Ghost Story

By Lily Hargrave

Lord Atulin is not impressed with his castle– it's gone and decided to look like the setting of some ghost story just when he's due to meet the man he's negotiating a marriage with. His night doesn't get better from there.

Something malicious is stalking his castle, and suddenly, he's keeping himself, his guest and his household alive through the night– and hopefully, his marriage prospects, too.

 

Horror. Gay romance. And a little sass. A novella-sized treat for your Halloween.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Unicorn Press
• Release date: Oct 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386097686

Lily Hargrave

Lily Hargrave writes action-packed romance in far-flung, fantastic worlds. Besides spinning an epic tale, she is also passionate about portraying underrepresented genders and sexualities. Lily holds a Master’s Degree in English Literature from a fancy university, too, which doesn’t help with writing as much as you’d think, but has taught her about the power of the written word. When she isn’t writing, Lily loves gardening, horse-back riding and hiking-- sadly, she has yet to encounter any dragons or unicorns, however. She currently resides in Ireland, but dreams of living with her boifriend in Canada. Sign up for new release notifications on her website!

Book preview

I

It was a dark and stormy night.

No, really, it was.

Oh for fuck’s sake! Nyciel Atulin, Lord of Eldar Castle, said.

His castle was having him on. Or was it the weather? The entire damn scenery? Scudding clouds, flickering sheet lightning around the towers, the roar of the sea down the cliff– yes, it was like the entirety of his normally peaceful, scenic, one might say bucolic property had gotten together to mess with him on this particular night.

Because of course.

Of course His Royal Highness Prince Lios was arriving today. Had been supposed to arrive this afternoon, when it was sunny and the wild flowers were bobbing in the breeze and the ocean was big and blue and dazzling. But, no– the train was late, his driver reported from the station, very late, a storm somewhere down south, trees on the tracks, that sort of thing.

And now the storm was here. And so was the prince. He could hear the clatter of carriage wheels in the courtyard, the whinny of nervous horses.

With a sigh, he rose, straightened vest and jabot, tried to brush the creases out of his breeches– yeah, that was a lost cause, he’d been sitting at his desk for hours. And he didn’t have time to go change. So he grabbed his candle and headed for the stairs, to meet the man he was hoping to marry– while everything around him seemed determined to trounce his first impression.

As far as first impressions went, Prince Lios certainly knew how to make them. Sharp, sleek, with a powder blue jacket that complimented his eyes even in the flickering light of the entrance hall, and brown breeches that called golden highlights into his chestnut hair... well, Atulin wouldn’t object to sharing the marriage bed with him. That hair curled around his collar, and his rich mouth curved into a wry little smile as he shook Atulin’s hand. His grip was firm, his gloves fashionable, and Atulin would’ve preferred if they didn’t exist, along with his own, because those were some long, elegant fingers.

My Lord Atulin, the prince purred– maybe not on purpose, but his voice had that suave, smooth timbre that Atulin never managed. Please excuse my tardiness.

Your Highness. As per usual, Atulin sounded gruff to his own ears. Please excuse my house. It’s decided to impersonate the setting of every ghost story ever told.

The prince laughed, warm and intoxicating as honey wine, a flash of white teeth, a wicked crinkle to the corners of his blue eyes.

I admit, it’s been an... interesting approach. Roaring winds, dramatic shadows, a single light high up...

...That would’ve been his study window, Atulin realized with some resignation.

I promise I’ve no maidens locked up in any towers.

No? The prince gave him a sly, sideways look. What about any innocent young men?

None of those, either.

The prince laughed again. During their conversation, Atulin had gestured him inside, away from the noise of the courtyard where stable hands were fussing over the nervous horses and house servants unloaded luggage and the wind made every lantern flicker and hissed around their boots like an eager cat, trying to dash further into the house. The corridor, in comparison, was quiet, their steps muffled on carpet that had seen redder days, and the golden glow of candles and fire place beckoned from the small salon to their left.

The salon was like the rest of the house. It was comfortable, it was clean, it was well-appointed– and a little worn, out of fashion by at least a few decades.

The prince was a sharp, bright, new splash of colour in it, with the trim cut of his clothes and the wide cuffs of his gloves and the