The Moon Strikes Twice

By James Rushton

Connor Peak is an only child, raised and trained by King Reynard to become his most profitable recruit after the tragic death of his father. Bound by loyalty, Connor is sent once more on a mission, which proves to be his most difficult yet. His target? Rachel Penmouse of the Isles, a wise Queen, just as dedicated to protecting her own people, and to Connor, the sole person responsible for the death of his father.

Connor must now endeavour to avenge his father and make his King proud once more, but not every contract is as simple as described, not every detail as clear. Will Connor succeed and be the catalyst for war? Nothing in his lifestyle is certain, except for one fate that lay hidden in the dark; the moon will strike twice, and once it shines its light upon everything in this world, be careful who you call your enemies, as no one is safe from the light that will reveal all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398430211

James Rushton

James grew up in Brighouse, West Yorkshire and now lives nearby in Huddersfield. He is a civil engineer graduate, now practising as a structural engineer. Whilst on a university work placement, James discovered his passion and talent for writing. He draws his inspiration from the scenery and people he experiences on weekend walks and he aims to draw the reader into the world that has so captured his imagination. The Moon Strikes Twice is his first novel.

Book preview

About the Author

James grew up in Brighouse, West Yorkshire and now lives nearby in Huddersfield. He is a civil engineer graduate, now practising as a structural engineer. Whilst on a university work placement, James discovered his passion and talent for writing. He draws his inspiration from the scenery and people he experiences on weekend walks and he aims to draw the reader into the world that has so captured his imagination. The Moon Strikes Twice is his first novel.

Dedication

To the princess that rules my heart, I thank you for your belief and support. You’ve kept me positive through hardships and I couldn’t be more grateful. Those whom I love, inspire what I write – you know who you are and I thank you. The blood we share means we are connected and when one achieves, we all do. So, I thank you for making me so. Each character has a part of me in them and I consider them my own. Whether it be good or bad traits, they are mine.

Copyright Information ©

James Rushton 2023

The right of James Rushton to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398430204 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398430211 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Part 1

Chapter 1

There it was again. The all too familiar ring. A simple silver-coloured band engraved only with some initials and three vertical marks like a claw. Connor had seen it too many times to count now. The ring falling down, rotating as it did so, as steady as the tick of a clock. It was cast against a bright light and was camouflaged well. He hadn’t spotted it the first time, not knowing what to look for in the scene that played beneath his eyelids.

Scanning the picture once more, Connor could see the light was coming through the only entryway. It was like staring into the sun as if an angel had come down and was blinding him with its greatness. He had often hoped it was his mother, but he could never find a figure to look upon. You can’t see what you don’t understand.

The blinding light punched its way through and forced Connor to look around. It didn’t want him to look outside. If it could speak, it would tell him it wasn’t important and that he had to find something within. He had looked many times now, but he couldn’t find anything of importance. Connor tried once more.

It was a small place he was in. The walls were made of a dull grey stone that made the place feel cold and damp even with a warming light. Normally, the room was lit with a single candle placed on a table in the centre of the first room, making the walls shrink in as the darkness claimed them. A flimsy wooden door lay smashed on the ground where the light was pouring in from. Pieces scattered the light-coloured wood floor reaching out to Connor’s feet.

Looking around the rest of the place, Connor noticed it was a mess. A table overturned by the fireplace with a fire slowly burning away, chairs smashed across the room and a shape on the floor that took a while to focus.

Something glittered in the corner of his eye. Connor whipped his head around with lightning speed and saw a shadowy figure holding a knife. The figure had no discernible features. They were black as night and blank as fresh snow. Connor let out an audible gasp as he stared at the shape that had appeared from a children’s nightmare. Its presence was made scarier by the cape that was flapping in the wind behind it.

Connor looked down at the nightmare’s right hand and noticed two things. A faint rushing sound in the background and a knife in the monster’s hand. It was a plain-looking knife that was only decorated with blood.

