Prince of Dreams
“House of Terriot” Book 4
Prologue
What the hell?
Kip Terriot stared, open-mouthed, as his half-brother Michael slipped weighed bars into his sparring gloves. “What are you doing?” he whispered, casting a frantic glance toward the others to make sure the move hadn’t been seen.
“Evening the odds.” Michael shrugged in his own defense. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted to take Daddy’s favorite down a peg.”
Kip followed Michael’s glare across the court floor where their older brother limbered up with precise movements. Cale Terriot was what the other eleven young princes of the shapeshifter House of Terriot aspired to be, a lethal, undefeatable force of nature, the kind that burned through their mountain compound on Lake Tahoe like an unquenchable forest fire, leaving behind only ash. He was the impossible bar their father set to take their measure.
Before Kip could catch him, Michael strode out to square off in this latest competition to earn their king’s miserly praise. One that could easily turn deadly.
Time for action ticking away, eleven-year-old Kip stood frozen in indecision. How could he pick between his best and only friend and his idol, knowing the consequences?
Do something! This isn’t right!
Bram waved them to begin, and it was too late.
Cale’s speed and skill delayed the inevitable end but Michael patiently waited for his moment. On the sidelines, Kip worried his lip, his heart and head at war until finally pushed to take a step forward, just as that well-placed blow landed.
Cale’s fall to the floor seemed to take half a lifetime.
A stunned hush settled over the gathering of Bram Terriot’s sons, that suspended inhale lasting until their brutal king began to applaud from the empty gallery.
“Well done, Michael.”
At that first-time laud for the twelve-year-old victor, Kip’s moment to come clean vanished.
Cale shook himself back to his senses and staggered to his feet, jaw already ballooning from the surprising impact. With a conceding nod to his opponent, he bowed his head to his king, shoulders tense in anticipation.
“You’ve disgraced yourself,” Bram drawled out like thunder, “allowing a boy almost half your age to make a fool of you. Prepare.” He stood, a terrifying giant, immediately bringing his sons to line up below him, each taking a knee, more from fear than respect, heads bowed until their king was gone. Then, while the older males goaded a stoic Cale, Michael returned for his jacket, meeting Kip’s scowl without a trace of remorse.
“Tell him,” the youngest prince insisted, “before it’s too late.”
“Hell no!”
Kip gripped Michael’s arm. “You know what he’ll do.” Just the thought of their king’s displeasure chilled his blood. He nodded toward the defeated figure heading for the showers. “He’s our brother. He doesn’t deserve that.”
“And we do?” Michael jerked away. “I’m not taking a beating just because you developed a conscience. You’re so concerned, you go tattle to Bram the Beast. What do you think he’d despise more, my cheating or your squealing?”
Michael joined the group waiting to congratulate him on the unprecedented defeat. Kip stayed silent. Bram wouldn’t fault Michael for doing what it took to take down a mightier foe. In fact, he’d applaud the treachery.
Kip took his time making his way to the locker room, unwilling to bump elbows with the gloating Michael and the rest of his blood-thirsty kin. He threw gloves and pads into his locker with a satisfying clatter, frustrated, angry with both his friend and himself. But mostly at himself for his cowardice.
He’d finished dressing by the time the shower shut off. As Cale moved past him wearing just a towel about his hips, Kip studied his brother’s bare back and the network of scars scored into it as a testament to their father’s temper. Kip’s failure to act would add to that cruel design.
“He cheated.” The words blurted out.
Cale paused and turned back, a twist of a smile on his misshapen face. “I know. There’s no way Mikey could have packed a punch like that.”
“I should have said something, but I . . .”
Cale raised a hand to stop him. “Did the right thing,” he concluded. “Why take on troubles that aren’t yours?”
“Because it wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair.”
“Not much is, brother. Get used to it.”
Kip refuted his grim philosophy. “I don’t want to get used to it. I’ll go to our king and . . .”
“Make it worse? No, thank you.” Cale’s hand fell upon the slumped shoulder, providing a firm squeeze. “But I appreciate the offer. No need for you to share my bad luck. I’ll be more careful around Michael next time. I underestimated him.” His gaze narrowed, bemused and thoughtful. “And you, apparently.”
Something in that look had Kip standing taller. “Me?”
“Not all warriors fight with cunning and brute strength. A wise king looks for those with brains, not just brawn. For those with the wisdom and compassion to speak up instead of blindly following.”
Kip stared at him, clueless. So, Cale spelled out in a low, compelling voice.
“You’ll stand beside me, brother, when I wear the crown.”
PRINCE OF DREAMS
Concluding book in the “House of Terriot” Series
Coming in 2018