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A GIRL OF WHITE
WINTER
WINTER
A Dark Glass Novel
Book #3
Book #3
by
Barb Hendee
Barb Hendee
Genre: Historical Fantasy
Pub
Date: 8/7/2018
Date: 8/7/2018
Kara, as a ward with
no parentage and no future, has been raised knowing nothing outside
her lady’s chambers. Until Royce Capello, a visiting nobleman, is
struck by her ice-pale looks, and demands her as payment for the land
the family needs.
no parentage and no future, has been raised knowing nothing outside
her lady’s chambers. Until Royce Capello, a visiting nobleman, is
struck by her ice-pale looks, and demands her as payment for the land
the family needs.
With barely time to
protest, Kara is sold and packed off for a life as a concubine—until
a raiding party descends on Royce’s company and she’s kidnapped
for the second time in as many days.
protest, Kara is sold and packed off for a life as a concubine—until
a raiding party descends on Royce’s company and she’s kidnapped
for the second time in as many days.
Whatever happens,
Kara will be alone in the world, inexperienced and fearing even the
vast unfamiliar sky. But one raider gives her a choice—and a magic
mirror appears to show her where each path will lead…
Kara will be alone in the world, inexperienced and fearing even the
vast unfamiliar sky. But one raider gives her a choice—and a magic
mirror appears to show her where each path will lead…
She can leave with
her protector Raven and journey with his performing troupe, competing
for his mercurial affections.
her protector Raven and journey with his performing troupe, competing
for his mercurial affections.
She can flee the
raiders’ settlement, and return to Royce’s manor, chattel among
devious nobility.
raiders’ settlement, and return to Royce’s manor, chattel among
devious nobility.
Or she can stay in
the settlement, bound to firm, silent Caine, who is as gentle as he
is staid and inscrutable.
the settlement, bound to firm, silent Caine, who is as gentle as he
is staid and inscrutable.
Her fates twist and
turn to affect far more than she could have guessed, tangling the
bitter with the sweet—and Kara must choose which consequences she
can live with…
turn to affect far more than she could have guessed, tangling the
bitter with the sweet—and Kara must choose which consequences she
can live with…
A CHOICE OF
CROWNS
CROWNS
A Dark Glass Novel Book #2
Olivia Geroux knew
her king was reluctant to marry her, whatever the negotiations had
arranged. But she never expected to find handsome, arrogant King
Rowan obsessed with his stepsister instead. And before she can
determine what course to take, she overhears her greatest ally
plotting to murder the princess.
her king was reluctant to marry her, whatever the negotiations had
arranged. But she never expected to find handsome, arrogant King
Rowan obsessed with his stepsister instead. And before she can
determine what course to take, she overhears her greatest ally
plotting to murder the princess.
Olivia must act
quickly—and live with whatever chaos results. As the assassin hunts
his prey, a magic mirror appears to show Olivia the three paths that
open before her . . .
quickly—and live with whatever chaos results. As the assassin hunts
his prey, a magic mirror appears to show Olivia the three paths that
open before her . . .
If she hesitates
only a moment, the princess will die—and she will become queen.
only a moment, the princess will die—and she will become queen.
If she calls for
help, she will gain great power—but she must also thrust away her
own happiness.
help, she will gain great power—but she must also thrust away her
own happiness.
If she runs to stop
the murder herself, she will know love and contentment—but her
whole country will suffer.
the murder herself, she will know love and contentment—but her
whole country will suffer.
As she lives out
each path, her wits and courage will be tested as she fights to
protect her people, her friends, and her heart. And deciding which to
follow will be far from easy . . .
each path, her wits and courage will be tested as she fights to
protect her people, her friends, and her heart. And deciding which to
follow will be far from easy . . .
THROUGH A DARK
GLASS
GLASS
A
Dark Glass Novel Book 1
Dark Glass Novel Book 1
On her seventeenth
birthday, Megan of Chaumont discovers she’ll be sold as a bride to
the brutish Volodane family—within hours. Her father grants only
that she may choose which one of the ruthless, grasping lord’s three
sons she weds:
birthday, Megan of Chaumont discovers she’ll be sold as a bride to
the brutish Volodane family—within hours. Her father grants only
that she may choose which one of the ruthless, grasping lord’s three
sons she weds:
Rolf, the eldest:
stern, ambitious, and loyal?
stern, ambitious, and loyal?