Blood? Whose blood? Connor thought. As his reflexes took over, his head snapped back to the other form on the floor. Features. It—He—had features.

Short brown hair shaved short, brown eyes that stared coldly at the ceiling and a scar that ran down his left cheek. It ended just to the side of his full mouth surrounded by his strong jawline. The man was well built with a tanned body. His muscles well defined, hidden beneath his loose-fitting scruffy clothes.

His shape shimmered and shook violently. Connor was confused about what was happening. He didn’t remember getting here or what happened; he just was. A growing sense of unease filled Connor’s body from the feet up. It rose up through him like a fire except this one didn’t warm him like the fireplace, still happily crackling, but it cooled him like water; like he was dying.

Dying. The shimmering stopped. Connor thought everything had calmed down, but that rushing noise was still there and growing louder by the second. Minute? Connor had lost his sense of time, but he had gained a sense of emptiness and horror at the now still body. Not a being, but a body.

Blood seeped through the carcass’s clothes, painting Connor a story as it did so. Stab wounds, and a lot of them. They littered his chest in a random pattern with each hole bleeding more profusely than the last. Connor stood still in shock, too scared to move for fear he may slip on the floor that grew slick with the crimson flood.

Closer it got.

Was this what the light outside wanted him to see? But why?

Again, it got louder.

Connor didn’t hear the ring drop to the floor as it splashed in a puddle of blood. That noise that was now deafening had drowned it out. It had drowned out the noise of a child screaming. Nervously checking to see if the monster was still there, Connor slowly turned his head towards the doorway, praying he wasn’t next to be stabbed.

The shadow was now moving, leaving the broken house. It had dropped the knife and instead was carrying something else upon its caped shoulder. Something much larger but Connor couldn’t tell what.

Still looking at the entryway, Connor noticed the light had changed colour from a brilliant white to a dark red.

Noise split Connor’s head open as easy as the monster’s knife. With fear taking over and being unable to hear, Connor let out what he thought was a child’s scream as a wave of blood crashed into the house, washed over him and drowned him in his nightmare.

Connor woke up with a jolt. His eyes shot open and his body jerked upright. Relief washed over him; then pain; then stars; and now blood. The air was filled with a muffled exclamation of pain. Connor’s hands went up to his head where the pain was. He didn’t remember a roof beam being that low. When she spoke though, Connor realised what he had hit.

As much as you might love me, Con, I don’t exactly enjoy a Glasgow kiss this early in the morning. Connor opened his eyes, with his hand still rubbing his forehead and looked towards the woman whose nose was still covered by her hands that were slowly turning red.

Oh God! Jane, I’m so sorry, his voice now deep from the morning grogginess and the fact that he was himself again. Connor was also glad he was back in familiar surroundings again—in his bedroom.

It was a grand room that was very spacious. A four-poster bed lay at the centre of the back wall with a floor to ceiling high window either side. A mahogany desk sat in one corner of the room with papers strewn all over it. Shelves occupied the wall behind the desk that were full of books on the different types of monsters. Monsters you would find in novels that Connor had stored on the opposite side of the room. Many chest of drawers laid the front wall where Connor kept many things including his favourite sword.

Here, Connor said, let me get you a towel. Flinging back the covers and getting up, he noticed that himself and the bed were damp with what Connor was hoping was sweat. He did not want a repeat incident of that drunken Christmas night.

Making his way quickly across the sun-kissed floor, the curtains drawn back, Connor quickly found the en suite that he was always thankful was kept in a clean manner. His whole room was, even the attached walk-in wardrobe. He supposed he had Jane to thank for that.

Connor snapped up the closest towel and paced back to give it to Jane. Oh thank you, Jane mumbled through the blood and her hands. She hastily grabbed the white towel and pressed it to her nose, dripping blood onto the floor in the process. Even though it wasn’t his job, Connor went back to the bathroom to get another towel and clean up the mess. After all, it was the least he could do.

