The First Stone: The First Collection, #3

By Teshelle Combs

Do you fantasize about smexy book boyfriends who start out as enemies and end up lovers?

Do you love dirty dancing and tales of royals?

Do you crave a happy eneding to your romantasy stories?

 

The First Stone is for you. 

 

Sanaa of Rote exists only to please her father, the King, by marrying the High Prince of an allied realm. And she will succeed. She must. If she can bear to swallow her hatred for the man to whom she must yield every fragment of her power.

From the world of The First Dryad by Teshelle Combs...enter the story of The First Stone.

Expect to devour this standalone enemies to lovers, high fantasy, royal drama, dirty dancing masterpiece in one sitting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teshelle Combs
• Release date: Feb 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224956197

Book preview

Episode 1: Screaming For Mercy

If you fail, I will no longer be your mother.

The woman responsible for my very existence in the place we called Rote pulled sharply at the straps around my ribs. The board attached to those straps creaked as it straightened against my spine. She fastened them in a fine knot and moved on to those that were to be bound around my waist. I had never grown accustomed to the pain, for each time the board was applied to my spine, the straps pulled tighter. The pain was fresh every even-ing. The relief like a balm every morn-ing.

But worse than that, Sanaa, if you fail, your father will no longer be your father.

At this, my heart squirmed in my chest. For to be fatherless in Rote was to be nothing. And I could not contemplate my own nothingness. If I failed, my parents would not even hold me in their minds. I would be erased not only from the Roten scrolls, but I would be removed from the ancestral prayers. I would be gone. Vanished.

I will not fail, I told my mother. It was true. I could not afford to fail. I could not afford to lose. Though the straightening board against my spine was sturdy, my position was frail. It would always be. I was a woman of Rote. Or...I would be once I married.

And the marriage had to be perfect.

Until your husband enters you, remember to whom you belong.

I nodded. A mistake, of course, for the straightening board did not relent to the bending of my neck. I winced and straightened with haste. I remember. I belong to my father, the Glorious King. And to Rote, the Glorious Realm.

We need this alliance strengthened, Sanaa. We need it. You will secure it. There is no cost you must spare. You must be—

Cunning. Quick. Careful. Resilient. Selfless. I must be glorious. As my father is glorious.

And as Rote is glorious. Yes. She tied the knot in the last strap and turned me by the shoulders, studying me as she returned my dark, straight hair behind my back. She rubbed at the freckle on collarbone as if she could remove it by effort. Heaven knew she’d tried over the circles, but it marred my pale skin without remedy. Do you remember what to expect of your future husband and his people?

I sighed. Yes. The people of Caram. Wild and wicked. Ruthless and without reserve.

And their King?

Their King is old. But he was a great warrior in his time. He killed by the thousands of thousands. His Power was without match, and Caram brims with wealth because of it.

And the man you will marry?

Man. I wondered how much older than me he could be. I hardly had nineteen circles. And if the King is so old, his eldest son should be fifty or sixty circles at least. I fought the urge to shudder. The High Prince of Caram. Taeyo. Skilled with Power and also a fine warrior. He will inherit his father’s wealth, title, and possibly his renown, just as he inherited his skill in battle. When I am married to him and his father grows cold, I will ascend as he does. And I may forge more beneficial alliances for Rote. I will teach the children I make with him to favor Rote as well.

Good. You will sleep with the straightening board tonight. Tomorrow, you will wash. Following your cleansing, you must depart. The ship will be waiting. And then....

My mother despised the creases in the corners of her eyes, claiming they displayed the drying of her womb and her decrease in usefulness to my father. But I thought the creases made her look kinder. Besides, she had already borne him so many children. She had done enough. This, however, I could never voice aloud.

Will you see me off tomorrow, Glorious Mother? I held my breath in the hope that she would say yes.

This, now, is the time I have to bid you farewell.

I exhaled my disappointment. And my father?

He is very busy, child.

Of course.

I was not his first child. Not even his first daughter to be married in alliance. Three of my sisters had gone before me, though one proved barren and the other two grew cold in childbirth. Part of me suspected my father did not know I was leaving for Caram. Or that he even knew I existed at all. No matter. I would live my whole life on his behalf. A woman of Rote, indeed.

