By Right of Conquest

By Shawna Hunter

Moregan, warrior princess of Lysia, faces her worst nightmare. Her kingdom has fallen, her lover has fled, her family is gone and she has been taken as the slave bride of the very man who brought her life to ruin.

With honor a distant memory Moregan has no choice but to find new ways to fight. The sword has failed her but she will learn th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kingston Publishing Company
• Release date: Dec 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781970068597

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Copyright

By Right of Conquest is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

BY RIGHT OF CONQUEST: A NOVEL

Copyright © 2018 by Shawna Hunter

All rights reserved.

Editing by KP Editing

Cover design by KP Designs

Published by Kingston Publishing Company

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Table of Contents

Copyright

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

About the Author

About the Publisher

Extras

Chapter 1

The outer gate had fallen. The invaders would be at the keep in moments. With but a handful of warriors left there was little hope of a prolonged siege. The people of Lysia had been too soft. The last beacon of civilization on this savage world had made them happy, complacent, and weak. Now they were being slaughtered in droves like the sheep they were. My older sister, next in line to the throne when my father passed (which would likely be today), had taken the cowards way out. Upon seeing that the war was lost she’d swallowed a draught of hemlock. Choosing to die quickly rather than face the ravages that the conquerors would visit upon her virgin flesh. I’d discovered it only a short time ago when I’d gone to call her to the throne room. With the heaviest doors, it would be the site of our last stand. A stand she hadn’t the heart to make. There were no tears for my dear sister. I hadn’t the time.

I was the crown princess now, in the few precious moments that my kingdom has left. The warrior. A tomboy never expected to take the thrown, not in the times of peace, I’d dedicated myself instead to warcraft. I’d once believed that I would live my life at my sister’s side. The captain of her Queen’s guard. Now I stood with those few brave souls still loyal to my father as he trembled on his throne. The cries from the hall shook the very walls of the castle. We were outmatched 100 to 1 but I would not suffer the fate my sister feared. When the time came, I would not die dishonored. I would not be raped by a thousand barbarians and paraded through the streets for execution. I would not be sold into slavery. I would not be a trophy of the conquerors. I would die, sword in hand with my brothers in arms. I would take as many of them with me as I was able. For Lysia, for my sister, for the memory of civilization. My final stand would be worthy of songs even if there were none left to sing them. The doors were breaking. Death had come at last.

Halt, my father stood from his throne, his voice eerily calm as the doors gave way, present your leader. The horde laughed. Parting to let him come forward. The son of their tribe’s most brutal chieftain. A giant of a man with a mane and beard both fire red against his bloodstained black armor. His features were angular and strong. Attractive, I could admit objectively, though I could see the monster that lurked beneath. The men parted as he approached the throne with his mighty sword unsheathed. The bastard who’d wrought this doom upon us was smiling at my father.

Do you offer terms? His men laughed. The day was their’s. My father had nothing to offer them.

You are brave and strong, my father said to this man, and I am but a feeble old man. More laughter from the horde. They agreed with my father’s words.

Unconditional surrender then? He scanned the warriors, passing over me as just another of his soon-to-be victims. My armor, so like that of the other guardsmen gave no hint of my station.

Precisely, my father said as he stepped forward, that is the only form of surrender that I will accept from you. The man’s eyes went wide. He was no fool. He could see that my father was not one for idle threats.

What have I missed then, old man? He asked my father. In response, my father placed his foot on an innocuous stone to the right of the throne.

The last hope of a fallen kingdom, my father replied. His foot pressed on the stone and it sank into the floor. As it did, the castle trembled, loud cracks and clanks could be heard throughout the foundation, should I raise my foot now, my father told our destroyer, the castle will be brought to rubble burying all of us alive. Now there was no laughter. The horde had gone pale with the same fear they’d instilled on the peoples I had failed. 

