Sorcerer's Bride

By Blair Bancroft

Princess M'lani of the pacifist planet Psyclid, where almost everyone but M'lani is gifted with some kind of psychic ability, has agreed to marry Jason Mondragon, the Sorcerer Prime. Jagan fled their planet when it was invaded by the Regulon Empire, but has now returned, supposedly to lead his people in rebellion against the Occupation. But he's been dragging his feet about it, and when he finally shows up, he has his mistress with him. If that weren't enough of a problem, M'lani develops a not-so-welcome psychic gift, and then there's that prickly long-time rebel leader, T'kal Killiri, and the antics of M'lani's younger brother, who speaks only through illusions. Freedom for the obscure, peace-loving planet of Psyclid seems a long way away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blair Bancroft
• Release date: May 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781736799956

Blair Bancroft

Blair Bancroft recalls receiving odd looks from adults as she walked home from school at age seven, her lips moving as she told herself stories. And there was never a night she didn't entertain herself with her own bedtime stories. But it was only after a variety of other careers that she turned to serious writing. Blair has been a music teacher, professional singer, non-fiction editor, costume designer, and real estate agent. She has traveled from Bratsk, Siberia, to Machu Picchu, Peru, and made numerous visits to Europe, Britain, and Ireland. She is now attempting to incorporate all these varied experiences into her writing. Blair's first book, TARLETON'S WIFE, won RWA's Golden Heart and the Best Romance award from the Florida Writers' Association. Her romantic suspense novel, SHADOWED PARADISE, and her Young Adult Medieval, ROSES IN THE MIST, were finalists for an EPPIE, the "Oscar" of the e-book industry. Blair's Regency, THE INDIFFERENT EARL, was chosen as Best Regency by Romantic Times magazine and was a finalist for RWA's RITA award. Blair believes variety is the spice of life. Her recent books include Historical Romance, Romantic Suspense, Mystery, Thrillers, and Steampunk, all available at Smashwords. A long-time resident of Florida, Blair fondly recalls growing up in Connecticut, which still has a piece of her heart.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Blue Moon

How had he gotten himself into such a fydding mess?

Jagan Mondragon, Sorcerer Prime of the planet Psyclid, stood at a high window in the Round Tower at Veranelle—once the summer retreat of the royal family—and scowled at the glowing orb of his home planet hanging low in the night sky. A few hours ago he had been down there, witnessing without protest his betrothed’s marriage to the leader of a hopeless rebellion. His woman, smiling, turning up her face to be kissed by a fydding Reg.

She turned her back on you years ago, his inner voice mocked.

So? Women are flighty, everyone knows that. He’d been so certain L’ira would come back to him.

You thought her dead.

That too. Which didn’t mean she had to marry a man determined to bring their world down about their ears. Yet he’d stood there like a rusted robot while L’ira and a traitorous Reg huntership captain exchanged their vows.

And then King Ryal remembered his existence, and Jagan had found himself on his knees, speaking his own vows. Agreeing to take as his bride that spoiled, self-centered child of no talent, M’lani, a sorry replacement for her sister, L’ira, once Princess Royal, now nothing more than Dama Rigel. Jagan’s mind spit the last two words. May Captain Talryn Rigel be devoured by Sorian slime snakes. No, make that Falangi firedragons.

And what had the great Sorcerer Prime done after pledging himself to L’ira’s little brat of a sister? He’d gotten back on the shuttle with Rigel, his not-so-blushing bride, and her little brother—her decidedly strange little brother, K’kadi—and returned to Blue Moon, one of Psyclid’s three moons and headquarters of the rebellion against the Empire.

Fury. Deep, dark fury consumed him. Fury at Rigel, L’ira, King Ryal, and his blasted consort Jalaine, a sorceress nearly as skilled as himself. At M’lani, who had so readily offered to make the virgin sacrifice of marrying the Sorcerer Prime so someone in the royal family could keep him in check.

Feeling the need to wrestle with his demons alone, Jagan had exiled himself to the room in the tower, sparing his cohorts—B’aela, witch and long-time lover, and his other assistants, D’nim, T’mar, and Tor, from an anger that threatened to explode at any moment.