Of course, Firmus will be your constant guide. He will remain at your side, even after you and the Prince become King and Queen.

To watch me. To report of my successes and failures back to Rote.

For now, you must get your rest. For once you step off that ship, everything lies on your shoulders. And unyielding must they be, Sanaa Ultar.

Unyielding they shall be, Glorious Mother.

She laid me in the bed, latching the straightening board to the bars beneath me to ensure my body did not bend as I slumbered. I lay on my back, each bone in my spine screaming for mercy as they pressed against the wood, and listened for the settling in of the silence, broken only by the shuffling of shoes against the stone floors outside my door. Servants scrubbing the soot off the gray walls.

My door opened once again with a click. The soft scent of my mother as she drew near. My heart tingled within me. She had come back. I prayed it was to kiss my forehead. And perhaps I could tell her about the lovely creases at the corners of her eyes. Perhaps—

I have returned only because I feel compelled to tell you once more. For you, of all my children, are most poised to forget.

To forget what, Mother?

Who you are. But you must remember. You must never forget. The late night chill filled the space between our words.

Who am I then? And I waited. For her to read from the Royal scrolls the lineage of my family. Or to point to my strong chin and piercing eyes inherited from my grandmother. My hazel, stony eyes from my great grandfather.

But her tone remained hushed. Hold no part of yourself for ransom, Sanaa. Remember. You are no one.

Episode 2: My Inevitable Destruction

I opened my eyes, still very much someone, but not quite the someone I would be once I married the Prince once I succeeded where success was mandatory. I was not permitted to break my fast until later in the afternoon—for women of Rote were to be thin and uncumbersome for their husbands.

The water for my bath was chilled to minimize any blemishes that might plague my character. I shivered in the clear water, trying my hardest to keep my muscles from twitching. But some things the body does without permission. Bodies, then, were so often traitors. I could not trust mine.

Britten stepped through the bath room doors, and I knew it was her from the curt steps she took in her approach. She found me and my shivering and pursed her fine lips.

Still in the bath? I came to see you off.

That is very selfless of you, Britten. You have my gratitude. I know you must be very busy with important things. To take the time—

Yes, I am the Holiest. And most glorious, you are welcome. Britten tucked loose strands that did not exist back into her immaculate braid. Shall we on with it? I am not to be late for my tasks.

Britten of Ulver had been my designated friend since birth. Our mothers were made to conceive on the same turn, and so we were born accordingly. Treasured we were meant to be to one another. But not once had we enjoyed the friendship we were forced to maintain. I forgot my place too often for Britten’s liking, and she remembered hers much too often for mine.

I stood, ignoring how Britten’s scrunched face observed every movement of my naked body. She critiqued, I knew, but at least she kept it to herself. We had learned the less we spoke to one another, the better.

Once the servants dressed me, the beige gown long and inflexible and without even the memory of a crease, I made my way to the docks, Britten begrudgingly keeping pace beside me.

So...you will be married to a Future King.

Yes. High Prince of Caram.

That’s good for your father. Congratulations.

Indeed.

And then I rocked on my heels and tried not to throw myself into the churning waves of the sea while we waited for my guardian to appear.

Firmus showed at last, his black boots glistening and hugging far enough up his knee that he hardly needed to wear trousers at all.

Let us begin our journey, the balding man said, his jowls set in obstinate displeasure. And he went ahead of me onto the ship without so much as a nod. I had the sense he was not fond of his assignment to keep me chaste until marriage. No doubt he had heard of the wildness of the Caramians. Firmus detested wildness of any and all sorts.

Well, I suppose...this is the end for our friendship, Britten said a bit too loudly. What a shame.

What a shame we are both free. Oh..no. How ever will we survive without enduring one another’s company? I nodded to her. Yes, what a shame.

She put her hands on my shoulders, her eyes flicking down to the freckle on my collar bone. I knew she wanted to rub it away. This was verified when she said, You really ought to have that removed, Sanaa. It’s unseemly.

