The stout front door fairly rattled on its hinges. I lifted the bar and opened the door. In the dim light of dawn, a page stood on our front step. A young miss with big brown eyes and hair tucked under a small cap.

  “A note from his majesty for the ambassador, guard master.” She bowed her head before darting off to leap onto the back of a small horse. Off she rode.

  “Thank you.” I closed the door, sighing to myself as I eyed the queen’s seal on the back of the missive. Since the page had not waited, that meant there was no need for a reply.

  “For such a tiny thing, she possesses a mighty knock,” Teryn said as he joined me in the foyer, a thick robe wrapped about his lean form.

  “A summons from the queen,” I informed him and handed him the sheaf of thick royal parchment.

  “By the sands,” he muttered as he broke the seal. “I adore Queen Raewyn, but her mind seems to never cease. Surely, Lady Merrilyn could keep her occupied enough to push thoughts of berth widths and docking fees from her head. Goddess knows when I am with you, I am not thinking of dredging or laying foundations.”

  “That does feed my ego,” I admitted and got a soft sound of pleasure. “Is there a problem at the castle?”

  “No, she is just overthinking things.” He sighed, folded the note, and gave me a long-suffering look. “She wishes to go over the quay wall cost offer from the maritime dwarven guilds. Why this must be done before the cock crows, I do not know. The woman is a veritable whirlwind of energy, while I am an old man with a toe that aches when the rainy season comes.”

  “Mature is a much better term. Let me go stoke the fire in the kitchen. Cook Letta will be here soon to whip up some bread and jam.”

  “No, I’ll just dress and ride over. Widow Poppy will surely be in the castle kitchens haranguing the lesser cooks by now. I’ll have a bite there. I shall see you soon, my dear.” He rose to his toes to steal a kiss. Amazing how I had previously not found smaller males to my liking, but now could not touch this lean, wiry man enough. Perhaps it was not so much the build but the men themselves that did not touch my heart…

  The urge to follow him for a fast tumble was strong, but one did not make the queen wait when matters of the sea and her new navy were to be discussed, so I settled for a kiss goodbye then broke my fast with our jovial cook and a spotted Sandrayan cat dozing on my lap.

  Rain began to fall once I was inside Avolire. A light mist more than a true rain, the kind of foggy morn that bards enjoyed writing lyrics about in dark, broody songs. Stepping into the king’s solar to find him pacing the well-lit room, I sensed that the drizzle lying over Celear would soon grow into a rabid storm. Nodding to the man who watched over the king during the night, I stepped into the room fully, nodding at the small gathering within.

  Aelir, Raewyn, V’alor, Le’ral Fylson, and a man of middle age, perhaps five hundred or so seasons, with a shorn head, a large nose, and well-oiled pointed ears…they fairly glistened in the lamplight. Aelir glanced at me from the far corner. Standing by the closed double patio doors was Porgo, looking as out of place as a mule at a horse race.

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty, for interrupting.” I placed my fist on my chest, head down, and waited to be told to leave. Or go.

  “No, Pasil, come in. Close the door. You are a trusted guardian and hero of Melowynn by writ and commendation,” Aelir said, turning from the fire to face me. “You have been privy to the personal lives of all of us for several seasons. Please take your place by the door and let no one enter until we hear what Grand Cloisterer Rainbrook recalls of my abandoned elder brother.” My gaze flew to the stout man seated on a stool, his head lowered, his back bowed. I took my place by the solar door, sword at my side, the crackle of the fire the only sound other than the rapid breaths of the holy man. “Amazingly, he had full knowledge of the new prince born to my mother and yet sat on that information like a confused chicken trying to hatch a rock instead of an egg.”

  “Your Majesty, the Grand Advisor swore me to secrecy!” the bald man cried out yet kept his gaze on the rich carpet under his slippers. “He commanded my silence under the penalty of excommunication from the church followed by banishment from Melowynn to the Black Sands. My most gracious king, I could not be sent to live among the heathens!”

  Aelir paced the room like a wild cat, long hair flowing behind him, his hands in fists at his sides. “And so you took the squalling child to pirates.”

  “Yes, well, not me, Your Grace. I handed the half-breed whelp off to a man known to travel in nefarious circles. I paid him handsomely from the temple’s tithes to secure a wet nurse and a ship to the furthest lands possible. Your Majesty, I was following orders from your grandfather, who only sought to ensure that the Stillcloud bloodline remained unsullied by the foul blood of infidels or those of inferior races. Surely you can understand his—”

  “I understand that my grandfather sent my brother away!” Aelir roared, clearing goblets and platters from the table with a swipe of his hand. Wine, juice, and food flew to the floor. A slim vase containing a few sprigs of lavender shattered when it hit. “And you and he withheld that information from me for my entire life! That is what I understand!” The portly man in the holiest of robes began to weep, to beg for forgiveness, to not banish him to the lands of the impious. “Tell me this and do not think to lie to me again. Did my mother name the babe before he was stolen from her breast?”

  “Yes, yes, Your Majesty. She called the boy Coelum. An odd human name. Yet another stain on the half-breed babe.”

  Aelir glared at the holy man.

  “Get this lying slaver from my sight. Send him to the exalted cloisterer, where he will spend the next thirty seasons on his knees in repentance for his actions against a prince of Melowynn. If I see his face or hear of his name before my brother is returned to me, I will place him on a ship to the Black Sands myself!” Aelir barked, spinning from the mess on the floor to stare out at the gray skies thickening over Celear. I went over to lift the cloisterer from his stool to escort him to the door. He whispered prayers to Ihdos as we went, stepping over shards of glass and fine pottery, until I handed him off to the guards stationed outside.