Looking up at Jane from the floor was a funny sight. The towel was comically big and Connor refused to take her seriously as she tried to protest for him to leave the mess.

Honestly, you shouldn’t trouble yourself, Con. As your servant, that’s my job.

After all these years, I thought you knew I hate that term. I prefer friend who is very willing to help out all the time. Despite the pain, Jane let out a small giggle which filled the dry air. Ever since Connor could remember, Jane had been there for him. She was one of the true friends that Connor had growing up and so they had treated each other so. It made for an easier, nicer lifestyle. He had seen how his adoptive father treated his servants and had hated him for it. Connor wished to be a better man than that.

Connor stood up. There. All done. And nobody died because you didn’t do it. The sarcasm was rich in his presence. Now, tilt your head back and let me look at that nose. Jane over the years had grown used to Connor’s stubbornness and there was no way talking him down once he said he would do something. It was one of the qualities that made him so desired by his employer.

Erm yeah. It doesn’t look broken, Connor casually said. Just a lot of blood. You should be fine in about 10 minutes. At least I know I don’t have to practice my head-butting now.

Oh great. Every cloud, yeah?

Right you are, Miss Port! Connor kissed her nose and let go of her face. What were you doing hovering over my bed like a bad smell anyway? He moved to the window to admire the morning view. Connor never got tired of it. The way the pink hue of the sky touched the still open waters of the ocean; the morning sun sending a peculiar shade on the roofs of the town below; how life seemed so quiet in the town this early but so alive in the nearby forest.

I-I was worried, Jane said holding her nose shut. You were screaming in your sleep again. Tossing and turning and sweating. I thought you were having a seizure. Jane noticed the shift in expression from Connor’s reflection.

It was just a bad dream. Nothing more.

Do you want to talk about it? I could get the dream master to—

Connor’s shoulders tensed, his whole body went stiff at the thought.

No no. Don’t trouble yourself.

Well, if you change—

I won’t. Now if you don’t mind, Jane, I’m going back to bed. Connor’s voice was strong and firm as he came from the view and made towards the bed.

Look, I’m sorry, friend who I’m very willing to help all the time,—Connor couldn’t help but smirk at that—but you can’t go back to bed yet because he wants to see you. A frustrated groan jumped out of Connor as he leaned back and looked up at the rafters. He had barely rested since the last job which saw him out of town for a month.

He? Connor asked with a puzzled look on his face. Turning around to face Jane baring his naked torso, only his pants which hung loosely from his hips saved his modesty. Are we on about the same he? Your boss?

Nope, Jane said with a smug look on her face. Your boss.

I think you mean our boss. Do you have any idea what he wants this time? I’ve only just got back and quite honestly I’m tired and could use rest, booze and a fine woman!

Or man, Jane politely added. Are we forgetting that incident from a few years ago? Connor started to turn red from embarrassment.

Now that was an honest mistake, miss. I was extremely drunk and he had long hair and a heart of gold! Jane burst out laughing and started to turn red herself. It was like the pain of Connor had softened her own pain. She removed the towel from her nose to find that, to her relief, it had stopped bleeding. It was now the towel that looked worse off than herself.

Well done, Brutus! Connor exclaimed. You’ve officially stopped bleeding on my floor. Thank you! Jane looked as confused as an untrained child who had been told to hit a target with a bow 200 metres away which Connor had done proudly.

Brutus? He sounds horribly arrogant.

Oh he is. And cocky. Very famous boxer in the slums. Connor started to box the air for effect showing off his right hook and uppercut combo. Perhaps more famous for talking trash about every opponent he faces and then getting beat up for 10 rounds before he finally goes down, swimming in his own blood. At this Connor fell backwards and landed on top of his bed breathing heavily.

Jane was old enough to be Connor’s mum but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy taking him in. Stretched out over the bed, she eyed up his muscled body, the strong jawline, his medium brown hair that was pushed back. In some lights it looked black making his pale complexion look whiter. Those eyes as well! Those eyes that spoke of pain and loss but also of wisdom and kindness.

