The Gargoyle King

Copyright © 2022 Christina Dutch All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review. Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9874136-0-9 Ebook (Kindle) ISBN: 979-8-9874136-1-6 Permission to use material from other works Fiona Jayde Media for cover design and images Hina at Faemance for editing and proofreading BkinkyK for images online Printed in United States of America Visit www.christinadutchauthor.com To Cindy Tanner, who helped me learn the ropes when I was lost To Shirley D and Katie M, who saw my potential and pushed me when I wanted to give up And to my mother-in-law, who loved smutty romance novels with hunky men as much as any girl Trigger Warnings Assault Attempted Murder Blood Death Decapitation Emotional/Domestic Abuse (not from male lead) Murder Torture Stalking Harassment Violence War Talk of Suicide Table of Contents Trigger Warnings Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Epilogue About the Author Chapter One Ragnar Were the rotting trees and dust-covered fields a taunt? A challenge? A mysterious enemy was in Ragnar’s lands, once luscious in greenery and bright flowers but now desolate. Fire scorched the earth black in foreign patterns, ensuring life would never grow there again. “The dwarves were right, sire,” his advisor, Hadrian, said crisply. Ragnar’s clawed hand grazed the ashes and balled in anger. “It looks like the work of a sorcerer,” General Nero said, walking along the symbol. He was his most trusted general. “Have you seen these markings before?” Ragnar questioned the two. Both had plenty of experience on the battlefield. Nero, however, was an expert in the shadows. Nothing ever got past him. “There have been similar ones in the southern kingdom, my Lord. Witches used them to target which towns were next to be attacked during the war,” Hadrian answered. Nero stayed silent, his eyes never straying. The leather wings on his back itched to expand while a curse echoed in his mind. He would be damned if his gargoyle brethren were harmed in another revenge plot. The witches had surprised him once, and that was the only opportunity he would allow them. Dimly lit golden layered triangles inscribed on the palm of his hand. A cool wind answered his call, gently blowing against the destroyed grass and soothing the pain his land felt. “And you, Hadrian, were questioning our King when he wanted to investigate.” Nero’s scarlet eyes pinned their comrade suspiciously. “Tell me, has Harold conditioned you to question all of our King’s orders?” “Leave my father out of this,” Hadrian seethed, his golden eyes narrowing angrily in return, his claws flexing against the metal hilt of his sword. The horns that grew from his forehead flickered like lightning against the sun, and his pointed ears twitched. The smirk on Nero’s full lips was small yet threatening. Flames radiated from his dark granite skin, making the long black hairs around his crown float. The hostility made the runes against their gray skin glow, Nero’s golden like the sun and Hadrian’s navy as the night sky. Were they not careful, then the lightning and fire they controlled would destroy what little evidence they had. Ragnar remained calm. While Hadrian had served him well in the Great War, it did not dismiss the fact that he was his enemy’s son. Until Harold could finally be dealt with, Hadrian could not be fully trusted. On the battlefield, he had covered his back and ensured many victories against any who dared threaten him. Had supplies or weapons been broken or scarce, Hadrian would find a solution. He was an excellent strategist when it mattered until they returned home to Herrlof. It was at home that his father manipulated his every word and action. Hadrian had political and battle prowess. As much as he did not desire it, he needed him for his knowledge and as a tool to keep tabs on his father. If only he could meet Harold on a battlefield and slaughter him as he did the orcs, demons, and magick folk. He was a traitor, and traitors deserved to have their corpses quartered and emptied of blood, among others. He would keep his head on the best pike he could find. It would go beautifully next to the others who dared to defy him when he took his throne. Hadrian argued vehemently with Nero. Hadrian seemed honest, but there was always a possibility that he could easily stab him in the back when he least suspected. When Hadrian yanked his blade from his scabbard, Ragnar intervened. “Enough!” Ragnar commanded. The two froze, then bowed at the hip. The sooner this investigation could begin, the sooner he could calm his headache back at the castle. “The dwarves told me there were missing gems. Hadrian, find the center of these burns. If you see any stones, do not touch them. Nero, take to the skies. These markings are fresh, and I want to know if our guest has taken shelter nearby.” Someone was clearly looking for something and had been camping on his land for some time. Every step he took brushed the ash further into the area. Soon, the intended message would be lost. Danger. Eyes bore against his head. His lungs and stomach constricted. This was the same feeling he had when an enemy thought they had him cornered. “How could someone have been here for so long without my knowledge?” Ragnar asked. Nero had never missed a threat. Not in