B’aela . . . She was going to kill him.

Dark shadows rose in the room behind him, winding, twisting, slithering their way around a chamber intended for midnight trysts, not conjuring magic, white or black. Blue-hot flames leaped to life in the air outside the window, dancing grotesquely against the distant glow of the planet Psyclid. Home.

Home, was it? And what had he done at the first rumble of aggression from the Empire? He’d taken his acolytes—his only true friends—and run to the far reaches of the Quadrant. He’d told himself he was preserving the Psyclid culture, keeping the Sorcerer Prime out of the hands of the Regulons. But when L’ira and that batani rebel Rigel came for him, he’d seen himself for what he was—the most powerful magician in the Quadrant, if not the entire galaxy, cowering in a hellhole, hoping for the big, bad Empire to go away.

Fyd! A slash of his hand and the whirling shadows vanished, the night outside settling back to its customary peace and quiet, the only light from the distant orb of Psyclid and the galaxy of stars beyond.

What had he done down there on Psyclid tonight?

He’d stayed on his knees, that’s what he’d done, while Queen Jalaine, the Paraprime, had demanded his vow to organize the planet’s many psychic talents into a force capable of freeing Psyclid from the Empire. But not, she had cautioned, without remembering the dangers of enlasé, the melding of minds, and the possibility for disaster if he failed to keep his vow to listen to the calming influence of his oh-so-untalented betrothed, M’lani. Well, he knew what the queen could do with that vow. Pok, dimi, and fyd!

And then he’d run away. Just as he had when the Regulon Empire conquered his neutral, peace-loving planet. Oh, he’d told himself he was duty-bound to maintain the invisibility cloak around L’ira and Rigel while they went back to the shuttle. But after that he could have returned to the palace and begun his assigned role as heroic leader of the Psyclid rebels. He could have spoken at least a word or two to M’lani, acknowledged their new bond.

Instead, he’d climbed aboard the shuttle and returned to the rebel base, which was sheltered by a ridó, a force field the Empire could not penetrate, leaving them unaware the third moon of a peaceful backwater planet sheltered the heart of the rebellion against the Regulon Empire’s rule.

Jagan could spend all night telling himself he needed to make plans, form a team beyond the faithful who had followed him to Hell Nine, but the truth was, tonight he’d done it again. He’d run from responsibility he did not want. From a woman he did not want . . .

And now he was stuck in the same shining summer palace where L’ira and her fydding huntership captain were undoubtedly enjoying the first blissful night of their honeymoon.

Sparks flickered in the center of the room, formed into the piquant features of the former Princess Royal, flickered, exploded into red-gold sparks that drifted slowly toward a carpet the color of a bottomless sea. With eyes suddenly gone cold, Jagan snuffed them out before they touched down. That was the trouble with his kind of magic—it tended to be more than illusion.

Crystalia, the Psyclid Royal Palace

He’s not coming back. M’lani Sayelle Zarana Orlondami, her title of Princess Royal a scant two hours old, stopped pacing the royal sitting room long enough to turn her green-eyed gaze on her parents, who were sitting side by side on an elegant sofa covered in azure-blue brocade threaded with gold. He’s run away again, has he not? The miserable coward. Does he still fear the Empire, or is it me who has frightened him away this time?

Ryal, King of Psyclid—whose hair was as long and black as M’lani’s unexpected fiancé’s, and with eyes that matched the azure sofa he was sitting on—seemed to struggle for a moment between the obligations of a ruling monarch and the demands of parenthood. Mondragon could not simply return to the palace, child. Look around you—we have Regulon guards at every door. Did you expect us to hide him in the servants’ passages between the walls?

You expected him to stay, you know you did. Why else have we been sitting here counting the minutes since they all left?

We did, Queen Jalaine admitted, but further thought makes me realize how foolish we were. Jagan is now part of the rebellion, which means he must coordinate his activities with Captain Rigel—

Captain Rigel, M’lani declared with considerable loathing, her auburn hair glowing almost as brightly as the flames in the great marble fireplace, "is a Regulon. How can he possibly understand the needs of Psyclid?"

