The Engineered Throne
Unbreakable Soldiers Book 1
by Megan Derr
Genre: LGBTQ Fantasy Romance
Lord Vellem is desperate to escape. His father hides from his problems in alcohol, his mother hides from her misery in drugs, and his brother fled to the relative safety of the royal palace. Vellem found solace in the Royal Army Corp of Engineers, but true escape from a life of violence remains out of reach.
Then his brother provides him with an unexpected chance: marriage to a prince of their country's oldest enemy to help bring about peace once and for all. The marriage promises Vellem not just a fresh start in a new land, but a challenge to his famed skills in building roads and bridges.
But before he can settle into his new life, tragedy strikes, and Vellem isn't certain he's up to rebuilding the ruin left in its wake.
The Painted Crown
Unbreakable Soldiers Book 2
Prince Istari has spent his life reviled: his parents wish he had never been born, the royal court of Belemere avoids him for fear of angering the king, and everyone else is kept away by his notorious reputation as a deadly sharpshooter. Now a hostage of peace in Tallideth, he is subjected to their hatred as well—even that of Regent Vellem, who once considered him a comrade in arms.
Unexpected solace comes in the form of Lord Teverem, a sad, quiet lord who assumed the title when his brother was killed in the explosion for which Istari's father is to blame. He is kind and sweet and a sorely needed bright spot in Istari's life—until Istari meets his family and learns of a dangerous family secret with unexpected ties to Istari's past, a secret that could drag Tallideth and Belemere right back into war...
The Stolen Court
Unbreakable Soldiers Book 3
Bertin is a liar and a thief. Once an orphan on the street stealing purses, his life was forever changed when he saved a boy's life—and then became that boy to the rest of the world. But one lie always leads to another, and life as a Belemeren spy planted in the Engineer Corp has led him to the role of liaison in Ruemri, a kingdom he helped Ruemri's enemies steal.
His primary duty is to watch King Sesta, which means he is himself watched by the whole of Ruemri's royal court. For a man used to being overlooked and ignored, the situation is a living nightmare. That situation is further worsened when he receives word of an unspecified terrible event that is going to take place—and then the last person he expected arrives, bringing Bertin's past and secrets with him.
EXCERPT 1:
Bertin sighed. "What do you want?"
Eldquest replied, "We were hoping for a word with you, regarding His Majesty."
"If you have a matter involving His Majesty, take it up with him. I do not speak for His Majesty. I merely aid him as he requires and liaise with the Tallidethen throne." As they damn well knew, so why were they wasting his time?
"It's nothing like that," Vry-Stone said hastily, breath misting in the morning air. She leaned forward ever so slightly, better showing off her tits in a morning gown cut more like an evening gown. Bertin didn't roll his eyes, but it was a near thing. Even if he was sexually attracted to people, her tits weren't good enough to overcome her glaring character flaws. "We were wondering about his birthday celebration, and thought you'd be the best to ask without taking up his valuable time."
He couldn't wait to see the look on Sesta's face when he recounted this conversation later. If they worried about wasting his time, Bertin was Moon-born. "His Majesty isn't interested in such things, as he's said several times already. I'm not sure why you think you'd get a different answer from me." He believed Sesta's exact words were that he would rather go back to being a slave than engage in one more detestable spectacle of debauchery like all the previous birthdays he'd been forced to endure, but that didn't precisely bear repeating.
Vry-Stone's eyes tightened, but she kept her miserable attempt at a smile in place. "He always was before. His birthdays are the talk of the town, year after year. People wait breathlessly for each one. Given all the recent upsets in the kingdom, something as familiar and welcome as a birthday party for our beloved king would be well in order. You have his ear. Convince him to change his mind."
"What in the Moons makes you think I of all people could change his mind on anything? Last I checked, even your precious Sun couldn't do that. Leaving that aside, I don't take orders from you, and you've given me no reason to indulge your requests. In the future, if you want something from me, I suggest not referring to me as dirt behind my back right before you make your request. Good day." Bertin slung his rifle over his shoulder, tucked his handguns away in their holsters, and shoved through the pair, deftly lifting a couple of pieces of jewelry in the process.
Old habits died hard and all that.
Back in the palace proper, he kept to servants' halls and lesser used hallways so nobody else would bother him about the birthday party. They only person more sick of hearing about it was Sesta. It had been everyone's favorite topic for the past month, and he was long wear of it. There were vastly more important things to worry about than how drunk everyone could get at a party none of them had to pay for.
Given the reparations and fines that Ruemri was still paying, it might behoove them to remember His Majesty didn't have nearly as much money as usual to spend, especially on such asinine frippery.