…one time if you like? Jane snapped out of her daydream. She hadn’t realised she had lost her vision whilst doing so. Everything slowly came into focus and the sprightly servant was now staring at Connor sat up on the bed watching her intently as if waiting for a response.

I’m…I’m sorry. W—What did you say? Her eyes followed a bead of sweat making its way down his chiselled torso. Connor chuckled and smiled with that cheeky grin he always did when he knew something he shouldn’t.

I said, I’ll take you down some time if you like? That is if I don’t get sent on yet another long mission.

Well, that’s what you get for being his best! He wants to meet you in a few hours, so you’ve got the morning to do as you like. Meanwhile, I shall get you some clean towels and I’ll wash those sheets for you, Jane finished with a wink.

Will those towels be ready in a couple of hours? Connor asked as he did his morning stretches. His muscles were particularly stiff from his nightmare.

For you they can be ready in a quarter of the time.

Excellent! I think I’ll go on a run seeing as I’m up. Nothing like morning air to burn your lungs awake. Again that cheeky grin lit up his face. The nature of his job required him to be fit. He enjoyed it for the most part. Like everything though, there were good and bad moments.

Seeing that as her cue to leave, Jane started to gather up the bloodied towels. She winced in pain as the cold grip of age tried to seize her. Like a clock slowing down getting ready to tick its last tock.

As Jane opened the grilled oak door, she turned and looked back over her shoulder. And yes, Jane answered. I’d love to go to that boxing thing with you. She felt Connor’s warm gaze on her but couldn’t hear his no doubt cheeky reply as she shut the door, hearing it click shut signalling the start of another heart-breaking day.

Oh come on! Connor Peak was struggling to find his running shoes. He’d already donned his white shirt and black pants. A breeze hugged his body thanks to the bagginess of his shirt.

After Jane had left, Connor had gone back to the window. Not just to admire the view from this high up in the castle but to plan his route. Connor’s gaze met the start of the nearby tree line and he was reminded of one of his favourite places. Hidden deep within the forest was a small lake surrounded by peace. It was where Connor would go to think, to relax. You just had to watch out for the pixies. None of this mattered though if he couldn’t find his shoes.

Ah. There you are! Underneath the bed clumsily lay his black shoes. They had melted into the shadows like a monster lying in wait. They do exist, do monsters. Connor had several books to attest to that. Wyverns, Werewolves, Pixies. Everybody had a monster they hated most but all were careful of one in particular. A monster that never took the same shape twice. People. Connor had been burnt by people many times and he’d learnt by now that he’d rather face a bloodthirsty wrangler than a man with a grudge.

By the time Connor had finally left his room, the sky had turned a more red colour as the sun rose from its slumber. It would only get lighter as Connor made his way through the complicated castle.

It was designed long ago by some Roman Connor recalled. He had been taught as a child how to manoeuvre the castle. Connor had memorised where every room was and how to get there. There were secret passages that were dotted around the castle with only a select few who knew about them. Connor was one of them. He’d even explored as a child and found extra ones.

Many of the hallways looked familiar which is why it was easy to get lost. Tapestries decorated the high walls. Some told stories of great battles whilst other bore the regal colours—light red and dark red. The colours complemented the motto which the royals liked to use ‘Blood is blood. Spill it.’ It was a harsh motto but then again, they were harsh royals.

A lot of the hallways were long with arches cut into one side of them not just for light but so the passers-by could look onto the garden which lay in the centre of the castle. It was the familiarity that was the downfall of most people.

Whilst he had been daydreaming, Connor had made his way outside. The chill bit him like a rabid dog and he struggled to see as his eyes adjusted. He shielded his eyes for a few moments as a pirate would and waited. It was cold outside this early but Connor preferred it this way. It gave him an excuse to get warm.

