Winter's Last Reign

By Laura Bickle

Astrid was born to be queen of Solveig. Both fierce and brilliant, she's defeated all obstacles in her path to the throne. But there's just one last hurdle. To become queen, Astrid must either acquire a royal consort or win the favor of the last dragon of Solveig. Shunning the idea of a marriage of convenience, Astrid ascends a treacherous snowy mountain to bargain with the dragon. The covetous dragon demands that she complete a quest to gain his favor, one that will force her to conquer the landscape of her own heart.

 

Winter's Last Reign is an 18,000 word romantic fantasy novella traversing a mystical landscape full of mythical creatures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Bickle
• Release date: Dec 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393700234

Laura Bickle

Laura Bickle grew up in rural Ohio, reading entirely too many comic books out loud to her favorite Wonder Woman doll. After graduating with an MA in Sociology–Criminology from Ohio State University and an MLIS in Library Science from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, she patrolled the stacks at the public library and worked with data systems in criminal justice. She now dreams up stories about the monsters under the stairs. Her work has been included in the ALA’s Amelia Bloomer Project 2013 reading list and the State Library of Ohio’s Choose to Read Ohio reading list for 2015-2016. More information about Laura’s work can be found at www.laurabickle.com.

Book preview

I.

The Rune Othalan: Inheritance

Her father was dead , and nothing would ever be the same again.

Astrid knelt before his glass coffin, lying in state at Solveig Castle. The stone floor radiated cold through her velvet dress as she pressed her hands to the glass. Her father, the king, lay inside, his long grey beard braided with gems and ribbons. His expression was serene, as serene as he’d been in life. He’d been tranquil even when the queen had died a decade before, as if he and loss were old friends. His hands were folded over the hilt of the sword placed on his chest. Those scarred and weathered hands had known both war and long stretches of peace. They had held children and axes as they guided Solveig to a prosperous era. And they were still now, never to move again.

Deep piles of bouquets of azaleas, orchids, and tassel flowers surrounded the coffin. For days, mourners had trailed through the Great Hall of the castle. Servants swept the flowers to the back of the hall each day, where they formed a fragrant, wilting mountain. Astrid thought that the people of Solveig loved him almost as much as she had. They didn’t really know him, though, his habits of sketching and drinking his soup a little messily, staining his beard. But they loved him, all the same. The whole country ached with Astrid, and she found some comfort in that.

But she felt alone. She pressed her forehead against the glass and sobbed. She would never again hear her father humming over his breakfast or shoot arrows at targets with him in the summertime fields. She had loved him, and he was gone.

Footsteps echoed behind her, and Astrid did not turn. She knew those footsteps. They approached her, and she finally looked up to see her younger brother, Hakon, standing before the coffin. He wasn’t looking at their father, though. He stared at the crown placed on top of the coffin. The crown of Solveig had been wrought centuries ago by dragons, serpentine gold coils wound around a circlet, with teeth reaching toward the sky. Dragon eyes rendered in opals gazed out into the empty hall, shimmering in the dim light. No human artisan could create anything so sinuous and beautiful.

Astrid straightened, but she allowed her pale silver hair to curtain her face. Have you come to mourn?

We all mourn, Hakon said. But he had not shed a single tear from those cold blue eyes. But you and I have the future of the kingdom to discuss.

The future can wait, Astrid said. Our father would grant us the grace to mourn.

The world moves on, despite grief. Our enemies see this void in power and plot against us. Solveig needs a leader.

Astrid frowned. Their father had made peace along their borders. There were no marauders pulling boats up on their beaches. Hakon, as usual, saw enemies behind every shadow. Enemies and opportunities to climb to power.

She climbed to her feet to look him in the eye. I will assume the throne, as Father wanted. And that was the law: the oldest sibling ascended to the throne.

Hakon’s eyes narrowed. Dear sister. You are not qualified. You have not married.

Astrid’s back stiffened, and her tone was harsh. This is not a time for courtship.

The law says that the heir to the throne must take a royal consort. It is very clear in that respect. Hakon smirked at her.

Ah. I should have a marriage like yours? she snapped. Hakon had taken a young wife from a neighboring country a year ago and cheated on her every opportunity he got. Everyone knew of his infidelities and whispered sympathetically about his wife.

You have two choices, Hakon said with a shrug. Get married and take the crown or abdicate to me.

Astrid would never consent to a marriage of convenience, and he knew it. She’d rejected every offer of courtship from every eligible nobleman on the continent. She’d even turned down the women who approached her. But Hakon didn’t know why she remained aloof from romantic entanglements. And she would never tell him.

Astrid gritted her teeth. She would not let him have the throne. He was cruel and selfish, and would not carry on their father’s legacy. He would empty the kingdom’s coffers for his own selfish pleasures and drive the kingdom into the ground.

There is a third choice, she said, her voice low as a growl. An heir may gain the favor of the dragon and claim the throne.

Hakon burst into laughter, echoing with such inappropriate volume in the hall. She stared him down, and his laughter eventually subsided.

You can’t be serious, he said. The last dragon of Solveig, even if it still exists, would devour you in an instant.

Astrid lifted her a chin and said quietly, I have never failed in battle, nor in negotiations. I will be victorious.

Hakon shook his head, smiling. You’ll be dead, and I’ll be king.

BRANDR MOUNTAIN WAS forbidden, and for good reason.

Astrid had gazed upon the mountain through the castle windows every day of her life. It was the tallest mountain in the range that encompassed the horizon, always shrouded in snow and clouds. The snow never melted, not even in summer, and no one dared approach it. Those who tried were simply never heard from again. Though the