The Guardian Queen

Prologue

Hello Readers,

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Thank you to all who reached out to me and wished me well. I’m happy to say I have a better handle on my health, though it is a process. Your patience and understanding mean the world to me!

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I felt compelled to release this prologue as a thank you as well as a reassurance that this story IS being worked on (slowly but surely.) With so many stories on this app that have been sadly abandoned, I don’t want anyone to think the sequel to The Guardian King will never come. I am firmly committed to bringing you the conclusion you deserve.

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I am so sorry for keeping you hanging for so long. Apart from some unexpected health issues, I think I vastly underestimated the challenge of writing a series (even just a two-book series.) Having only one other book under my belt, I am still so new to the world of writing. Your kind words of encouragement have been my fuel, and I wouldn’t still be creating if not for you. You should pat yourselves on the back, knowing there would be no Guardian King or Queen if not for you … Thank you!

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Unfortunately, this will be the only chapter published for quite some time. I want to feel confident in my plot and the ending before I begin releasing this story. On a happier note, school starts in about a month, at which point I plan to dedicate as much time and love to this project as I am able. With my baby starting kindergarten, this will be a new chapter for me, and I am excited to see what I can make of it.

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Optimistically, I hope to have this completed by the end of the year. Although if I am confident in my work I could start publishing well before then (fingers crossed.)

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I hope you enjoy this taste of The Guardian Queen!

~E.K.

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P.S. A polished version of The Guardian King is available in eB00k format on a****n. And my first story, A Hand to Hold, is now available in eB00k AND paperback!

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THE GUARDIAN QUEEN

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Prologue

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~ Third-person POV

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Smoke tainted the winter wind as it swept through Ilia, swaying trees and rattling shutters. The serenity of night blanketed the guardian capital, yet at its center, inside a two-story Tudor home, the king’s advisor woke with a start. Covered in sweat and heart beating wildly, Leon Moreau fought to catch his breath. A soft hand on his shoulder caused his head to whip sideways as his wife spoke in the darkness, “Mon amour?” His hand covered hers, and she continued, “Quel est le problème?” (What’s the matter?)

*The following conversation is in French.*

“Something is wrong,” Leon replied.

“What is?”

“I’m not sure. I… I sense a great tragedy.” Suddenly alert, Ambrosia sat up in bed and asked, “Phoenix?” Brows knit in confusion, he questioned, “Why would you ask that?”

“You said his name just before you woke.” Leon considered whether his disturbance had any connection to their eight-year-old grandson.

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“Leon?” Ambrosia pressed. “Is he alright?”

“Yes… yes, he is alright,” he assured her. “Though, I fear he will never be the same.”

“I’m calling Magnolia.” She was already reaching for the phone on her night table when he stopped her. “Rosie, wait.”

“Leon, if Phoenix is in harm’s way, I want to know about it.”

“He’s not in harm’s way, love.”

“But you said—”

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The distant pounding on the front door cut off their conversation. After sparing a look at his wife, Leon tossed the covers back and threw himself out of bed. Preferring to be barefoot, he passed up his bedroom slippers but seized his dressing gown, hastily sliding his arms inside on his way downstairs.

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Moments later, Ambrosia joined her husband in the entryway just as he bid the messenger goodbye. When he faced her, his expression of utter shock struck her with dread. “Leon?” she said. “What has happened?” His sorrowful gaze met hers as he whispered, “Jonas Ellison is dead.”

“Oh, my Lord,” she breathed as her hands flew over her mouth.

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Ambrosia reached for her husband, offering comfort as she asked, “How?”

“There was a fire,” Leon answered, holding his wife close.

“An accident?”

“Unlikely.” Silence descended as they absorbed the terrible news until Leon looked at his wife and announced, “I need to see it for myself” Before she could respond, he immediately set off for their bedroom to change clothes.

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Hot on her husband’s heels, Ambrosia questioned, “Dear, I know he was your subordinate, but surely the authorities will survey the accident.”

“It was no accident!”

“Forgive me, I meant incident.” They reentered their bedroom as she continued, “What do you hope to find among the remnants of such a horrific scene?”

“The truth.”

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After dressing in a hurry and instructing his wife not to answer the phone or door to anyone in his absence, Leon rushed to his old, restored Bugatti. The garage door was still ascending when he jammed his foot down on the accelerator, resulting in a narrow miss of damage.

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Leon sped down the old forest road toward Ebony Lane. Along the way, he replayed his last conversation with Jonas repeatedly in his mind. He should have done more— he should have said more to convince him to drop the investigation. Maybe then he would still be alive.

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Chased by a growing wave of regret, Leon gripped the steering wheel tighter and pressed down harder on the gas. The car steadily picked up speed, and the royal advisor reached his destination in record time, although it made little difference. In the hour just before dawn, the flashing lights of emergency vehicles pierced the darkness and drew attention to the charred remains of the Ellison home.

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Leon’s heart was in his stomach as he parked at the far end of the driveway, apart from the other vehicles. Out of the car, he approached the building, swallowing a massive lump of remorse. As he drew near the front of the house, a young officer wearing a low-level uniform held up a hand, saying, “Sorry, sir, civilians aren’t permitted on— oh.” His expression softened, his hand fell, and he cleared his throat in embarrassment. “I beg your pardon, Lord Moreau. I didn’t realize it was you.” He promptly lifted the rope barrier, allowing Leon to pass the boundary and into the smoldering structure.

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A few seekers greeted the king’s advisor as he passed through the wreckage, but no one bothered him or inquired about his purpose there, a benefit of his position on the High Court. Leon choked on more than merely the soot-laden air. Anger, guilt, and grief also overcame him as he surveyed what was left of Jonas Ellison’s home. He always thought of him as far more than merely a skilled guardian and loyal subordinate; he considered him a friend and his heart ached for those Jonas left behind.