Not that it was really his problem. He was here to make certain Ruemri didn't try to go to war or start some other trouble. Whether or not they remained sober while they sulked and whined wasn't his concern.
Was one stupid party really worth all this fuss? Surely these people didn't require this one particular party to get drunk and fuck each other? They did that on a nigh-daily basis. Maybe it was one of those things that made sense to people who felt sexual attraction. Moons knew he'd seen lust cause people to do the craziest, twice-damned things. Why wouldn't it also drive them to obsess over one single party?
Ugh, it was too early in the morning for all this nonsense. He'd tell Sesta, let him deal with it, and go back to ignoring the matter as much as possible. He wasn't here to help whiny nobles; he was here to watch and assist Sesta.
EXCERPT 2
Once he was dressed in the long, sedately colored clothes favored in Ruemri, nothing at all like the shorter, brightly colored clothes of Tallideth or the somber wear of Belemere, he went to the door that connected his room to Sesta's. It was an unorthodox arrangement, but Bertin was as much bodyguard as watchdog, given the unique nature of Ruemri's new king.
Sesta's private suite was the size of a house, and lavishly decorated enough for several. Bertin had once risked his life daily for enough money to buy three-day old meat, and sometimes just bones that he and his compatriots had boiled and boiled to make a pathetic soup. On particularly bad days, he could still taste that watery broth, the stale bread they'd dunked in it after ripping off the moldy parts. The first time he'd eaten real food, he'd been violently sick afterwards. It had taken days, weeks, for him to be able to eat the way wealthy people did. Even now, the rich foods of the noble classes were sometimes too much for him.
Sesta endured no such struggle, or if he did, he was careful about not showing it. As ever, he sat at the table in his front parlor, bathed in early morning sunlight that turned his red-gold hair into a brilliant flame and his eyes into sunstruck emeralds.
His hair had already been braided and pinned for the day, a crown of fire decorated with gold and diamond beads. He was dressed in dark green with accents of black and gold, in the form of a knee-length tunic split up the sides, with a lining of white and gold that flashed when he moved. His trousers were closely fitted, with black boots nearby that he hadn't yet bothered to put on.
Sesta was more beautiful than a single person had any business being. Bertin had seen a lot of beautiful people in his life, as a thief looking for promising marks, as a false son struggling desperately to fit in, as a soldier carrying out orders, and a spy looking for secrets. Sesta left them all in the dust.
He looked up from the papers he was reading as Bertin drew close. "Good morning, darling."
Bertin ignored the endearment, as he always did, because there was nothing Sesta loved more than getting a rise out of people. Especially Bertin, or at least that was how it so often felt. He'd been doing it from the very moment they'd met, when Tallidethen forces had managed to take Sesta prisoner and everything had changed.
Because Sesta wasn't really Sesta, who'd been a cold-hearted, ruthless bastard fit to put his bloodthirsty parents to shame. No, this was really Kestel Vayne, the former harem slave and whipping boy who'd been forced to live as Sesta all his life.
After Bertin's people had killed the king and real prince, Kestel could have walked away from the whole sordid ordeal, finally a free man. Instead, he'd agreed to maintain the deception, and now was King of Ruemri, married to a princess of Tallideth he'd likely never meet, at least not for years and years, and watched over by Bertin until such time as Tallideth decided Ruemri no longer required babysitting.
The only pixie in the porridge was that the former queen had gone missing. She hadn't been in the palace upon their arrival, and as yet Bertin's resources had not been able to find her. It had, unfortunately, become a waiting game of when she would appear and what move she would make. Given all the scheming that had led to the slaughter in Tallideth, and everything after, it was a good bet that when she reappeared, a great many people would die.
Hopefully, Bertin would find her before that happened, but she was smart, crafty, and slippery. If she was anything less, they wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.
Bertin took his seat at the table and thanked the woman who brought him tea and food. Like the rest of Kestel's staff, she was more naked than not, wearing clothes of red and gold that brought out the vibrant, swirling blood-red tattoos that covered nearly every stitch of her skin.
Though technically the harems of Ruemri had been outlawed by international treaty more than a hundred years ago, it was clear Ruemri had never given a damn. They just called them 'servants,' paid them little better than nothing, and treated them the same as they always had.
Save for Kestel, who'd been one of them while also serving as the real Sesta's whipping boy. So he maintained them for the sake of appearances and trusted help in maintaining the ruse.
EXCERPT 3
Unfortunately, apprising Kestel was easier said than done, as the party was reaching its peak, and Bertin couldn't just walk up to Kestel and say 'your pretend mother is tied up in a parlor' without drawing a lot of attention. At the very least, people would notice a whole slew of guards disappearing.