Sebastian, the
second son: sympathetic, sly, and rebellious?
second son: sympathetic, sly, and rebellious?
Or Kai, the
youngest: bitter, brooding, and proud?
youngest: bitter, brooding, and proud?
As shy, horrified
Megan flees the welcome dinner for her in-laws-to-be, she finds an
enchanted mirror that will display how her life unrolls with each
man, as if she were living it out in a breath. But there is no smooth
“happily ever after” in her choices.
Megan flees the welcome dinner for her in-laws-to-be, she finds an
enchanted mirror that will display how her life unrolls with each
man, as if she were living it out in a breath. But there is no smooth
“happily ever after” in her choices.
Deaths and honors,
joys and agonies, intrigues and escapes await her in a remote,
ramshackle keep, where these rough but complex men reveal one side
and then another of their jagged characters—and bring forth new
aspects of Megan, too. But the decisions of one teenaged
marriage-pawn reverberate much farther than any of them have guessed
. . .
joys and agonies, intrigues and escapes await her in a remote,
ramshackle keep, where these rough but complex men reveal one side
and then another of their jagged characters—and bring forth new
aspects of Megan, too. But the decisions of one teenaged
marriage-pawn reverberate much farther than any of them have guessed
. . .
Barb Hendee is
the New York Times bestselling author of The Mist-Torn Witches
series. She is the co-author (with husband J.C.) of the Noble Dead
Saga. She holds a master’s degree in composition/rhetoric from the
University of Idaho and currently teaches writing for Umpqua
Community College. She and J.C. live in a quirky two-level townhouse
just south of Portland, Oregon.
the New York Times bestselling author of The Mist-Torn Witches
series. She is the co-author (with husband J.C.) of the Noble Dead
Saga. She holds a master’s degree in composition/rhetoric from the
University of Idaho and currently teaches writing for Umpqua
Community College. She and J.C. live in a quirky two-level townhouse
just south of Portland, Oregon.
( A Choice of Crowns Excerpt)
I’ve heard it said the most important moments in one’s life pass more swiftly than others.
Perhaps it’s true.
I only know that all my senses were on alert as soon as my father sent for me, asking me to
come to his private rooms. Eighteen years old, I’d never once been invited to his rooms. In the past
several weeks, he’d been closeted away much of the time, sending and receiving messages, but I had no
idea what this was about—as he didn’t see fit to share such intelligence with me.
Now…he wanted to see me, in his rooms?
I could hardly refuse, nor in fact did I want to. I was curious.
Gathering my long green skirt, I nodded curtly to the servant who’d delivered the message and
made my way to the base of the east tower of our family keep. I knew exactly where his rooms were
located, even if I’d never been inside.
Upon arriving, I stood with my back straight and knocked on the door.
“Father? You sent for me.”
“Come,” he said from the other side.
With my hand shaking only slightly, I opened the door. Inside, I found a somewhat austere main
room that appeared to be a study, with a large desk and chair. There were tapestries of forest scenes on
the walls, and an interior door led to a bedroom.
My father, Hugh Géroux, sat behind his desk working on what appeared to be a letter, but he
stood as I entered. In his early fifties, he still cut a striking figure, with a smooth-shaven face, dark hair
with a sprinkling of gray, and dark eyes.
“Olivia,” he said, as if meeting me for the first time.
We didn’t know each other well, as I was the fifth and youngest of his children. I had two older
brothers and two older sisters, and my father had used all four of them carefully to enhance his own
wealth and prestige. My mother died of a fever when I was only seven, so my father raised us alone in a
manner that was both distant and overbearing at the same time.
My family, the line of Géroux, was among the old nobility of the kingdom. While past famines
and civil wars had destroyed several of the ancient families, ours survived. We were survivors. My father
respected strength and nothing else.
His eyes moved dispassionately from my feet to my face, as if assessing me. I knew only too well
what he saw. I was tall for a woman. He was tall, and I could almost look him directly in the eyes.
Unfortunately, the current fashion for women was petite and fragile. My hair was long and thick, but it
was a shade of burnished red, and again, red hair was not currently in fashion.
