“Angels, demons and romance… YES!” – C.S., Amazon
“So addicting! Highly recommend!” – Diary Of A Wannabe Writer
“I. LOVE. LINCOLN.” – Antonella’s Book World
Someone is making life hell for our favorite royal couple, Lincoln and Myla. Natural disasters have the after-realms falling apart. Humans are going to war left and right. And the hottest couple ever can’t find two minutes alone. Sheesh.
The problem? Lincoln’s evil brother.
Yes, you read that right. Brother.
Turns out, Lincoln’s father was a busy guy in his youth… and now Connor’s secret son, Truman, wants his share of the throne. Even worse, Truman is as awful as Lincoln is noble. When it comes to claiming royal power, nothing stands in Truman’s way. Sure, Lincoln is tied by angelic blood to his half brother. But will that connection link them together… or ultimately tear the after-realms apart?
Angelbound Lincoln Series
Stories from the perspective of Mister the Prince
1. Duty Bound
Perfect for teen and young adult readers who want their book series to deliver: badass world building, angels, demons, paranormal romance, fresh themes from contemporary fiction, LOL romantic comedy, gods and goddesses, dark fantasy, strong girls and women as heroines, themes about loners and outcasts, the best laughs in humorous literature, general coming of age whackery, and (most importantly) truly unusual epic fantasy.
With every step, the noises from the Silver Meal Hall grow louder. My pulse speeds. The entrance to the hall is a wide archway. If we stand on the far-left side, we can see into the chamber without exposing our position. From this spot, Myla and I wait and watch.
The Silver Mead Hall is a long and rectangular room. Hundreds of silver shields decorate the walls. Long wooden tables line the floor. The focal point of the room is a heath on the far side. While most of the chamber is empty, the tables by the fireplace are packed. Nobles sit jammed onto the benches. The tabletop overflows with flagons of mead.
Father stands before the fireplace. At one point, he must have been fully dressed in his royal outfit. My guess is that he’s taken off his tunic and chain mail. Now, father wears a long undershirt, saggy leather pants and his silver crown. He wobbles as he raises a flagon of mead, making liquid slosh onto the floor.
“Who are all the blue shirts?” whispers Myla.
I reply in a voice only she can hear. “Blue and gold is the color of an obscura thrax. They have no house yet. This might be a mixer party so the new thrax can make a selection.”
Myla frowns. “But we get reports on all new thrax. There haven’t been any in months.”
Connor raises his mug again. More liquid sloshes onto the floor. “Brothers and Sisters! I’m here because nothing more important than family. That’s how we survive, right? Thrax stick together.”
The nobles all pound their respective tables with their fists. Others stomp their feet.
Connor lifts his drink to his lips. “Empty! How am I out of mead?”
The obvious answer is that Connor is standing in a puddle that was once his drink. But no one here says the obvious answer. I scan the nobles. Everyone’s back is to me, so I can’t see much. Even so, I know one thing for certain. Mother isn’t here.
A servant comes by to replenish Father’s drink. “Much better, thank you.” He takes a big swing from the cup. “Allow me to toast our newest addition… the reason we’re all celebrating today…”
Myla takes my hand in hers. Father should be toasting the arrival of his grandson. Our child will one day become the Great Scala. He’ll have powers across the after-realms. Myla’s skin is cold. So is mine. We both suspect the truth.
If Father were going to celebrate baby Maxon, he would have done so by now to our faces.
Still, I can’t avoid the spark of hope that lights in my chest. I recall that day so many years ago when I stood onstage at the Achilles Festival. I saw a loving couple who were expecting a child. At the time, I never thought i’d experience that. Yet, here I am. Surely, there’s a universe in which father is happy for me, even if he expresses that joy behind my back.
Father gulps down more mead. “Please join me in toasting my beloved son…”
Everyone stands and raises their own flagon.
“Truman!” cries Father.
One of the obscura thrax steps up from the nearest mead table. He wears a tunic of blue and gold. In our portrait gallery, there’s a painting of Connor on his twenty-first birthday. He’s burly and tall with blonde hair and mismatched eyes. This Truman fellow is like that painting has come to life again.
“Thank you, oh gracious king.” Truman wraps his arms around Connor.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Father.”
Christina Bauer thinks that fantasy books are like bacon: they just make life better. All of which is why she writes romance novels that feature demons, dragons, wizards, witches, elves, elementals, and a bunch of random stuff that she brainstorms while riding the Boston T. Oh, and she includes lots of humor and kick-ass chicks, too.
Christina graduated from Syracuse University’s Newhouse School with BA’s in English along with Television, Radio, and Film Production. She lives in Newton, MA with her husband, son, and semi-insane golden retriever, Ruby.
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