When he stepped into the ballroom, he was left not quite gagging on the overwhelming combination of sweat, cologne and perfume, sex, and substances he didn't want to know too much about. Thankfully, Kestel was still sprawled on his throne, indolent, heart-achingly beautiful, and completely untouchable. What would it cost to touch the sun?
More than Bertin would ever possess, more than he could dream of possessing.
Not that he wanted to touch—he didn't. Not sexually, anyway. He just…
Oh, who knew. Not him. Most days he wanted to be able to strangle the infuriating bastard.
Shoving his rambling thoughts aside, Bertin took a deep breath of the relatively fresh air by the open door and then waded into the fray. He fought his way through the room, valiantly ignoring all the groping, fondling, and lewd suggestions spoken in roars rather than the sultry whispers the speakers were probably going for. When people got too grabby, he gave them shoves that they promptly forgot about as their crude landings gave them something new to play with.
By the time he neared the dais, he was ready to go to bed and stay there the rest of the year.
"There you are," Kestel said, unfolding sinuously from the throne and sauntering down the steps in a way that put every other effort in the room to glaring shame. "I was starting to think I'd have to dance with someone else."
"Dance? What? Did someone slip you something?" Bertin said. "No, Your Majesty, there's something important—" Bertin broke off with a grunt as he was snagged and dragged by his shirt collar to the middle of the dancefloor. Kestel offered a hand as the strains of a waltz started up, quieting the rest of the room. Well, somewhat quieting it. Hard to completely muzzle a ravening horde.
Biting back his frustration, and all the crude words he'd like to use to express it, Bertin placed his hand in Kestel's and allowed himself to be pulled into the waltz. His stupid heart pounded in his ears, and he didn't like the fluttery feeling in his chest one single bit, twice-curse his own stupidity.
Kestel, of all things, smiled. "Here I thought you'd have to be taught how to dance. Seemed like something that would not interest you and that one-track brain of yours."
"Dancing is important, even to cockroaches living in the streets," Bertin replied. "I also had a great deal to learn in order to pass as a gentleman, or at least moderately civilized. Wouldn't do for me to get caught, would it? I'd have found myself in jail, and nevermind the world of trouble it would have caused my father and the real Bertin."
"You dance far too finely for it to be that simple," Kestel said, and pulled him closer, improper and distracting. "Stop holding back, cockroach. It's all right to admit to me that you like dancing. I won't tell anyone your secret."
"Louse," Bertin retorted, hating how pleased he was that Kestel laughed.
Hating himself more for giving in and throwing himself full measure into the waltz. For letting himself forget about all the problems pressing down on them, all the threats they faced. The dance wasn't popular anymore, but back in his youth, as he learned to live a lie so well no one would ever suspect the truth, it had been the dance. His first time witnessing it, outside of lessons anyway, had been at a wedding reception. He'd been more entranced by the romanticism of the whole affair than he would ever admit.
In his weakest, most pathetic moments, he daydreamed about such things. A proposal. A marriage. Picking out what he'd wear, the colors, the flowers, the food, who they would invite, where it would take place, the music to be played… dancing that first time as a married couple, a union that was about more than money and power. Stupid, fluffy, rich people nonsense that he was usually, but not always, smart enough to waste time thinking about.
Weddings like that, romances like that, weren't for people like him. He was a spy. A thief. A watchdog. A killer. He was blessed to have all that he did and would never insult the Moons by daring to ask for more, no matter what his heart secretly wished.
So he danced with a bewitching king in the middle of a debauched masque, while spies and killers waited to be arrested down the hall, tucking the best moments away to heavily revise later in his dreams, where they'd hurt no one, not even him, because he probably wouldn't remember the stupid things when he woke.
As the waltz came to an end, a strangely intense, pensive gaze fell over Kestel's face, his beautiful eyes full of brooding as he stared at Bertin. In the weak, multi-colored light, he looked like a storybook king of myth and magic, who stole mortals away with dual-edged promises and mind-melting kisses. It wasn't fair that one person could contain so much… much.
"I don't know what thoughts filled your head, but I think I like them," Kestel murmured, and drew Bertin in close, as though for a kiss if Bertin's mask weren't in the way. "You're as far away in there as the Guardian Moon you're pretending to be."
Bertin rolled his eyes. "I'm not pretending to be anything; simply wearing what you gave me."
"What if I gave you nothing? Would you wear that?"
"Stop it," Bertin said, cheeks going hot. "No, and right now we have more important matters."
"There's that one track mind again," Kestel said with a sigh, and led him off the dance floor as the other revelers took over, dancing to a waltz far less accurate than the one they'd just finished.
EXCERPT 4
When they'd gone, Bertin gave him a look. "Why are you going to speak to them? That's a needlessly stupid risk, especially as there are plenty of highly skilled, well-paid people to do it for you."