Unseemly it will have to remain, I responded. It cannot be removed. My mother has tried everything. Not even the physicians’ Power can lessen its appearance. I am stuck with it.

Hm. She lowered her hands, the embrace concluded. Perhaps why you could not manage to be married to a King directly.

I swallowed. Perhaps.

She fussed at a few of my flyaways, bidding my black-as-coal hair to mind its place. But eventually, she tired of this self-imposed chore and sighed. Then, she turned to leave, and I did not bother to watch her go. Enough of that for a whole lifetime. In fact, I’d trade circles of my life away to never have to chat with Britten of Ulver ever again.

I boarded the ship and did not bother to stare longingly at the sight of my home drifting away from me. For Caram would be no different than Rote. I would belong to someone else. And he would have me be a certain way for his liking. I would obey. He would find me tolerable. He would enter me as often as he liked, and I would birth children for him. And all of it always—always—for my father.

On the final turn of our voyage, I was awakened by a sound that made me shiver more than any bath ever could. What is that? What could it possibly be?

I dressed in my beige outfitting as quickly as I could and hurried out of my dreary cabin to find the source of the high-pitched wailing. Perhaps a sailor caught a strange creature. Or perhaps a crewmate has been injured.

I found a strange creature indeed.

A woman.

She was not wearing her modest beige outfitting. Clearly not a woman of Rote. She wore a blue dress—or rather a gathering of cloths—that wove around her curving body. It was held in place by gold twine and shimmering pins. Her feet were clad with golden sandals, and her hair was not tightened into a braid down her back. No, it flowed around her shoulders and floated about her smooth brown face. She stood at the edge of the ship alone and, every few moments, she tilted her head back and let out a cry that made my stomach squeeze and my heart quicken.

What is she doing? What does it mean?

The sailors did not seem to mind her loud display. In fact, to my great shock, a few of them set down their tools and ropes and left their sails unattended so they could join her. They stood facing forward and cried out with every summoning of passion they possessed.

The woman, she began to stomp. One foot at a time. And I watched as the men joined, carrying a rhythm that shook the very planks beneath my feet. And then the woman twisted her hips. This way and that, this way and that. Slowly at first, and then quicker and quicker. She wailed and lifted her arms in the air until I was sure the very sea trembled before her.

The men began to jump, still keeping the rhythm she had started for them. Every few beats, they joined all together, moving and crying out in unison. They were saying...something. In Caramian. And though I was fluent in the language of my future husband, I could not make out what they meant.

They carried on this way until the morn-ing fog cleared and I could see the outline of a hazy island nation. Caram. We had arrived. The woman and the men held out their arms as if they meant to embrace the very land itself. As if their home was a friend who awaited their return.

We are home, they cried out in the clear Caramian I had learned in my lessons. And home is us!

I stared at the beginning of my inevitable destruction as it loomed before me in the shape of strange trees and thick, sweet golden air. A tiny freckle was the least of my worries. For if such a display of passion was what Taeyo expected—if that was a woman of Caram—I was quite truly doomed.

Episode 3: Something So Vile

By the time Firmus appeared from below deck, the demonstration had ended, and the sailors resumed their work bringing us swiftly to port. Even the sea looked different in Caram. The sun burned hotter, striking the waves and hurling its light across the waters. The birds—larger than any I had ever beheld—screeched with mighty voices, swooshing and swooping as if they would take the heads off those of us waiting to leave the ship.

I tried not to flinch at the idea of their fierce talons grabbing hold of my pale skin. None of the Caramians seemed too worried. Besides...women of Rote had no time for fear.

Firmus would not cease glaring at the woman who had since stopped her singing. They do not believe in clothing in this heaven-forsaken place, I see.

I noticed that she did not seem to care that Firmus glared, his beady gray eyes locked onto her more provocative ratios, his lips downturned and his bulbous nostrils flaring.

Have you never been to Caram, Firmus? I thought my father would send an expert with me.

He scoffed with such vehemence that the breath of his nose nearly knocked me overboard. An expert I am, of course. But I am also untainted by the Power of these Caramians. I will not be enchanted by them or beguiled by their...crudeness. I am the man for the job. There is no better guardian suited for you. And mind you, your father’s wisdom is not to be questioned. Certainly not by the likes of you.

