Only one week until THE PRINCE’S HEIR releases #EpicFantasy

I’m genuinely, truly excited about this one. It’s the first time I’ve completed a series, and from being daunted by the challenge of having to wrap up all the threads in satisfying ways, I’m chuffed with how it’s turned out – huge thanks to my subconscious, which somehow came up with all the answers!

It’s been a terrific learning experience in trusting my creativity, and I can’t wait to start on the next lot!

Of course, I will need to, as I have my commissioned dressage text book to produce next, but I’m making plenty of notes on the next Five Kingdoms sequence.

I thought I’d share one more excerpt with you from Prince’s Heir – this one from the beginning of the climax scene.

Excerpt

The crowd’s restlessness escalated. People bumped into Rustam from all sides, jostling him and blocking his view of the dais. The noise level rose until individual words blended in a confused and angry roar. Rustam elbowed those nearest him, shoving and bludgeoning his way towards the front, desperate to reach Freskin’s captives before the madman did something drastic.

Shouted orders vanished into the rising cacophony. Rustam had a brief view of two soldiers, swords drawn and pointed at the row of white-clad priests that had formed up before the dais. He tried to yell a warning though he knew it had no chance of being heard.

A bolt of lightning cracked across the main hall. It split into jagged forks to strike both troopers, lighting them up like candles. Hysterical screams from the nearest nobles were accompanied by the appalling stench of charred flesh. Panic ignited the throng. Like a terrified herd of horses, nobles and commoners alike bolted for the exits.

Carried along against his will, Rustam was buffeted from all sides in the stampede. The stench of fear clogged his nostrils, his skin burned with the heat of so many tightly packed bodies, and he gained bruises with each breath. Elbows dug into his ribs while nails clawed at his hair and clothing as people struggled to climb over each other in their bid for escape.

More iridescent flares, underscored by the clash of steel, amplified the pandemonium. The tumultuous, unstoppable tide of bodies became a flood. People fell and disappeared beneath the feet of others. Rustam knew if he fell, he’d die. He allowed himself to be swept along, stumbling and clutching at his neighbours in his efforts to remain on his feet. When the stream divided around a broad column, he ducked into the meagre shelter at its rear and plastered his back against the cold marble. His trembling knees almost gave way as he sucked deep breaths to replenish the air forced from his lungs by the crush.