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Synopsis
Sreka’s younger brother, Dobrina, is in love. The only problem is that the law forbids him from courting until Sreka is married. Sreka hires the local adventurer, Košmar, to marry him so Dobrina can wed his love.
Even if he has to sleep on the couch, instead of with the crown prince on their farce wedding bed, Košmar will get to live like a king for a year. And once Dobrina is married, Sreka will quietly divorce him and send him on his way with gold for his services.
Nothing says destined romance like a battle with a dragon, so Sreka and Košmar stage their first public encounter to fool the royal court. However, as fate would have it, the dragon that was supposed to be as fake as their love is real.
Excerpt
his throat and sighed. The pub was alive with Shrovetide festivities. Music and
playful shrieks echoed from one end of the tavern to the other while mead and
vodka flowed from bottles to cups to mouths faster than hands could pour it. He
glanced at the dancers, thinking maybe he had drunk enough to give dancing a
try. The music changed and a cheer rang from the crowds. Everyone clapped in
unison as they formed a circle on the dance floor. They wore linen garments
dyed green and purple. Crowns of corn poppies, baby’s breath, and sweet basil
topped the heads of both the women and the men. Košmar himself wore faded
riding leathers and a felted wool cloak which had once been deep sable but now
was the gray of watered-down ink.
to the crowd, a lad in an ugly woolen slouch cap sat across from him. Košmar
blinked, examining his cornflower-blue eyes. The lad set a key on the table
between them, stood, and vanished into the crowd. Košmar picked up the key,
noticing the flash of a gold coin below it. Košmar’s jaw dropped. A flaming
falcon was stamped into the coin and on the other side a crown.
and rushed to the third room in the back. The man in the woolen cap sat
cross-legged in a chair near the hearth of the room. His eyes flicked upward as
he gazed at Košmar.
edge of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest.
shrugged.
and shook his head. Long strands of pure citrine glittered as they fell to his
waist. The princes of Zetva were rumored to have magical hair the color of
citrines or yellow sapphires. The man in front of Košmar could only be one of
those two princes.
liege?” Košmar bowed forward from his position on the bed.
say you’ll do any task for the right price.”
not an assassin. I’m more of an adventurer.”
husband.”
the king, would be more qualified at arranging a marriage than me.” Košmar
laughed.
weasel, and the neighboring kingdoms are full of ambitious vipers looking to
strengthen their own positions of power. No, Košmar Marelock, I do not want you
to find a husband for me—I want you to wed me.”
onto the mattress, coughing into his fist. The prince peered over him, long,
jeweled hair hanging from his face and flashing in the hearthlight.
a sham spouse, and after a year or so, we’ll divorce in private, I’ll pay you
for your troubles, and you can run back to your adventures.”
breath, recovering from his outburst. “Gotta admit, I’m fascinated. Why would a
prince need to fake his own wedding?”
to decide.”
for what he’d heard of politics. “Prince…Dobrina?”
Prince Sreka.”
his hand.
hand. Košmar took it and used Sreka’s grip to pull himself to his feet before
shaking their clasped hands. After the friendly greeting, he brought Sreka’s
hand to his lips and kissed the prince’s knuckles.
we’re going to be business partners. So you’re the oldest, but your father is
in good health. Surely you have more time to find a spouse?”
marry first, but I have no interest in the suitors who plague me night and day.
So, to rid myself of their presence and give my brother the happiness he
deserves, I need a surrogate to play the role of my affectionate husband.”
home to Dad; we hold hands and take lingering walks in the gardens at night to
convince everyone we’re in love, and after we’re married, all I have to do is
stick around stuffing my face and sleeping on top of a goose-down mattress? And
after a year of this you’re going to pay me for the trouble?”
my private chambers. I have no intention of sharing my bed with a man I do not
love.”
this?” Košmar pounded the old, sagging mattress beneath him with his closed
fist. “And don’t even get close enough to smell it. I spend most my nights in a
tent in the woods or on rented beds.”
face.
this?”
imported from—”
jumped to his feet. “Let’s see, we’ll need a public introduction. How do we
want to play this?”
for the scullery maids to whisper about as they scrub pots. You should rescue
me—from a dragon.”
romance novel.” Sreka rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And shouldn’t you save me
from the dragon? I’m the one you should be wooing.”
time, but when do I ever get to sit back and swoon for a hero? Never. If we’re
going to play the lovers, let’s have fun with it.”
already?”
Košmar for a long time. Košmar smirked.
of your skull in that castle. You’d love to play the hero for a day and scoop a
handsome, swarthy stranger into your arms before carrying him off to your
palace.”
handsome.”
can pretend if you don’t fancy my looks.” Košmar winked.
don’t have a dragon who will play along with our scam.”
holding his hands to it.
a section of the flames toward him. The fire resembled freshly pulled sugar in
the candy-maker’s shop. It flowered and twirled with color, and Košmar molded
it into the shape of a dragon the size of a hunting hound. The flames cooled,
hardening to bright, poisonous green scales. The creature roared and lunged for
Sreka’s shins. When Košmar snapped his fingers, the dragon dissolved into smoke
that spread between them in a gray haze.
the northern road leading through the Czerwony Woods and into the mountains?”
near there, yes?”
today. Arrive at dawn, and make sure you’re near where the northern road enters
the forest an hour into your hunt.”
indication.” Košmar grinned.
looking forward to our official meeting.”
love.” Košmar dropped to one knee, kissing Sreka’s hand.
alone.” Sreka averted his eyes.
plopped onto the worn mattress beside him. “You already paid for the room?”
into a rope and tucked it back into his woolen cap.
see you in a week.” Košmar rolled up in the threadbare woolen blanket and shut
his eyes.
shut.
nightmare to have sweet dreams.” Košmar kept the fire burning in the hearth but
blew out the lantern on each side of the bed. The darkness hugged him close as
he slept.
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Meet the Author
Hey there, readers. It’s me, ya boi, Sita Bethel. And this is a biography where I tell you all the boring facts about my life- like how I have a degree in writing, and how my two cats, Odin and Anpu, will one day rule this land as your feline overlords. Enough of that same old, same old. Here’s the real dirt. Sita Bethel likes to wrap up like a burrito with a weighted blanket. They host coloring parties as a personal eff-you to anxiety, and read everything from trash British sensationalist novels like The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins to literary masterpieces like The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Had enough of Sita Bethel yet? If not, check out @sita_bethel on Twitter, or sitabethelfiction on Facebook, or even www.sitabethel.com.
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