I bit my lip at his reproach and hoped to make it seem like I was not offended, lest he write home to my mother and tell her how disloyal I had already become. Of course, Firmus. I see already that you are the perfect guardian for me. You keep me on the straight path, pressed between two boulders.

Indeed, I do. And I will continue to do so. Now, let us get off this craggy boat and get some decent sustenance in our systems.

But before I could step foot on the wooden dock, a blast of sound shook my entire frame. I realized rows of men and women held instruments of brass. They blew into them all at once, putting even the birds’ cries to shame. And then there came the drums. Enormous basins covered over with animal skins. The musicians beat these with large sticks until the noise rattled my teeth.

A girl approached, making her way through the crowd of onlookers. Like the woman who’d wailed on the ship, her clothes hardly covered her skin. Long, tan legs slipped from beneath swaths of fabric as she walked. Brown braids swayed about her shoulders, and her smile gleamed brighter than the sun on the Caramian waves. If a person could be made from music, she was song itself.

With arms outstretched, she bowed. Future Queen, she said, her voice like honey, welcome, welcome, welcome. You are home with us at last.

I did not know how to respond to such a greeting. I was used to the cold stare of the Rotens. And perhaps, if we were friendly, a simple hand on my shoulder. When all I had known were the shadows of my role in court, what could have prepared me for staring straight into the sun?

I am Wyla. And I gladly serve as your guide. Until, of course, you feel you no longer need a guide. I hope Caram embraces you as you embrace Caram. Come now, let us—

This is unacceptable. Firmus spat out the words much like someone had shoved a rat into his mind, back end first.

Wyla faced the old man as if she had just been made aware of his presence, her eyebrows raised and her expression otherwise depicting no alarm. Oh? And who are you supposed to be?

Firmus gagged before he managed to speak, so shocked was he to be spoken to in such a tone. I am the guardian of Sanaa, Eighth Princess of Rote, as I serve her father.

Oh. Alright then. I was not aware the Princess was young enough to require a guardian. She tilted her head, and I stared as her braids swished. You look to be the same age as me. How many circles?

Nineteen.

So we are the same then. I have twenty circles. She gestured to my guardian. You want to bring him with us? He seems...poor-spirited.

I could not help my eyes going wide. Never had I witnessed a woman so directly insult a man with little care or concern.

How dare you, he said, his jowls trembling. I shall pray to the Ancient Talus for your forgiveness, girl.

Wyla narrowed brown eyes. "How dare I? You have no idea to whom you speak. And she brought her own fist hard against her chest, jutting her chin into the air, her eyes flashing. I am Wyla Morali, and family is beloved by the High King Of All Caram. As we have been for a hundred circles. Then her fierce look broke, and she smiled at me once more. Magnificent guide, not to the Eight Princess, but to the Future Queen. My soon to be liege. You may pray to the Talus if you wish, but we shall see to whom the Ancients show their favor."

She laughed and threw her arm around me, leading me stumbling away from my ship, Firmus’ protests ignored as we approached a castle bigger than a third of Rote.

I gasped. Where did this Palace come from? It was not here a moment ago.

Wyla laughed. It was hidden with Power. But now it is revealed since you are confirmed as a friend of Caram. Do you like it?

The brown stone walls stretched endlessly into the deep blue sky. I have never seen anything like it. Water gushed from many of the towers, birds and trees and flowers sprawling from others. I could just make out the figures of humans swinging along the outside of the structure, suspended by laughter and a few ropes.

Have you no Palaces in Rote?

Rote is a very practical place. Our Palaces are not so....

Grand?

I was going to say ‘terrifying’. Indeed.

You will like it even better once we are inside. And we must hurry. Everyone is waiting for you.

I swallowed. There are to be more greetings? More drums and brass? More wailing and staring into the sun? I already felt my knees tremble with exhaustion beneath me. Waiting for me?

Wyla skipped stairs as she ascended the pathway to the Palace. She moved like her body was made of some muscle and bone I did not possess. I could see the rippling of strength in her thighs and arms, as if Power was pulsing through her very being.