Captain Rigel is S’sorrokan, leader of the rebellion, Ryal pronounced. He is also your brother-in-law. I suggest you speak his name with more respect.

Ha! Disgusted, M’lani glared at the pair of them. You are avoiding the issue. Jagan has run back to Blue Moon, ignoring his obligations, probably cowering in terror.

M’lani, my dear . . . Jalaine spoke with the extreme patience of a mother accustomed to dealing with two headstrong daughters. "Jagan may be the Sorcerer Prime, but even he cannot simply appear on Psyclid, mumble a few incantations, and the Regulons disappear in a puff of smoke. Plans must be made, plans that will need the approval of not only Captain Rigel, but our own Council of Elders, a task that may be difficult as enlasé has long been forbidden."

When the queen’s reasonable tone failed to budge her daughter’s pout, she added, The risk is enormous. Jagan needs to be inserted safely into the populace, perhaps as far away as the other side of the planet. Returning to the palace tonight would have been suicide.

As usual, your mother is right, King Ryal declared. "Jagan will return when it is safe for him to do so. Until then, nothing has changed. Nothing. Do you understand, M’lani? Psyclid is still occupied by the Regulons. Your sister is still missing, presumed dead. As is Talryn Rigel."

A frown flitted across Queen Jalaine’s face, her green eyes, the same shade as her younger daughter’s, clouded with sorrow. Do his parents know he is alive, I wonder? Or do they suffer as we did, not knowing . . . ?

Rigel’s death was one of the biggest news events of the decade, her husband reminded her. But whether or not his parents know he faked the destruction of his huntership is one of the many questions we did not have time to ask.

The poor souls, Jalaine murmured. Not to know their son is alive and well.

And leader of the rebellion, M’lani added with enough sarcasm to suggest Admiral Vander Rigel and his wife might best be left ignorant of their son’s treasonous activities. And you are right, Mama. There were a thousand questions we needed to ask and didn’t. L’ira cannot have been on Blue Moon all this time—nearly five years—and not found a way to let us know.

King Ryal stood up, offering his hand to his queen, who rose to stand beside him, as she had for so many years. Even during the times he had experimented with the royal bloodline, attempting to impregnate women of unusually strong psychic talent. Experiments that resulted only in the oddly ethereal bastard K’kadi, who communicated solely through illusions. Jagan will return, the King of Psyclid stated with royal conviction. He will honor his obligation to his country and to you, M’lani. He vowed this on his knees before me, and he will do it. It will happen. Ryal stood, holding out his hand to his wife. Time for bed, I believe. We have waited long enough.

Putting on her most bland court face, M’lani dropped a curtsy to her parents. Good night, sleep well. Having L’ira back in our lives brings us all great joy.

As her mother passed by M’lani on her way to her bedchamber, she paused long enough to whisper, You are a better match for Jagan, my dear. A calming influence. L’ira always feared the results of the merger of two high talents."

How dare her mother remind her she shared none of L’ira’s psychic gifts, none of her mother’s vast talents? No special gifts that would allow her to stand her ground with the Sorcerer Prime. Since Psyclids, a peace-loving people, had few profanities in their language, M’lani silently intoned a few choice phrases she’d picked up from their Regulon guards, ending with a particularly colorful "fydding fyd!"

It hurt—oh, how it hurt. L’ira was everything she was not. L’ira had the gift of telekinesis, a skill she had first stumbled upon in her teens and developed while at the Regulon Space Academy, joyfully reporting her triumphs to her family on Psyclid. L’ira was now married to a handsome, dashing hero—even if he was a Reg. L’ira had found love. While M’lani . . .

And then there was Mother. Queen Jalaine, who was also the Paraprime, the most skilled sorceress and—paradoxically, some said—religious leader of Psyclid. While M’lani was nothing more than a proper younger princess. Meek, mild, doing as she was told, even while suffering from her shocking lack of paranormal gifts.

At least Papa was not such a shining example of royal rectitude as her mother. The king had definitely strayed, supposedly for experimental purposes only. Just as Jagan would stray. Had strayed. That batani witch, B’aela Flammia, had gone with him when he fled Psyclid one step ahead of the Regulons. She was likely still with him.