Your head, the man said without stepping forward, is to be delivered to my father along with your crown. The rest of you may stay on that switch if you wish it, but I will choose death over returning empty-handed. It was all I could do to keep my eyes on the enemy. The daughter in me wanted to turn and admire my father in these, his final moments. To offer strength and love but I knew that I must not be revealed. The pain was as though a knife were already passing through my heart.

You may take my head, my father replied without fear, "and my lands. All I ask is that my people, my guards here, and any survivors in the city below, be allowed to go into exile. Let them leave with their lives and freedom and Lysia is yours. The savage’s hand was bloody as it rose to his chin. There was a thoughtfulness to his green eyes that I did not expect and yet he did not relax his guard. To die dealing the killing blow to this most hated enemy would have been worth it had I only had the opening.

I honor your courage, he said at last, but I cannot agree to your terms. Lysia is its people more than it is the land on which they live. So long as they go free Lysia may rise again in vengeance. I would have guaranteed the truth of those words, but fate chose that moment to intercede.

Oblivious to the standoff in the throne room the horde had begun to loot and pillage. Rooms were ransacked, my sister’s among them, and no heed was given to the dead. The living, however, was accorded particular attention. I could hear the screaming now as those servants who yet lived were discovered and despoiled. Their cries rang out over the tension in the throne room making my blood boil. If you could scream, fools, then you could bite and spit. Fight and die with honor. Prove that Lysia had not been without a spine. Then I saw her. My sister’s closest handmaiden, undoubtedly the one who’d delivered the poison to her hand. Either my sister had swallowed it all herself or this girl had been too cowardly to join her Mistress. In either case, she had paid dearly for her choice. Her dress was no more than tattered rags as she was dragged screaming from my sister’s room. I could see her now, heaved over the shoulder of some brute and bound for the slave auction. Within a week she would find herself collared, trained, and likely sold to some pleasure house or tavern. I pitied her fate, but I cursed her stupidity for as soon as I saw her, she saw me.

Princess Moregan, she shrieked, please save me! Now the horde did laugh again, all but their thoughtful leader. His green eyes only sparkled with insight.

I see, were the only words he spoke as he lifted his greatsword with one hand.

One by one he knocked the helms from the guards. More than a few rushed him foolheartedly in hopes of preventing my discovery. Each was impaled on that monstrous weapon and discarded to writhe in agony as they breathed their last. To prevent this from continuing I stepped forward. Lifting my helm, I let my dark hair fall down my back (my father would not allow me to cut it so as to better fit my helm). As all eyes turned to me, I announced myself.

I am Moregan, second daughter to the rightful king of Lysia and if you would have my father’s head then you shall taste my steel first. Drawing my sword caused more than a dozen barbarians to ready their own weapons, but the green-eyed leader would not be baited. With a casual gesture, he eased his men and drove his sword into the floor where it stuck fast.

Moregan, he acknowledged me, famed warrior princess of Lysia. I’d thought to find you on the battlefield. It was all I could do to hold back from a suicidal charge as he smiled at me.

I would not permit her to join the cavalry, my father announced, if I had she might have turned the tide.

She’d have found herself impaled in the forest of corpses we left, he replied, without taking his eyes from me, not a fitting fate for one so fair. With that I charged, choosing death over whatever he had in mind. My father saved me.

Hold daughter! He cried, as I saw the leader pivot, intending to dodge my swipe and beat me to death with his bare hands. I stopped short and the red-haired bastard tutted at me like my old sword master.

Never charge in anger. You leave yourself exposed, my only reply was to spit in his face. This amused him most of all. Brave king, he said laughing, I will let your people live. Any not currently bound for the slave auction will be spared and allowed to submit freely to my father’s rule. In exchange, he never took his eyes from me. How different things would have been if he had but turned his head to look at my father for an instant, I will take your daughter as my wife. I nearly choked on my own bile as he said it. I swore it would not happen.

A shrewd political maneuver, my father commented as if complimenting an opponent in chess, you will make it seem that our nations have merged. Add legitimacy to your conquest and quiet talk of rebellion.