Still, I’d been raised to remain sharply aware of everything going on around me, and it was no
secret that most men found me desirable. My face had often been called pretty, with clear skin and
slanted eyes of green. I looked best in green velvet.Though I was not vain, I had also been raised to understand that survival was based on value,
and at some point, I’d be given a chance to prove myself valuable. Had that chance finally come?
“You’ll need to pack tonight,” he said. “You leave for Partheney in the morning.”
In spite of my careful awareness of self-control, I nearly gasped. “Partheney?”
This was the king’s city. My family’s lands were in the southeast corner of the kingdom.
Partheney was in the northwest, near the coast of the sea. I had never been there.
“You’re to marry King Rowan,” my father said flatly. “His mother, the dowager queen, and I have
arranged it.”
I stood still as his words began to sink in, but I still couldn’t quite follow what he was trying to
convey. “King Rowan…the dowager queen…is this why you’ve been receiving so many messages?”
His eyes flashed, and I dropped my gaze, cursing myself. Father did not brook questions from his
children. He expected only two things from us: strength and obedience. But the slight shaking in my
hands grew to a tremble. Had I heard him correctly? I was to marry the king?
Stepping around the desk, he approached me. “Do you know anything of the rumors
surrounding King Rowan?”
Unfortunately, I did, hence the reason my hands trembled. Even here, in the isolated southeast,
rumors still reached us. In his late twenties, Rowan de Blaise was a young king and had held the throne
for only two years. But over those two years, four betrothals with foreign princesses had been arranged
via proxy. Envoys had been sent to Partheney to finalize negotiations. In all four cases, when the envoys
arrived, Rowan refused to even see them. He’d sent them away.
“I know some of the stories,” I answered my father. “I know betrothals have been arranged, and
he’s sent the envoys packing.”
“Yes.” My father nodded. “His mother, the dowager, was the one who arranged the betrothals.
She is anxious to see him married and founding a line of heirs.”
“Why will he not marry?”
My father waved one hand in the air. “That is of no matter. What matters is, the dowager has
decided to stop seeking a foreign princess and marry him into one of our own noble families. She’s wise
and has chosen the line of Géroux. We’ll be linked to royalty, and I’ll be the grandfather of kings.”
The truth of all this hit me, and my hands ceased trembling. I would be queen.
Clearly there were obstacles, but I allowed my initial worries to vanish and let my mind flow.
Father expected complete success from himself and would expect nothing less of me. This thought
made me brave. “If Rowan has refused to even see the envoys,” I began, “what makes you and the
dowager think he will agree to entertain negotiations this time?”
My question was bold, but instead of growing angry, Father only looked at me as if I were
simple—which I was not.“Because as I said, you will leave in the morning,” he answered. “I’m not sending envoys. I have
no faith in envoys. I’m sending you. You’ll go to the castle, meet the king, and handle negotiations
yourself. You are a daughter of the Géroux. He cannot turn you away.”
“You’ll not come with me?”
“No. That was my first instinct, but the dowager believes it best if the king is given no choice in
facing you directly. It will force him to be…polite.” His expression darkened. “And you will not fail to
secure him. Do you understand? You will not fail.”
I met his eyes without flinching.
“I understand.”
Perhaps it’s true.
I only know that all my senses were on alert as soon as my father sent for me, asking me to
come to his private rooms. Eighteen years old, I’d never once been invited to his rooms. In the past
several weeks, he’d been closeted away much of the time, sending and receiving messages, but I had no
idea what this was about—as he didn’t see fit to share such intelligence with me.
Now…he wanted to see me, in his rooms?
I could hardly refuse, nor in fact did I want to. I was curious.
Gathering my long green skirt, I nodded curtly to the servant who’d delivered the message and
made my way to the base of the east tower of our family keep. I knew exactly where his rooms were
located, even if I’d never been inside.
Upon arriving, I stood with my back straight and knocked on the door.
“Father? You sent for me.”
“Come,” he said from the other side.
With my hand shaking only slightly, I opened the door. Inside, I found a somewhat austere main
room that appeared to be a study, with a large desk and chair. There were tapestries of forest scenes on
the walls, and an interior door led to a bedroom.