So where did that leave M’lani, newly made Princess Royal and betrothed of the Sorcerer Prime?

With determined step she crossed the room, pulled aside the heavy brocade draperies, done up in the same azure as the sofa, and peered out at the night sky. Two of Psyclid’s three moons were visible. One, cloaked in a swirling blue mist, rose high and full in the indigo sky. Blue Moon. Once the lushly terraformed vacation home of the royal family—now home to the rebellion. M’lani felt the irony all the way down to her soul.

It was almost as if their lives had come full circle on a carousel, only to find when the music stopped that they’d been dropped in the midst of a new and more sinister world. Once upon a time, when she and L’ira were children, a high-ranking Regulon from one the Empire’s great families had come to Psyclid as the Emperor’s hand-picked ambassador. Admiral Vander Rigel and his family, including Talryn Joffre Rigel, his dashing and charismatic son, just named to the Regulon Space Academy. Young as M’lani was, even she had been able to see the special something in his golden beauty, his confidence, the intelligence that shown from blue eyes that seemed to see everything.

Great goddess, how his family must have suffered when news of his huntership’s destruction reached Regula Prime.

Or . . . Was it possible Admiral Rigel was aware of his son’s activities . . . ? M’lani knew enough about politics to be aware that without support from powerful men on Regula, the rebellion was doomed—as well as her sister and brand-new husband. She’d heard no whispers about unrest on the Regulon home world, but the more she thought about it, the more plausible it seemed that Admiral Vander Rigel might not be as loyal as the Emperor thought he was.

Which meant the rebels might actually have a chance. If they could survive the years it would take to shake the Reg military behemoth from its entrenched positions on twelve star systems. Making it all the more important to get Jagan back on Psyclid soil. They had a job to do.

Ah, goddess! M’lani could feel her mind expanding, even as Blue Moon rose before her, her thoughts soaring with it. There would be no more stagnating in Crystalia’s royal apartments. When Jagan returned she, like L’ira, would become part of the rebellion. She would plan great things, help take back her country. And after that . . .

M’lani paused as the full significance of freeing Psyclid from the Reg occupation sank in. She shivered. To her parents and to most Psyclids, it was the ultimate goal. But to L’ira, to the rebels on Blue Moon, taking back Psyclid was but a first step on the long hard road to revolution. To a new emperor on the throne of Regula Prime.

M’lani’s thoughts of the future disintegrated as a startling vision rose up before her, obliterating the night sky.

A cascade of pink and white roses fell from a clear daylight sky—M’lani could almost swear she smelled their heavy scent. The petals coalesced into images. Tal and L’ira—he in a uniform M’lani didn’t recognize, L’ira wearing an elaborate white gown sparkling with brilliants and pearls, with a train six feet long. On her flowing mass of jet black hair, she wore an elaborate diamond tiara, the instantly recognizable symbol of a royal house.

The images changed. Tal and L’ira were standing on a balcony, waving to a wildly enthusiastic crowd below. This time her sister wore a crown, the sun shooting sparks off an elaborate arrangement of diamonds, rubies, and pearls.

A new image. L’ira holding a baby. A baby with a circlet of gold on its head. A royal prince or princess. Or could that possibly be an Imperial babe . . .?

Ridiculous! M’lani’s emotions had been assaulted by so many ups and downs tonight that she’d plunged into hallucinations brought on by all too vivid wishful thinking. K’kadi was too far away to create any of his fanciful illusions, and she herself had no talent at all . . .

M’lani gaped as the air-dream outside her window suddenly vanished, to be replaced by the grinning image of someone instantly recognizable, even if she had not seen him in over five years. Long white-blond hair, slightly slanted azure eyes. Just like his father’s. A mercurial pixie, whose talents had clearly increased ten-fold since she had last seen him.

K’kadi Amund, royal bastard. Now capable of sending illusions over vast distances.

What about me, brother? Why nothing about my future?