My fate, I cried out in fury, will not be decided without my say. My sword shook in my hand as it hadn’t since I was a slip of a girl trying to train against cadets twice my size. My honor demanded but one response to this proposition. By right of conquest the red-haired leader could take me as a slave, publicly execute me, or visit all manner of unspeakable horrors upon me. To his people, might was the only law but to my own, there was a higher calling. There was honor, virtue, and a soldier’s end. I brought my sword to my forehead and whispered a prayer for mercy to the gods of my forefathers. The moment hung, frozen in time as the tip lowered to my chin and then my throat. My weight shifted, letting me topple forward, in an instant of pain our conqueror would be denied. A fallen soldier, throwing herself on her sword, no shame in that. An honorable end that I was denied.

No, you don’t, he said merrily, as he kicked the sword away an instant before it would have pierced my throat, that is not the manner in which you will be penetrated, princess. My rage had burned all moisture from my mouth. I could not spit again so instead, I vented my fury in a monstrous roar. It took 3 men to drag me back from him. Had I but had the strength I’d have sunk my teeth into his throat. By all the dark things I swore I’d taste his blood for this.

Dignity, daughter, my father’s words broke what composure I had left.

Curse you-you old bastard! Lift your foot! Send me to my mother and sister! My father’s tears ran freely but he kept his foot in place.

My horde is spread throughout your city, the red-haired leader told me, I may die in the collapse, but that will only leave my men leaderless. Your people would die ignoble deaths as all you held dear was looted and burned. He has no choice. As a king, he must do what is best for his people. Even if it means failing as a father. His voice was oddly compassionate. It was almost as if somewhere in that demonic chest beat a heart capable of sympathy. Then he spoke again, and I knew that it must have been an illusion born of desperation. For no human could devise the cruelty he inflicted. You, however, do have a choice, my fiancé.

I will die today, I cried in fury. Biting the inside of my cheek to draw the blood I needed I spat once more. I aimed for his eye but succeeded only in dirtying his cheek. This delighted him.

Your death is not an option, his powerful hand gripped my chin and cheeks holding my mouth shut, and stop spitting on me.

What options will free my hands to strangle the life from you? I said, though my words were muffled by his holding my chin. I think he understood the gist of what I’d asked, however, as he did indeed give me my options. Somehow, he even managed to speak those horrid words with a calm sincerity. As if they were not the very seal of his death warrant.

You may choose to keep making a fool of yourself, he told me as he released my jaw and stepped back, in which case I will have you bound, stripped, and lead naked through the city like a common pleasure slave.

May your mother's spirit burn in the pits, I cursed.

Or, he continued unfazed, you can do the deed yourself. Relieve your father of his head and present it to me as a dowry. Do it and I will let you walk with me unfettered and dressed so that you may ensure I keep my word and let your people live.

No curse came to my lips. I had neither the schooling nor the corrupted soul to fathom words sufficient for this great horror. Even the tribesmen were silent. To honor one’s father was a high oath even in their savage code. This man, if a man he truly was, had demanded far more than my dignity, freedom, or honor. He’d demanded a sign of loyalty beyond any doubt. An act that my people would never forgive even if it spared them bondage and death. The silence was broken only by the resolute words comprising the final command of Lysia’s last king.

Do it, my father ordered, I order you to execute me, my daughter. The men holding me relaxed their grip and the leader stepped to the side so that I could look upon my father one last time. His gold crown shimmered in the light from a porthole above. His white beard matched his regal, philosopher’s robes and the veined, sandaled foot that held the stone down belied the might he’d emanated throughout my youth. He was a man of dignity and conviction who showed no fear as I moved toward him. One of the tribesmen presented me with my own sword, the weapon of a king’s guard, at the foot of the platform that held my father’s throne. I took it.

The latch is set, he announced to the horde, I may lift my foot safely. To prove it he stepped off the trigger and a collective sigh was breathed by the men as the stone lifted back into place. Before I could so much as think to depress it again the leader himself leaped up to safeguard the trigger.