Yes. They will not drink or dance until you arrive. You are the guest of honor tonight. We have waited a long time to meet our Future Queen. Suddenly, she sobered. It has been a long time since we’ve had any Queen at all. She is very missed. We loved her so.

They...loved her? I tried to imagine Rotens loving my mother, with her stern mouth and her graying temples. No. Love was not what our subjects felt for their Monarchs.

Inside the Palace was more overwhelming than out. The people, blessed with skin of every shade and hue, ran and jumped and shouted and played like children when parents are too busy to mind them. Servants giggled as they worked, humming lush melodies to one another.

As Wyla walked, some reached hands to her, connecting palms with hers and exchanging vast smiles and pleasing words I could not interpret. This made my mind anxious. How is it I cannot decipher so many Caramian words? I have studied my whole life for this role. I should be prepared.

In through here, Wyla said. You must be hungry, Sanaa. I will make sure to secure you some choice meats before these ravenous revelers take it all for themselves.

Ravenous rev—

But before I could question her, the doors to a grand hall flung open, and I was drenched in torchlight, the hearty smell of savory smoked meats, and high notes of wine and sweet fruit. At our presence, hundreds of Caramians, all with young, bright faces, threw their hands into the air and cheered. I stumbled backward from the sheer volume of their cries.

Wyla clapped before she clutched my hand in hers, laughing as she pulled me into the room and down the balcony which cascaded with silvery-blue water.

On every table—and there were many—I saw platters of food ranging in all shapes and colors. The combination of rich scents made me heady.

Wyla snagged a stone-hewn bowl from a table and passed it to me, her hand firmly on my back as though she knew I needed every ounce of support. Drink, she instructed me.

I swallowed the brown liquid in the bowl and spewed most of it back out with great haste. How could something so vile exist? Poison! I gasped.

It is called Hemwe.

Nectar?

Wyla nodded. Your Caramian is good. I am impressed.

No, I said, shaking my head. I wondered if my dark hair revealed any stray strands. I wondered if my blue eyes betrayed my concern. There are some words I simply cannot understand. I thought I was fluent in Caramian.

Ah. And she reached out and smacked my chest. Tone is different from language. Power hides Tone. Only those who know the heart of the speaker can decipher the meaning when Tone is used along with ordinary words.

What? How...how would I know what people are saying? How would I know what they are saying about me?

But there was no time to panic. For Wyla elbowed my side and nodded her head just as the crowd of beautiful, immodest strangers began to part. Look, Sanaa. Your husband. He is coming for you.

Episode 4: The Foundation Of My Ruin

Oh no.

All my life I prepared for this moment. To meet my husband and to ally Rote more firmly to the wealth and Power of Caram. I had been schooled, corrected, straightened, and cleansed. I was supposed to be ready.

But when I saw Taeyo of Domini across the hall, I knew in the very stillness of my being that I was not.

That cannot be him, I inhaled, in part hoping Wyla could not hear me. For of course it was him. Who else could walk with such confidence? Who else could charge the very substance of the air around him with Power?

Is he not to your liking, Future Queen?

To my liking? I expected the High Prince to be old. To be mean-hearted and decrepit or, at the very least, cold and uninteresting. Truly, I most anticipated him to be drenched in Power and condescending.

But the one who walked toward me was a young man. Skin the color of sunstone and hair woven into braids of gold and deep brown and white that hung down past his shoulders. And his shoulders...broad, muscles pulsing beneath his skin when he moved. A sharp jaw, and when he was close enough for me to see them, jade eyes.

He stopped walking once he neared me and simply stood there, staring at me as I stared at him. Though many of those in the hall continued to dance and shriek and drink, others ceased their activity to behold our meeting. There were enough eyes on us to make my cheeks flame red.

What should I say? What should I say? I could not remember the proper formal greeting for a foreign Princess meeting a Monarchal member of the Caramian Royal family. It was as if all thoughts left my mind save for one.

And so I opened my mouth and let those words come. Why are you wearing so little clothing?

I clamped my mouth