Traitors' Gate

By Nicky Peacock

Only time will tell who the traitors really are...

Sixteen-year-old Lucinda is getting the home-coming from hell. England is in the grip of the War of the Roses and her tyrant father has promised her hand to a vile man three times her age. In need of aid, she seeks sanctuary with an old childhood friend only to find him accused of treachery and harboring a supernatural secret. All too soon Lucinda is caught in a fight that’s not her own but, to be with the man she loves, she’ll gladly take up arms.

When you stand at Traitors’ Gate, keep the vampires close, and the zombies as far away as possible!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Teen
• Release date: Apr 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781772337471

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Published by Evernight Teen ® at Smashwords

www.evernightteen.com

Copyright© 2016 Nicky Peacock

ISBN: 978-1-77233-747-1

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor: JS Cook

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For everyone who fights to be who they want to be...whether they win or lose in the end.

TRAITORS’ GATE

Battle of the Undead: prequel

Nicky Peacock

Copyright © 2016

Chapter One

England 1483

Zut! I yell, grabbing my head as it bounces off the carriage ceiling.

My new governess, Mistress Black, raises an eyebrow at me. Lucinda, it is unladylike to swear.

Not even in French?

Especially not in French! She has a wild look in her eyes that I don’t trust, although to be fair her eyes are the least of my worries. I am back in my home country after spending three years in France, and despite still not being completely fluent in the language, I have picked up an impressive array of curse words. Ms. Black had met me at the docks. I fear she had taken one look at my curvy figure and unruly blond hair and thought me totally unworthy of her time, let alone her words. We’d spent the last three hours bobbing along in my father’s carriage in prolonged periods of worrisome silence. Every conversation I had begun she had abruptly ended with a sly comment or a wave of her gloved hand. I should be happy that I’m back home—Lord knows I didn’t want to go to school overseas—but I’d grown to love the place and the people, oh and the food. The flavors and smells of sweet breads, buttery pastries and fondant filled fanciful cakes, all of them just as delicious in appearance as in taste… I’d really like to indulge with some of my raisin pastries right now, the ones I’d secreted in my purse but I dare not incur the wrath of Mistress. Black, who is still failing to hide her disappointment that I’m not some well-mannered debutant waif.

I smell cakes, she says, sniffing the air.

I casually wrap my pastries up tighter, resigning myself that I’ll have to wait until we are at Father’s house before I can safely undress them and let my senses melt into their sweet, buttery loveliness…no, I’m having one now. I point to a random tree out of the carriage window. Mistress Black’s intense gaze follows my finger. Quickly I bend and eat part of the pastry. It crumbles into my mouth and I hide my chewing by lifting my purse slightly, to shield me from Mistress Black’s withering stare. Oh, I hope the kitchen staff remember me and let me bake some more when I get home.

The carriage stumbles over a rocky part of road and my purse leaps out of my hand. Mistress Black sees everything.

Lucinda Delacourt! Your father is going to be bitterly disappointed in you.

I don’t even bother finishing my mouthful of food. That’s nothing new to me.

Mistress Black’s face turns from indignant self-righteousness to absolute horror. She bends down and picks up my purse and thrusts it back into my hand. I drop it to my side to fully expose my now open-mouthed chewing. With each movement, I stretch my jaw wide, making sure she can smell the sugared raisins while I finish the rest of my delicious pastry.

Another hour crawls by and I begin to recognize the scenery slipping past the window. The smells of the countryside are now all around us, a pungent mix of animals and flowers. I take in a deep breath and smile. I’m home.

My, my, what a horrible smell! Mistress Black pulls out a handkerchief and a small bottle of oil. She drips the oil onto the material. It’s lavender; she plunges her long thin nose into it, like a pig at a trough, and breathes