The Count of Lathania: Book One: The Festival of Heart

By Fox Williams

There's a secret that the Count of Lathania bears close to his heart. This secret has driven off many possible marriage prospects to suitable women. It's a secret that Lady Camilla Oldstone must burden once her family arranges her marriage with the Count from a distant land. In a country where sin is pervasive, if not outright worshiped, Mila will have to hold close to her heart her faith.

Lathania is a wildland where the God of Mila's people hasn't quite reached. With the allure of a proper marriage for a woman who should have been married years ago, Mila has no choice but to embrace this new country as her own. Yet with new customs and new beliefs, she finds herself struggling to hold onto the virtues instilled in her at birth. The Count, himself, is chief among those temptations. Mysterious, distant, and sinfully attractive, Mila must brace herself for the many secrets that the Count holds close to his heart if she wants the marriage to succeed.

More than that, however, she finds that the Count awakens a hunger in her that has long remained dormant. Will she be able to make it to her wedding day without bringing shame to her family? And why do the people of Lathania call the Count a monster?

The Count of Lathana: The Festival of Heart is the first installment of The Count of Lathania series. Pleasures and problems arise that the betrothed couple must weather together or face a prospective doomed marriage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fox Williams
• Release date: Apr 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463867488

Fox Williams

Writing stories has always been part of Fox's life. From the moment he was given a notebook and a pencil, he spent hours writing small stories for his mother's enjoyment. This love for writing followed him through high school and into college. Currently, Fox lives in Michigan and enjoys spending his time crafting stories for others to enjoy, playing video games, and creating cosplays to wear at his local conventions.

Book preview

The Count of Lathania

Book One: The Festival of Heart

Fox Williams

Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright 2019 Fox Williams

Chapter 1

Fear gripped her stomach. It had been a wise decision not to break her fast that morning. The idea of meeting her intended and emptying the contents of her stomach all over his shoes was quite the devastating one. Though, she considered as her eyes traveled over the wooded area her carriage passed through, perhaps such a tragic meeting would cool the Count’s thoughts of her. Perhaps it would be a blunder significant enough for him to reject her Aunt’s offer of marriage on her behalf.

Lady Camilla of House Oldstone glanced at said Aunt now. The older woman was dressed in her finest gown--as if she was the one being presented like a fine piece of meat instead. Camilla certainly wished she was. Yet her Aunt was too old to marry. Of the eldest daughters of Oldstone, it was up to Camilla to restore some form of power to the dwindling home of her family.

Wealth was not in question. It was the fact that her house no longer had a male member to oversee the business. Both her father and brother had perished. This left House Oldstone vacant save for herself, her younger sister, Nika, and her father’s sister. It also meant Camilla’s freedom was soon to be bound.

The carriage jolted over a particularly nasty bit of road. It did little to help her stomach. Wildly, she hoped the carriage wheel would break and their traveling would be delayed yet another day. Anything to enjoy the last few moments of her independence. Her father had raised a clever girl. Such girls were not accustomed to having their choices dictated by another man. Perhaps, in this way, her father had actually done her a disservice. She was too bold and independent for today’s world in which women were expected to offer heirs and nothing else.

Ahh, here we are, her Aunt murmured, and Camilla’s eyes immediately went out the window. They had cleared the trees. Ahead of them rested a towering--if not simple--castle. Its walls were old--far older than her own home. The gates were already open and allowing them passage through. Camilla sank within the carriage once they passed through. She could feel the curious eyes of those who lived within the castle upon her. Some were peasants, carrying their wares and trade on their backs to do business with the shopkeepers that lived within the walled part of the town. Their dull expressions triggered nothing within her. It was the slightly more intelligent gazes of the shopkeepers and guards that set her nerves on edge. They knew who sat within the carriage. Were they judging already?

On the carriage went, over the paved road that led to the castle itself. It loomed above the small town like that of a raven waiting for its next meal. The sight alone sent a chill through her blood. Camilla sank further back into her seat as if attempting to push the carriage back through will alone. These were a new people. Her people hailed from Angora, a civilized country that had been established for centuries. Culture flourished there with great music and art. Manners were well-practiced. The economy bloomed and their harvests were bountiful.

Here? This was a country remote. She had traveled many months just to arrive to this desolate place--her new home. It was true that the Count was a few stations above her own minor noble family, but she was still confused as to why he had accepted her Aunt’s offer of marriage. Camilla was not of peak marrying age. Independence had made her believe she would one day choose her husband and so had placed the responsibility into the back of her mind to pursue her own interests. All those dreams had died with her father.

So, why would the Count from a distant country agree to marry a 23-year-old woman? Surely, he had far younger prospects to consider. Ones closer to home, too. The only reason that Camilla could conceive of was the money. Her family, despite being minor, had made sound business investments. Their coffers were quite full. Her dowry alone was thrice the usual amount allotted to a bride.

The idea that the Count had bought her for gold and flesh curdled her stomach. How the other women bore this, she was unsure. Perhaps because they had been trained and educated their entire lives for this moment, whereas she had taken to studying culture and business. Ivory fingers gripped the edge of the seat as they drew past another gate to enter the stable area. Her heart quickened in her chest. They were here.

Her heart nearly stopped when the carriage did. Here we are, Mila, her Aunt announced. She watched the older woman smooth her hair back and pinch her cheeks to bring her further color. Let me look at you. Now it was Mila’s turn. Her own cheeks were pinched and her dark brown hair was smoothed. It is a pity we packed your perfume away. We both smell of horse.

The sudden sound of drums echoed through the courtyard. The arrival of her betrothed, no doubt. Each booming sound echoed within her heart. I’ll go first and announce you, her Aunt stated matter-of-factly. With the passing of her father, her Aunt had been the one to take over the house’s affairs. It was a role she took quite in earnest. The carriage shifted as her Aunt left and Mila was alone for a few sacred seconds.

My lord, she heard her Aunt say. It is with the highest honor and pleasure that I present to you, Lady Camilla of House Oldstone. A pause. Mila fought her faint heart and climbed out of the carriage. She emerged wearing a dress of fine blue silk--deep in color like her eyes. Its edges were embroidered with black. It was a modest dress in the style typical of Angora. A single slit up the side showed her pale, albeit surprisingly, muscular leg.

It was then that Mila met her betrothed for the first time. Immediately, she was drawn to his eyes. They were a shade she had never witnessed before on a human face. Red. Likely, they were a unique shade of brown, but in the sun’s light, they reflected an almost red-like color. Those eyes sat in a face that would not be called traditionally handsome. His lips were larger than the ones she knew at home. His nose clearly once broken. But his cheekbones were strong and his jaw held a sharp edge.

Yet the man before her was at least twice her age. He kept a trimmed beard that grew around his mouth, beneath his nose, and only just tickled along his jawline. It, like his hair that reached his