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A tale of grace, forgiveness, and love as a forgotten princess seeks to reclaim her true identity.
It
is 616AD, and one fatal night the ancient Kingdom of Elmetia falls.
Saxons kill the Elmetian King, and capture Princess Teagen.
Teagen
poses as a slave girl and works for the Saxons in the Kingdom of Deira,
until she discovers her brother is alive. She finds a way to escape,
and her path crosses with Ryce the Warrior.
Struggling
with his past and angry against the tyrant Saxon king, Ryce helps the
princess in pursuit of her brother. But just as the connection between
them intensifies, obstacles get in their way. The Saxon king now wants
vengeance, and will stop at nothing to get it.
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EXCERPT
Copyright 2014 © Rachel James
616 AD
The Kingdom of Elmetia
Teagen
scrambled under the table as the first fire-drenched arrow shot through
the sky. Within seconds, thatched rooftops blazed and smoke bellowed
throughout the palace. Frantic screams replaced the joyful music playing
moments before.
“Princess,” Teagen’s nurse hissed from behind a wooden bench. “Are ye injured?”
“Nay.” She cast a wary glance as the battle unfolded before her. “What’s happening? Is it Saxons?”
Her nurse stretched her arm over and stroked her hair. “Aye, princess. Seems to be. Now stay put here while I find yer brother.”
Teagen flinched. “Don’t leave me Dera, please—Niall will be with Papa, they’ll be safe.”
Dera’s face paled. “I hope not, lassie, for yer brother’s sake, I pray he’s not.”
What could she mean? Was Papa in trouble?
She jumped out from her hiding place. “Then I’ll come with ye—”
Dera pushed her down firmly. “Nay, ‘tis not safe. Whatever ye do, do not let them capture ye, understand?”
She nodded, dumbfounded as Dera disappeared.
Grabbing
the bottom of her long silk dress, she covered her face in an attempt
to subdue the nausea that welled within. She wouldn’t look. She
couldn’t. Where was Papa? She needed him right now, to hold her, and
keep her safe.
“Teagen.”
A wave of relief washed over her. “Papa!” Teagen ran toward him, tears threatening her eyes.
“Shhh,
lassie.” Her father scooped her up and headed for the kitchen just off
the Great Hall. He opened a small stone cupboard and placed her inside.
“Stay in here, do ye understand? Do not come out until yer brother gets ye.”
“Please don’t leave me, Papa. Everyone keeps leaving me.” She tasted the salty tears that streamed her face.
Her father stroked her cheek. “Oh, lassie, I love ye so much. Ye know this, don’t ye?”
She nodded.
“Now be a brave girl and stay put.”
She
gave her father a lingering hug and breathed in his comforting musky
scent, her eyes averting his blood stained tunic. As he shut the
cupboard door, the sound of the latch closing sent shivers through her
body. The darkness did not mask the coldness of the damp stone walls, or
the stale air which stifled her breathing. A sob lodged in her
throat. I need to be brave for Papa.
Muffled sounds from outside grew louder—the clash of iron on iron, the collapse of buildings, and cries for help.
“King Ceretic is dead!”
Teagen stopped breathing. It could not be true.
“And what of the rest of the family?”
“Not yet found.”
“We do not leave until they are dead. Burn everything, and gather the survivors—we’ll take them to the slave market.”
She squeezed her eyes
together, shutting out the fuzzy sensation that threatened to overtake
her. Please, God. Nay. There surely must be some mistake.
Teagen
could wait no longer. Despite her father’s strict instructions, she
pushed open the door and fell on the kitchen floor. She gasped in a huge
breath of air and scrambled to the doorway. Soldiers littered the
outside, and in the centre, stood the Saxon King—Edwin the Tyrant. Her
stomach lurched as she saw the remains of her father’s body.
Oh, Heavenly Father.
She
collapsed to the ground. If her father was dead, it meant her brother
Niall would likely be too. She studied the hem of her fine tunic and
caressed the intricate beading Dera had sewn on the day before.
She
stiffened. If they discovered her true identity as the king’s daughter,
she too would be slain. She had to get out of these clothes. Her eyes
rested on the dead bodies piled up outside the kitchen entrance and her
heart broke as she spotted one of her friends lying on the ground. She
kept low, reached out and pulled her friend further inside the kitchen.
“I’m
sorry, Hilda,” she whispered to the girl, “but I’m going to need yer
clothes. Ye won’t have use for them anymore.” She closed the girl’s
eyelids, said a quick prayer, and removed the simple tunic and redressed
her young friend in her own grand attire.
She
ran out of the kitchen and toward the oak tree at the top of the hill,
knowing she would be seen. She perched under a sloping branch and gazed
out—her entire world ablaze. Soldiers rummaged through the dead bodies
looking for valuables to keep for themselves. Teagen covered her ears as
cries penetrated the night. Curling herself into a ball, she cradled
her arms around her knees and rocked herself back and forth watching her
kingdom fall. They were coming for her, it was simply a matter of time.
To survive this night, her identity would have to be forgotten.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rachel
is a mum of three, a pastor's wife and a Christian writer. She lives in
rural England, is passionate about writing, drinking tea and absolutely
loves a good romance story! She writes to entertain, inspire and
encourage others in their own Christian walk, hoping to reveal God's
character through written form.
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