M’lani waited, but that was it. K’kadi’s mischievous image winked out, the night sky returned to normal. Finally, she allowed the draperies to fall back into place. Head down, she found her way to her bedchamber, where sleep refused to come. She was Princess Royal of an occupied country, subject to the whim of the Regulon Empire. Betrothed to a man who didn’t want her. A man who not only didn’t want to be a hero but gave every indication of once again abandoning his kingdom, his obligations, and his substitute bride.

And as for K’kadi’s illusions, those were nothing but air dreams. Her little brother was about as stable as a whirlwind—flashes of brilliance interspersed with insouciance to the max. Irresponsible, naive, not quite of this world, that was K’kadi. And every one of his illusions should be taken with a good dose of skepticism.

Except . . .

Five years was a long time. K’kadi was growing up. Certainly, it appeared his gift for illusion had increased exponentially if he was able to reach out to her from Blue Moon.

And then there was Jagan.

M’lani was still tossing and turning as the sun rose over Psyclid, casting rainbow glints of light from Crystalia’s many towers and dazzling peaks. Her scowl deepening, she buried her face under the covers, shutting out the dawn of a new day.

Chapter 2

Blue Moon

Married. L’ira Rigel, long known to members of the rebellion as Kass Kiolani, stared at the elegant and tasteful furnishings of the sitting room that had once been the private sanctuary of her parents.

She was married. Official consort of S’sorrokan, rebel leader, who had taken over this suite of rooms when he first set foot on Blue Moon. Yet after all the time they’d spent sneaking through hidden passages to spend their nights side by side, Kass still felt uncomfortable occupying the royal suite. Not that the servants hadn’t known that she and Tal were . . . well, together, but there was, after all, a certain behavior expected of the Princess Royal.

Former Princess Royal.

Even now that she was married, Kass squirmed at the thought of staff who had known her all her life seeing her in rooms she still thought of as the Queen’s Suite.

Her head came up, her body stilling as the truth struck. She was now Queen of Blue Moon, though she would never style herself so. Her father had given her a choice—remain true to Psyclid, prepared to become its queen in due time, or marry Tal Rigel, following him wherever his destiny would lead.

No choice, really. She was now L’ira Faelle Maedan Orlondami Rigel—all the pomp and ceremony neatly tucked away under a simple Dama Rigel, or Ensign Rigel when aboard the huntership Astarte. Her consolation prize for abdicating her title, the gift of Blue Moon—from the palace of Veranelle to the space port, villages, farms, fields, and forest.

Blue Moon. All hers.

Married. In days gone by, the joining of a Psyclid princess to the son of one of Regula’s most powerful families might have been enough to stop a war. Enough to unite their countries as friends instead of enemies. Perhaps it would someday, Kass mused, but not under the present militant Regulon regime.

A face popped into her line of sight. Heart-shaped, lovely, surrounded by a cascade of auburn hair, the green eyes as clear as if M’lani were standing before her. Except the vision showed only a head, hovering in place some six feet from where Kass was sitting. A dark gray cloud materialized, shadowing her sister’s bright curls.

K’kadi, playing games.

Was he just outside the door, Kass wondered, or in his room far down the corridor? Hard to tell, as his abilities seemed to increase daily. A constant worry, since his control did not always keep up with his astonishing gifts.

Come here, K’kadi. I’d rather talk to you in person.

The illusion of M’lani scowled and shook her head. Goosebumps sprinkled Kass’s arms. Clearly, K’kadi was creating their sister’s face from a distance. And how he could hear her she would not attempt to guess. Her own telepathic skills were minimal, so it couldn’t be that. K’kadi was simply a phenomenon that had to be accepted, though never truly understood.

Very well, she said with no more than a hint of long-suffering, tell me what’s wrong with M’lani.

Red and yellow sparks erupted from the cloud over M’lani’s head.

She’s angry, Kass interpreted

M’lani’s head nodded. A second head appeared beneath the hovering dark cloud. Male, handsome, with striking, deep-set eyes as black as the straight hair that fell past his shoulders.

She’s angry with Jagan. Oh, pok! Of course she was. What did M’lani know of military strategy, of war and death, blood, terror, and tears? She was the princess who stayed at home, encountering nothing worse than an army of occupation, with the royal family still carefully sheltered behind the walls of Crystalia. As far as M’lani was concerned, Jagan had run off again, perhaps never to return. Never to fulfill his vow to free Psyclid. Or his vow to marry the newly designated Princess Royal.