My father, Hugh Géroux, sat behind his desk working on what appeared to be a letter, but he
stood as I entered. In his early fifties, he still cut a striking figure, with a smooth-shaven face, dark hair
with a sprinkling of gray, and dark eyes.
“Olivia,” he said, as if meeting me for the first time.
We didn’t know each other well, as I was the fifth and youngest of his children. I had two older
brothers and two older sisters, and my father had used all four of them carefully to enhance his own
wealth and prestige. My mother died of a fever when I was only seven, so my father raised us alone in a
manner that was both distant and overbearing at the same time.
My family, the line of Géroux, was among the old nobility of the kingdom. While past famines
and civil wars had destroyed several of the ancient families, ours survived. We were survivors. My father
respected strength and nothing else.
His eyes moved dispassionately from my feet to my face, as if assessing me. I knew only too well
what he saw. I was tall for a woman. He was tall, and I could almost look him directly in the eyes.
Unfortunately, the current fashion for women was petite and fragile. My hair was long and thick, but it
was a shade of burnished red, and again, red hair was not currently in fashion.
Still, I’d been raised to remain sharply aware of everything going on around me, and it was no
secret that most men found me desirable. My face had often been called pretty, with clear skin and
slanted eyes of green. I looked best in green velvet.Though I was not vain, I had also been raised to understand that survival was based on value,
and at some point, I’d be given a chance to prove myself valuable. Had that chance finally come?
“You’ll need to pack tonight,” he said. “You leave for Partheney in the morning.”
In spite of my careful awareness of self-control, I nearly gasped. “Partheney?”
This was the king’s city. My family’s lands were in the southeast corner of the kingdom.
Partheney was in the northwest, near the coast of the sea. I had never been there.
“You’re to marry King Rowan,” my father said flatly. “His mother, the dowager queen, and I have
arranged it.”
I stood still as his words began to sink in, but I still couldn’t quite follow what he was trying to
convey. “King Rowan…the dowager queen…is this why you’ve been receiving so many messages?”
His eyes flashed, and I dropped my gaze, cursing myself. Father did not brook questions from his
children. He expected only two things from us: strength and obedience. But the slight shaking in my
hands grew to a tremble. Had I heard him correctly? I was to marry the king?
Stepping around the desk, he approached me. “Do you know anything of the rumors
surrounding King Rowan?”
Unfortunately, I did, hence the reason my hands trembled. Even here, in the isolated southeast,
rumors still reached us. In his late twenties, Rowan de Blaise was a young king and had held the throne
for only two years. But over those two years, four betrothals with foreign princesses had been arranged
via proxy. Envoys had been sent to Partheney to finalize negotiations. In all four cases, when the envoys
arrived, Rowan refused to even see them. He’d sent them away.
“I know some of the stories,” I answered my father. “I know betrothals have been arranged, and
he’s sent the envoys packing.”
“Yes.” My father nodded. “His mother, the dowager, was the one who arranged the betrothals.
She is anxious to see him married and founding a line of heirs.”
“Why will he not marry?”
My father waved one hand in the air. “That is of no matter. What matters is, the dowager has
decided to stop seeking a foreign princess and marry him into one of our own noble families. She’s wise
and has chosen the line of Géroux. We’ll be linked to royalty, and I’ll be the grandfather of kings.”
The truth of all this hit me, and my hands ceased trembling. I would be queen.
Clearly there were obstacles, but I allowed my initial worries to vanish and let my mind flow.
Father expected complete success from himself and would expect nothing less of me. This thought
made me brave. “If Rowan has refused to even see the envoys,” I began, “what makes you and the
dowager think he will agree to entertain negotiations this time?”
My question was bold, but instead of growing angry, Father only looked at me as if I were
simple—which I was not.“Because as I said, you will leave in the morning,” he answered. “I’m not sending envoys. I have
no faith in envoys. I’m sending you. You’ll go to the castle, meet the king, and handle negotiations
yourself. You are a daughter of the Géroux. He cannot turn you away.”
“You’ll not come with me?”
“No. That was my first instinct, but the dowager believes it best if the king is given no choice in
facing you directly. It will force him to be…polite.” His expression darkened. “And you will not fail to
secure him. Do you understand? You will not fail.”
I met his eyes without flinching.
“I understand.”
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