Page 1 of A Match Made in Slumber

Prologue

Timeline: Two hours until the opening of the Great Midsummer Market of Everend.

Sable Citadel in Barbarian Territory

Keălhem

“Yes, sir. Understood. Right away,” the runner yelled over the vibrating drone produced by the magical catapults. Deafening echoes from missiles hurled at the fortress made the wooden platform shake with a continuous din.

The young lad scurried back towards the interior ladder, leaping down to the assault deck to deliver my orders to the troops at the eastern tower.

Peering down through the gaps between the boards, right between my feet, I exchanged a steady glance with my lieutenant, an old veteran in charge of the elite shock brigade. They stood ready on the deck below. We both knew the breach would happen tonight.

Not a moment too soon, either.

From this high-command perch towering above the enemy’s ramparts, I had a panoramic view of the entire wall line. Bathed in moonlight, the scenery looked almost serene, even poetic. That illusion, however, did not extend to the massive, iron-reinforced drawbridge. It hung suspended by chains, waiting to wreak havoc—and I, the Highest Vanguard of the Realm, would be the first one to cross it. Storming the enemy’s nest the second an opening appeared; I’d lead my men either to death or victory.

While my preference leant strongly towards the latter, I recognised the night seeped with the promise of blood and destruction. Many would fall this eve, yet a soldier didn’t flinch at death’s shadow but would instead greet her as an old companion. However the dice would be cast, after months of managing this endless siege, one part of me welcomed the impending end of the damn paperwork.

I drew in the desert air, dust coating my tongue. During my time stationed here, trying to bring this rock of a fortress to its knees in tribute to my queen, I’d learnt to ignore the scratchy throat and the chronic hoarseness of my voice. Be it the freezing chill of the northern campaigns or the relentless heat of these southern wastelands, our duty remained unchanged: to serve and withstand it all.

I squeezed the hilt of my sabre, letting myself be moored by the familiar, reassuring weight. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

Out of the stillness, a sudden gust of hot wind surged from nowhere, snapping my cloak out behind me like a taut sail. The feverish breeze picked up speed, thickening as it whipped loose dirt and ash into a frenzy, erupting into a spiralling column of dancing motes.

The violent, coiling twister darkened at the edges, closing in with a sweeping motion. As it steered directly towards my position, an absurd thought crossed my mind. Was it coming for me? Could it be a killing spell, cooked up by the infamous Barbarian Combat Mages? From a tactical viewpoint, eliminating the opposing side’s commander before the showdown made brilliant sense; I gave them that. Yet I felt no malice in the swirling air. No ill intent within it, even though it did a grand job of disorienting and blinding me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and widened my stance, bracing for impact. I waited for the whirlwind to pass, but it intensified instead. It tore at my balance and lined my mouth with sand. It encompassed and bound me, as though by a dozen invisible ropes. Swaying in the midst of it, my chest tight, I heard my men shouting, their steps banging on the deck.

I fought it at first. With all my might, too. I managed to bare my steel, only for the elements to mock my efforts. After what felt like an eternity, exhaustion came, and I could struggle no longer.

And the strangest thing of all: something told me to let go. To quit resisting. I, the one who hadn’t relinquished a single fight since the day I’d entered my initial training camp as a wee lad. But for some reason, I surrendered. Just yielded. I allowed myself to be hoisted up and carried away as a leaf in the gale, shucked from my armour. An utterly bewildering sensation washed over me—the ridiculous yet deep-bone certainty that, despite being dragged into an unknown void, I was heading home.

It Has Got To Stop

Timeline: Seven days until the opening of the Great Midsummer Market.

Everend

Elian

Strong, calloused fingers roamed the expanse of my back, their trail sending a wave of heat in their wake. He caressed me with lazy, maddening slowness, unrushed yet thorough. Even though he covered every span of my skin, neglecting nothing, the attention still felt insufficient. It still wasn’t enough. Why did he always leave me so desperate, so frantic, so starved for more?

As if he read my edginess, he plastered his chest to my spine, radiating such deep warmth it made me tremble. His hard abdominal muscles rubbed against me, stimulating me further, making me feverish and yearning. A short moan escaped me as I bucked my pelvis backwards to convey the burning sense of urgency about to consume me.

A low chuckle vibrated through his ribcage like a rumble before he began scattering kisses across my nape. What started as soft, tiny butterfly grazes soon deepened into a lethal combination of tongue and teeth.

He knew exactly how to work me.

“We have time. Don’t be so impatient,” he whispered, his breath a warm puff of air on my temple. Nuzzling my ear, he gave a light, teasing bite to its shell.

But I felt impatient. Always impatient with him. For him. Always hungry and unsated whenever he held me in his arms, whenever he—

“Ahh.” My breathing hitched, becoming erratic. My skin felt taut. Scorching. I buzzed with an electric friction. I needed more, more of him and I needed it right away.

His hands anchored my hips as he nipped the side of my neck. Without warning, he flipped me around, landing me beneath him in a chaotic heap of sheets.

I gasped. I loved the ease with which he manhandled me as if I were weightless. Wide and solid, he loomed over me, the sculpted symmetry of his body casting a shadow across my vision. Even if I tried, I couldn’t see anything but him. His pale, ash-blond hair fell loose, cascading over my shoulders like a silken net, as if tying me to him for eternity and claiming me entirely.