  “See him to the temple of Celear,” I whispered to the tallest of the two royal guards. He nodded, took the shaking elf in hand, and led him down the long corridor. I gave the younger elf, a woman with bright blue eyes, a nod and slipped back into the solar.

  Aelir took a long breath before collapsing into a seat beside V’alor. He rubbed at his eyes before lowering his hands to gaze at Porgo. “Porgo Harami.” He sighed, making the wind whisperer straighten his broad shoulders. “I have asked you here to give us aid in this most delicate matter. Mahouk Nouradi tells me you are a man of honor, one who keeps his lips sealed and his eyes wide open. The ambassador mentioned that before you came to be in his employ, you were known to sail the seas under a wide variety of flags.”

  “Aye, I did. As far as I know, no laws cite that an elf must pay allegiance to one employer,” Porgo replied after giving Aelir a curt nod of respect.

  “There are none. And I care not what flags you may have sailed under in the past. Elves do what they must to survive. Not all are born into a noble house.”

  “No, they are not.” Porgo folded his tattooed arms over his bare chest. “If you wish to ask me about my days pirating then do so, Your Majesty. I will answer what I can without divulging the names of my friends.”

  Aelir sat back in his chair, visibly exhausted. Dark bags sat deep under his soft blue eyes. “Nor would I ask you to. What I would ask is if you know of any elves who may resemble myself or my mother…” Aelir motioned to an oil above the hearth of a beautiful elven woman with long, thick golden hair and light eyes of blue the same color as the king’s, “who work along the coasts of the Black Sands up to and around the edge of Knight’s Way into the waters that meet the Stormhold Sea far north.”

  “I can testify that none of my knowing would take a noble elf onto their vessels. It’s far too close to the mainland for one thing. A noble elf stands out no matter if he’s half human or no, it’s the bearing born into them. No, it would raise too many questions at any port on the mainland were the boy to be seen. On my days on the water, I’ve not seen a lad with the feminine or noble beauty of your lady mother.” He glanced at the king with sadness. Aelir inclined his head for the wind whisperer to continue. “Now those that sail the Stormhold will avail themselves of any able-bodied elf, dwarf, human, or yeti. They turn down no one for finding sailors to sail those deadly, frigid waves is nigh unto impossible. If I were searching for this prince that was scuttled away in the dark of night, I’d look to those who call the Stormhold Sea their mistress. They think nothing of crimping burly types or buying young children to serve on their ships. A more unsavory lot of seafarers you shall never meet, but they are the most skilled and deadly mariners to hoist an anchor.”

  Aelir looked at those in the room one by one. “That would entail crossing over the Witherhorns. I know of no elf that has done so successfully without assistance of some sort.”

  “No, and none will. The conditions atop the mountains will kill any who aren’t covered in fur, and the tunnels under the mountains are guarded by the dwarves, who allow none but the sons and daughters of stone past their gates.” Porgo took a breath. “If you need to reach the tundra and what lies beyond, you will need a dwarven guide and the best outrider you have in service. I know a dwarf who may do the job as an escort, but he is not cheap.”

  “And I know an elf who will do the job for the sheer joy of wandering,” Aelir stated. “I shall pen a note directing the head of our exploratory survey patrol to return to Celear with haste. Pasil, summon a guard to deliver my summons to the rookery attendant on duty. They are to send their fastest bird to Beiro Vahorn.”

  Coming next in the Heroes of Melowynn Trilogy…

  A quest for a prince. A bond neither expected. A love that defies the oldest elven magic.

  Beiro Vahorn, known to the small band of druidic scouts he rides with as the Pine Rider, has come to a painful conclusion: the man that he has been infatuated with since he joined the royal exploratory committee has fallen in love with another. Thankfully, distance has helped his aching heart. When the shy, sharp-eyed archer is called back from his current assignment, he’s sent on a monumental quest to find a long-lost prince of Melowynn. Tasked to cross the mighty Witherhorn Mountains to locate the king’s brother, he finds himself working with a dwarven sellsword.

  Asdren Grimmane knows the dark underbelly of the mountains better than most know their own faces. He’s rough, loud, and more than willing to bend a rule or twenty to get his pay. The battle-worn dwarf long ago traded hearthlight for the road. Once a decorated warrior, now a mercenary with too many scars and not enough years ahead, he carries his honor like an old wound—painful but never forgotten. Their alliance begins in frost and friction, but the deeper they journey—through underground passes, forgotten dwarven ruins, and the whispers of ancient gods—the harder it becomes for Beiro to deny the pull between them.

  As the hunt for the lost prince twists into a peril that could unravel the balance of nature itself, Beiro and Asdren must decide what they’re willing to risk: their vows, their kingdoms…or each other.

  The Pine Rider is the second novel in the Heroes of Melowynn M/M romantasy trilogy and is filled with magic, peril, and slow-burn devotion—featuring an age gap, opposites attract dynamic, elemental druidic magicks, and a love that could root deep enough to change the world.

  If you enjoyed The Bronze Warrior (Heroes of Melowynn #1), I’d be incredibly grateful if you could leave a review on a major retailer site, BookBub, Goodreads, or on your personal social media platforms.

  Reviews are the reason someone else might decide to give this book a try!

  Deepest thanks,

  *squishy hugs*

  V.L.

  V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, Dr. Who/Torchwood, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, Dungeons & Dragons, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter and son-in-law, one dog, one cat, and a flock of assorted goofy domestic fowl.

  When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.

  If you want to keep up with all the latest news about her upcoming releases, sign up for her newsletter by visiting her website: vllocey.com

  She can also be found online on Facebook, Goodreads, and Instagram.

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  New York Nightwings Collection

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