"You can scowl and lecture all you like, but it's going to happen," Kestel replied. "I've waited a long time to put that mishtashi in her place, and no one is going to keep me away. Not even you, dear Guardian."
Bertin sighed, because how could he argue with that? In Kestel's place, he'd say the exact same thing. "What's that word you just used? I don't recognize it. Mishtashi?"
"Close. Mishchitashi. Not a 'real word' as the snobs would say. It's a unique word used mostly by concubines, part of what they call 'red cant' or 'flower cant,' depending on where you're from. So not exactly something you'd learn in the schoolroom, or even out on the streets, unless you lurk in very particular corners. It's actually a condensing of a phrase into a single word, the whole phrase being a person 'so bad even a horny corpse-fucker wouldn't touch them'."
"I see," Bertin said with a laugh. "I didn't know concubines had their own cant, though it makes sense now you've mentioned it. We had a similar phrase back home. The gangs, I mean, though it doesn't have quite your poetry. Varkinth is the word, meat scraps so putrid even the dying would refuse to eat them. I like yours better."
Kestel smiled, warm and amused, an understanding in his eyes that no one else in Bertin's world could offer. Curse the man twice.
Mercifully, before Bertin could do something stupid, though what exactly his backstabbing brain was plotting, he didn't know, a knock came at the door.
One of his bodyguards, Rellar, stepped inside and bowed. "Your Majesty, the prisoners are ready to be interviewed. They've been thoroughly secured and stripped of all weapons, but I still advise you to stay outside the bars."
"Of course, it never occurred to me to enter the cells. They can hear me just fine from the other side. Thank you for moving so quickly." Kestel rose and led the way from the room, and the bodyguards fell into place around him and Bertin as they headed through the halls, to the back of the palace, where everything grew a good deal less ornate, inhabited almost exclusively by staff. One the guards unlocked a wooden door that on its own was unremarkable, but stood out starkly even in the back of the palace because it was unpainted, reinforced with iron plating at regular intervals, and required not one but three keys. Most of the time, only the topmost lock was used, as the biggest threat in the dungeons was drunkards and the odd petty thief, but currently it took the guard posted, one of the bodyguards, and the warden to unlock the door.
Down into the dark, dank depths they went, into catacombs that had long ago been appropriated for storage, mostly of persons caught committing crimes, but there were also things far more interesting, some of which Kestel had told him about, and other things he'd only hinted at.
They entered by way of what must have once been an old entryway, into the palace from a garden or something similar. From there, they wended through ancient halls to what had once been a dining hall, or something like that anyway, long since given over to thick stone reinforced with iron, fronted by closely spaced iron bars. The whole place was rank of blood, sweat, and piss. Also illness and death, though those scents were thankfully much fainter than they'd been when he'd first arrived at the palace.
All the way at the back was still another room, locked with two keys, where especially high profile or dangerous criminals were kept, well away from the other prisoners that might be talked into doing something stupid.
Music, Music
It's not really a secret that writers rely heavily on music and other media for inspiration and motivation. Art tends toward creative feedback loops. I've had songs that inspired entire books, and I've had songs that appeared right as I got stuck and provided what I was missing and enabled me to finish a book. They can also alter a character, a scene, and more. I wouldn't be where I am without the music that kept me company at my computer, at coffee shop tables, on the bus, and all the other places where I wrote or pondered.
When I wrote The Engineered Throne I'd intended (as I so often foolishly do) for it to be a one-off. The only story in my head at the time was for Vellem, and his initial story was meant to include a dam. My entire inspiration for his story was the breaking of a dam. But as the story unfolded, the dam wound up having to go, replaced by a portion of the palace where most of the story takes place.
Readers and music inspired the two books that wound up following, The Painted Crown and The Stolen Court. So here I've listed the songs that drove this trilogy. Normally I'd make a Spotify playlist, but I'm not supporting them anymore after recent events. Instead, I'm just linking to youtube videos and everyone can pick their flavor of music site if there's a song they like. Since I'm Apple, I've also linked a playlist there.
Breath of Life by Florence + the Machines
Cut the Cord by Shinedown
State of My Head by Shinedown
One More Night by From the Ash
All Around Me by Flyleaf
The Mountain by Three Days Grace
My Fight by From Ashes to New
Iconic by Ledger
Natural by Imagine Dragon
Megan is a long-time resident of queer romance and keeps herself busy reading and writing it. She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. When she’s not involved in writing, she likes to cook, harass her wife and cats, or watch movies. She loves to hear from readers and can be found all over the internet.
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I love the cover art and the synopses and excerpt have intrigued me, this is a must read series for me. Thank you for posting about these books
ReplyDeleteThis sounds like a good series. Cool covers!
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