Table of Contents
Title Page
Heir of Lies
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
HEIR OF LIES
Copyright © Mallory McCartney 2019
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, nor translated into a machine language, without the written permission of the publisher.
Condition of sale
This book was sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN: 978-1-9992547-0-4
The moral right of the author had been asserted.
This was a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events and organizations was purely coincidental.
Cover Art by Cora Graphics
Shutterstock.com
Formatted by Rebecca Garcia at Dark Wish Designs
Map art by Lizard Ink Maps
For the dreamers who see endless possibilities and the magic in everyday life.
And for everyone who has dared to fight for love, in all its forms.
Prologue
Fifteen years earlier,
Sarthaven (The Ruined City)
The note shook so hard in her grasp, Nei Fae couldn’t focus on the words splayed before her. With a racing pulse and a sharp ringing coursing through her ears, she crumpled the paper beneath her white knuckles.
Breathe.
The words branded her like hot iron to her flesh, her entire being coursing with them. Her hope was consumed by them.
She sat at her desk, like any other day. The afternoon light poured in through the window, catching the various objects scattered throughout, from the copious number of books to the overwhelming stack of papers. A hard glint reflected off her longsword and throwing knives that lay scattered throughout the room.
Her office was one of solace, in a time where peace was very hard to find.
Her golden hair spilled forward as she dropped her face into her hands, covering her eyes while her senses were diluted and muffled, if only for a second.
Her father’s voice filled Nei’s mind as clear as day in her reprieve: ‘You will not marry for love, my sweet girl, but you will sacrifice yourself wholeheartedly so that this world may see a day where peace ensues; so that this war will ease itself into the pages of our history.’
He had been spot on. It had been one year since her arranged marriage where their world had quaked and shook with the defiance of it: a wild woman from the Shattered Isles betrothed to the prince.
People’s reactions had been worse than expected, to say the least.
When Nei Runnard had been scuffling around with her sisters and sailing the coast, following her heart wherever adventure was, Roque Fae was being groomed in the politics of his court and his country. Nei had almost laughed when her father sat her down and told her he had sealed her fate.
One. Year.
She left her family, her life, her hopes and dreams behind to marry a man she loathed. Now, he was tolerable but still undeniably an arse in more ways than not.
It was a strong union, she was told. One that would end her people’s suffering. Her marriage to Roque Fae would ensure that the Shattered Isles would thrive again, trading wine and fruit with Kiero. Instead of what the reality was now: her people being captured and enslaved, sailors’ ships being attacked by Kiero’s fleets, burned and sent to the bottom of the Black Sea.
So here she was, prettily packaged, trying to quell Kiero’s hatred toward her country. It had surprised her at first, how angry the people were. So what if she was a rover, a pirate. More warrior than princess.
Every day in this court proved just how deep rooted the people’s suffering went; every day, accusations of the government not providing the security and protection the people wanted, that they needed, came in.
Sighing, Nei Fae stood, stretching, and her joints popped. Beneath her simple garb, bruises flowered her body from her sparring sessions, reminding her with every step who she was, where her roots lay. And she had fiercely promised herself that – to not forget.
Nei’s only friend in this forsaken court, Bresslin Stratton, took it upon herself to have daily evening walks with her. Instead of dresses and gossip, they filled their time with clashing steel and aching muscles.
Smiling wolfishly, Nei reminded herself what her sisters had always said: that amongst them all, she was born with the fury of the sea, with the resilience of the rocks the water crashed upon. She would not break beneath the pressures, lies, and riots of being a hated Queen.
Her sisters had been so sure she had what it took to be Queen. Their excitement, their hope of a better life rather than one of fighting for survival, is what kept Nei from running away and disappearing into nothingness.
Besides Bresslin, that’s what everyone here thought of her - That she wasn’t as cunning or had the potential to rule beside Roque.
A sharp knock sliced through her thoughts, and she stood quickly, tucking the note tightly against her wrist and out of sight.
The door swung open, and Roque leaned lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed and mischief dancing in his green eyes. Their outfits were matching, black loose pants and shirt; a deep plum cloak was fastened at his throat.
Swallowing hard, Nei bowed her head, rasping, “My King.”
Three hundred and sixty-five days later, she was still not used to saying those two words. Two words that chained her.
Lifting her dark gaze, she got a lifted brow in response, as Roque stepped into her office. “Are you ready? They won’t wait forever you know.”
The