There will never be a night when you will be able to sleep soundly, I told him as my father knelt before us.

A fitting wife for a chieftain's son, he called to his men and they cheered. Barbarian bastards, I should have known that they’d enjoy the thought of bedding a murderous woman.

Where there is life, there is hope my daughter, my father whispered to me. Even now, as I stood over him with my sword in hand, he was trying to teach me. Yet, there was a conflict in my heart as he told me that he loved me. I understood why he’d done what he’d done. The leader had been correct. As king, my father’s first duty was to his people. This bargain would leave them subjugated to the enemy, but they would still live and one day I may yet rally them. As a princess and warrior, I understood his reasoning but as a daughter and a woman, I could feel nothing but betrayal. I’d been denied an honorable death. My fate was to be ravaged by a brute and used as a collar to yolk the very people for whom I’d have gladly died. Love? Had my father truly loved me he’d have lifted his foot the very moment the trap had been set. We could have greeted my mother and sister together in eternity. Now, I knew, that I’d likely never be able to face them again. Not after what I would be forced to do. The sword, at least, was still sharp. Having been held back from the front lines it had tasted no battle this day. The cut was clean and quick. The head was taken by their leader and held up to their cheers. I could not bare to look as I was disarmed. My legs would not bare my weight and my eyes would not rise. I wept before the corpse until they returned their attention to me. My failure and the fall of Lysia was complete. Gods forgive me.

Chapter 2

My fiancé and I would follow a parade of warriors baring all the loot that they could carry. The messengers had been sent throughout the city announcing the terms and the survivors (those not already en route to the slave auction) would be lined up to watch as their new lord emerged with his lady. All this was explained to me as I sat staring at the spot where my father’s body had lain. The horde had taken it and caste it from the window to the street below that all may know he was dead. Not one word of it mattered to me not one, save the name of the man I would marry. The man whose life I’d sworn a thousand times to end.

Doran, second son of Darthan, chieftain of the Shadow of the Voltoy Mountains, he said it gently as if that would keep the name from searing into my very soul. Doran, I would bathe in his blood.

Are you a man of your word, Doran? I didn’t recognize my own voice. It was so cold and soft in the empty throne room. He’d been left with me as his men went off to steal whatever my family had left.

I like to think so, he said idly, as he watched the chaos out the window, I swore to my father that I’d conquer your kingdom and I have. I swore to my men that they’d be rewarded, and they shall be. I swore to your father that…

I swear to you, my voice was as icy as my will.

Please, he said, as he turned and dared to smile at me, no more threats. I know that you hate me. How could you not?

Hate burns, I hissed, what I feel for you is far beyond hate. There is no life for me any longer. No future. There is just what I must endure until I hold your beating heart in my hands.

On that note, he said it almost jokingly, we should discuss the nature of this marriage of ours.

Slavery, I huffed, a collar on my neck, a name that is not my own at my lips, and a brand on my ass.

You curse like a sailor, he laughed, and no, you will not be renamed, re-educated, and branded.

That is the way of your people, I turned to challenge him but found his hand on the wall. The great warrior was hunched over as he watched what was happening below. He seemed almost to be ashamed but surely, he was only weary from slaughter.

Very few of us still do the branding, he explained as he turned, and I am not among them. His eyes were kind now that we were alone. His demeanor not off-guard but changed from what it had been in front of his men.

You believe that leaving my name intact will remind my people that I am…was their princess? I could only guess at his motivations now. I was not as familiar with the ways of ruling as I should have been.

No, nothing like that, he came over and sat next to me with a heavy sigh, it’s just…I’ve never had a wife before. You will be among my first, he gave me a subtle wink, and, to be honest, I’ve imagined who I’d marry all my life. I’ve always imagined that that woman would be unbowed and unbroken. Not some cowed wench to serve me drinks and bare me sons but a woman with whom I may converse and share my life. For the first time since the war began, I found myself laughing. It started small, a gentle chuckle, but it grew to a half-mad cackle that forced me to clutch my sides.

You are a madman,