearest.

  August.

  As if conjured by her thoughts, a young man, lean and square-shouldered, came riding from the stables, before steadying his mare next to a tall man and woman with the same shiny white hair as his. His parents, her masters. The Thornfells, owners of E’Frion’s largest estate, spanning one quarter of the village.

  Even though his mother was speaking to him, August’s golden gaze met Keira’s while he gently stroked the mare, drawing Keira in like a moth to a flame. All other sounds and impressions subsided in his presence. There was only him, and the curve of his bottom lip as his tongue moved across it ever so tangibly.

  ‘You need not worry, Mother,’ August said, turning back to his parents. ‘Keira will be right behind me. If anything happens, you can trust her to seek help immediately.’

  Lady Thornfell turned towards Keira and narrowed her gaze, forcing Keira to cast her own to the mane of her horse, to the way the rough hairs split in different directions, and mould her face into perfect obliviousness.

  Whether the Lady of Thornfell Manor knew their secret, Keira did not know, but she could feel her hawk eyes scrutinising every expression on her face.

  Soft-spoken, polite, and dashingly handsome, August Thornfell was the darling of the village and every maiden’s first choice for a husband, be they single or not. But most of those hoping to gain his favour would find themselves disappointed, the vacancy closely guarded by his mother. No one was good enough for her son, especially not those she deemed of lower station than them.

  ‘Looking sharp on that horse, Keira,’ a voice bellowed out of the blue. ‘One would think you’ve ridden before.’ A group of young men passed her by, one of them with a wicked grin and spite in his eyes. His friends chortled just a moment before the insinuation dawned upon Keira, and she felt certain her face coloured the same shade as their riding jackets.

  Miles, the caller, had been in love with August for as long as she had, and thus they had been rivals just as long. Every day she longed to toss the truth in his face, but she bit her teeth together instead, knowing it would risk everything. At least today she knew something Miles did not.

  Butterflies fluttered alive at the thought, and she dared a glance from the corner of her eye back to the Thornfells. August remained tall and proud upon his horse, still offering assuring smiles to his mother while exchanging words of confidence with his father. The Meronis had joined them as well, with their daughter Gianna, a petite pretty little thing, by their side, staring doe-eyed up at August.

  A sting of envy tore through Keira’s chest. Not just because of Gianna’s close proximity to August, but because of the parents standing by her side, proudly introducing her to the village’s most eligible bachelor.

  Keira should have had that. She should have had her mother already making wedding arrangements and her father giving her some last pointers for the hunt. Instead, she had neither. She did have Isolde, but she had told her not to come. She did not want to expose her to E’frion’s prejudiced murmurs and glances that occurred whenever the Woodland Witches were nearby. Especially when Keira wouldn’t be around to keep her company through it.

  The first blast of a horn sounded, alerting every rider to gather by the lake, close to the spot where the Nightladies had settled to wave them off on their way.