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Leon moved through the house on instinct, eventually stopping in what appeared to be Jonas’ study. There were no seekers in this part of the house, and Leon was grateful for the privacy, which allowed him complete concentration. When a sensation of great loss came over him, Leon knew he stood where Jonas had passed from this world to the next, though no one had informed him of such. Leon perceived many things that were beyond the reach of others. In this case, the emptiness of the room felt almost otherworldly.

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The room beckoned him in further, and Leon cautiously sidestepped debris, making his way to the opposite corner where he reverently laid his hands on Jonas’s charred desk. Then, he bowed his head, closed his eyes, and said a silent prayer for the soul of his departed friend.

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When Leon’s eyes opened and his vision refocused, he noticed something on Jonas’ desk that called to him. Beneath the soiled blotter, he could just make out the corner of a slip of paper, somehow spared of soot which covered everything else. He lifted the leather blotter and carefully pulled the page free. Leon’s heart quickened as he read the one-line message intended for him and only him based on the code that he and Jonas had painstakingly created themselves.

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Before Leon could comprehend the meaning behind Jonas’ final message, all at once, a vision overtook him. Precognition being his dominant ability, Leon knew better than to fight it but willingly submitted to his gift. When his eyes closed, he suddenly found himself on Spiritus Caeli, the highest point of Eden. A fresh sunrise cast the ancient city in a warm glow. Drawn to the peak’s edge, Leon spotted a tall, dark-haired masculine figure facing the horizon. He willed the man to turn, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face, but as always, Leon had no control or influence over what he was called to witness.

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The soft flutter of wings caught Leon’s attention, and he turned in time to observe a pure white dove glide past him, heading for the unknown man. Sensing its approach, the man turned his head and extended his right hand, offering the dove a place to land. Leon’s gaze fixed on the man’s ring, an ancient relic he’d recognize anywhere. This man was the guardian king— or, at least, a future guardian king.

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The dove began its descent and settled gently onto the king’s hand. He smiled lovingly at the docile creature as it emitted a blinding white light. Leon reflexively shielded his eyes, but the king did not react at all. He remained unsurprised and unaffected by the blast of spiritual energy as well as the transformation that followed.

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When the heavenly light waned, Leon lowered his arms and found the king unmoved. His hand, still extended, held no bird but rather the hand of a stunning young woman who smiled adoringly back at him. This mesmerizing woman possessed features that were a beautiful contrast to the king’s, from her delicate feminine curves to her waist-long blonde curls naturally highlighted with touches of copper that glistened in the rising sun. The two of them appeared as the embodiment of night and day.

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Before the vision began to fade, the king’s gaze shifted and locked on Leon. He was struck by astounding familiarity as his heart recognized the shimmering golden eyes of his descendant. Understanding that he’d been granted a glimpse of God’s greater plan, a consolation of the recent tragedy, Leon’s sorrow eased.

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As he blinked several times, the present returned to focus, and Leon took a moment to absorb his vision as well as its meaning. After reevaluating the destruction around him, he reached an unexpected yet undeniable conclusion; his grandson had somehow played a part in what happened that night, and the future he saw was the consequence of it. With nothing left to learn from the wreckage, Leon tucked Jonas’ note into his breast pocket and departed.

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A mere half-mile away, yet seemingly another world entirely, Leon parked at the curb of the Rainier home. Though the hour was very early, the front downstairs windows were aglow. As he made his way up the front steps, the sound of arguing emanated from inside. When he rapped on the door, the voices within instantly fell silent, and seconds later, the curtain covering the left sidelight parted, revealing his son-in-law. After a sharp nod of understanding, Obsidian opened the door.

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“Leon,” he was greeted by an older version of his grandson.

“Obsidian,” Leon replied as his daughter appeared beside her husband.

“Papa, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“You heard about Jonas Ellison?” Obsidian suspected.

“I did, and I’ve seen the destruction for myself.” Clearing the emotion from his throat, he added, “I need to speak with Phoenix.” His son-in-law opened the door wider, welcoming Leon into the foyer as he responded, “You’re welcome to try. But he isn’t speaking to anyone.”

“Don’t tell me you believe this nonsense that he was involved?” Magnolia questioned. Her husband interjected, “Phyneas said—”

“Phyneas is a child,” she snapped. “As is Phoenix. And they both have fantasies of heroism.”

“I’d like to speak with him alone, if I may?” Leon repeated. “I believe I can get to the bottom of things.” With a weary sigh, Magnolia gestured toward the staircase.

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Leon softly made his way to the second floor while he prayed for guidance from the Creator and the right words to speak to his beloved grandson. No one save him knew the weight of Phoenix’s newly forged path, and even he had barely scratched the surface of his grandson’s fate. Still, he knew it was now his responsibility to guide young Phoenix and prepare him to become the future king.

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At the end of the hall, Leon reached the young boy’s room. A faint glow under the door indicated he was still awake— unsurprisingly, as who could sleep after so much had transpired? With a deep breath, Leon tapped twice before turning the handle.

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Inside the room, lit by a single lamp, Leon found his grandson sitting unnaturally still on the side of his bed. Phoenix took no notice of his grandfather’s presence but stared at the floor, deep in thought. Struck by the distraught sight of his only grandchild, he struggled to recognize the king within, the strong, confident man he’d observed in the future.

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Leon suppressed the urge to question him about his actions that night. Instead, he silently shut the door behind him and calmly moved to sit beside Phoenix on the twin bed. Placing his hand on his grandson’s shoulder, he said, “There is nothing to fear, my boy. Everything is going to be alright. I am with you.”

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