Kass looked up at the two disembodied images which still hovered well above her head, each face as morose as the other. He’s going back, K’kadi. Really. You need to tell—

Impossible. K’kadi couldn’t communicate all the way to Psyclid. Yet how had he known M’lani was upset?

K’kadi, can you tell M’lani Jagan is coming back? A large question mark, all black, replaced the faces. You don’t know if you can communicate that far, or you don’t believe Jagan’s going to go back? Oh, fizzet! She knew better than to ask K’kadi a double question. After taking a moment to control her temper, Kass chose the question she thought most likely to be true. You think Jagan is going to wiggle out of his promise?

Her brother deigned to replace the question mark with his own image, the pale aristocratic face of a fairy prince, framed in shoulder-length strands of white-blond hair, his uptilted eyes great pools of azure that seemed to shine with the wisdom of the ages. Hands appeared, palms together, in front of his face. Face and hands bowed.

"Is that a Yes?"

K’kadi smiled. Kass wasn’t sure which one she’d prefer to strangle, Jagan or K’kadi. Jagan for being such an enigma, K’kadi for turning her few quiet moments topsy turvy. Very well, I’ll discuss this with Tal. But, believe me, Jagan is going back to Psyclid.

Elaborately raised eyebrows, and K’kadi was gone. Kass slumped back into a corner of the elegant but comfortable sofa, fingers to her forehead, frustration rising. Just when she thought she was finally free of Jagan and his entourage of witches and warlocks . . .

Kass! Is something wrong?

Tears misted her eyes as her husband charged across the room, concern adding to the lines of his chiseled features. How could she ever have doubts? He was her golden warrior, the love of her life since she’d first seen him at age twelve. Forged of the stuff of heroes, Tal Rigel was the epitome of a dynamic, charismatic leader. The child of privilege turned crusader. And for some ridiculous reason he had chosen to defend a fragile-looking Psyclid female who had wanted to learn to fight, to travel through space, explore distant planets . . . And ended up imprisoned for four years on a planet far from home. And somehow, without knowing it, become the inspiration for rebellion.

It’s all right, Kass murmured as Tal scooped her into his arms. Nothing that won’t wait ’til later.

"Then what are we doing on this batani couch when there’s a bed but a few steps away?"

Their eyes met, exchanging the wonder of being truly married. The door to what was once King Ryal’s bedchamber slammed behind them.

"You what?" B’aela Flammia gaped at her lover, her brown eyes widening as shock turned to fury. The masses of long brown curls framing her narrow face, strong nose, and high cheekbones suddenly rose, fanning into a semi-circle around her head.

Magnificent, Jagan thought. If he didn’t feel so fydding guilty, he’d be proud of her. A naturally gifted witch, B’aela had added to her knowledge considerably over the many years he’d been her mentor and had been honed by fire on that long trip back from Hell Nine to Blue Moon. He needed her at his side on Psyclid, though clearly that might be a problem.

B’aela knew—had always known—he would marry elsewhere. She had remained stoically calm when his betrothal to L’ira was announced. But the sudden switch to M’lani was not going down well. Last night—coward that he was—instead of returning to the spacious quarters assigned to the Psyclid wizards after their return from exile, Jagan had let himself into L’ira’s former rooms in Veranelle’s Round Tower, where he had fought the good fight with his demons for most of the night, throwing himself onto the white and silver silk brocade sofa only in the gloomy light of predawn. No matter, he’d never needed much sleep. But now, facing the reality of his faithful followers—B’aela, D’nim, T’mar, and Tor—he could only wish himself back in the isolation of the tower.

Oddly enough, Tor, the giant native of Bender’s Folly, known to most as Hell Nine, was the first to speak after B’aela’s stunned reaction to Jagan’s news. Your king wants you to lead a rebellion on that planet down there? he asked, hooking his thumb in the direction of Psyclid.

"Using enlasé? D’nim spit out. It is forbidden.