As he moved his hand away Connor found he could see now as the scenery presented itself. Connor felt a licking on his legs. He found it strange to be in the smooth courtyard and have this sensation on his leg without him having to pay for it. Looking down, Connor found Bruce, one of the guard dogs, looking as happy as can be.

Connor had found that he’d always had a strange connection with animals. Dogs in particular. Bruce and quite a few other dogs had always done as he said even though he hadn’t trained them. They looked at him like they understood him and they wanted to be commanded. Connor had just put it down to his charms and looks.

He knelt down and gave the dog a quick pat on the head. Sorry boy, but I’ve gotta go. I’ll be back for you later though! Bruce looked upset at this but with a happy-sad knowing he would get his affection later.

Slowly getting up, his limbs stiff, Connor stretched off and greeted all the guards that walked past. They greeted him with respect due to his position but Connor liked to be friendly and as informal as possible. The guards feared him in a good way and they had a right to. He had learnt though that a man who ruled on fear cannot properly rule.

It wasn’t long before Connor was running through the cobbled streets of the town below. The streets dimly lit by gaslight lamps casting an orange glow on everything they touched. People were just starting to get up and ready for the day. Shutters opened up, people walked the streets, the market slowly showed signs of life. He was always amazed at how in the space of an hour it went from a graveyard to a circus. Townsfolk nodded in his direction as he bounced past, making a direct line to the forest.

Connor soon found himself outside the town gates waving to the friendly guards as he disappeared into the distance. The terrain changed here from cobbles to thick grass. There were more bumps and miniature hills as the unkept ground tried to trip him up. Connor had to alter his pace so he didn’t fall which allowed his tiredness to catch up with him. One of the subtler defences that had accidentally appeared over the years. A more noticeable defence was the castle being positioned on the edge of a cliff allowing soldiers to only come from one tiresome direction.

As Connor hit the edge of the forest, the cold sweat enveloped him. He should have been warm but the breeze chilled him, keeping his damp body cool.

The air changed as he approached the forest. The massive expanse of woodland was like its own country. Even the weather seemed to act different here. It seemed to abide by a different set of rules.

As he crept in, the atmosphere engulfed him. Connor’s loud breathing wasn’t the only sound that could be heard. Through the denser air birds politely chirped to each other and the rustle of leaves could be heard as foxes rummaged through the bush and scavenged for food.

Luckily, Connor didn’t have to look out for Pixies here. He had made up the rumour as soon as he found out his boss wanted to cut the forest down for wood and strategy. Connor valued the place too much to let it happen, so he created a little white lie.

Connor had learnt a lot about Pixies from one of his books and even had the privilege of encountering a few. They weren’t malicious creatures by nature despite their mischievous demeanour but come across the wrong side of them, they’ll do everything to make sure you get dragged down to the dirt.

On a mission abroad once, Connor had befriended a Pixie to help with distracting his target. Using her beauty and magic, she lured him to a nearby coast where Connor made his target’s bed with Davy Jones. They were still friends to this day as all Pixies were immortal and female. Pixies weren’t common to this forest, but his boss hadn’t researched this to correct him and that was absolutely fine with him.

Pain shot up Connor’s foot as he stubbed his foot on a tree root he could have sworn wasn’t there before. The forest always seemed to change when it shouldn’t. He never understood how or why but one thing that didn’t change was the position of his place.

Connor looked upon the clearing that now stood in front of him. He stepped through the crowded forest and got the same feeling he did when he first saw it. He felt like a child unwrapping a Christmas present they really wanted. Connor peeled back the idyllic picture and focused on the little beauties.

In the middle of the clearing lay the pool with its calm clear waters only being disturbed by the multi-coloured fish underneath who occasionally came too close to the surface. The air itself was quiet here, like the surrounding forest which provided a barrier against the world. Gliding over the short grass, Connor looked at his reflection in the pool.

His face was red with exhaustion and sweat dripped down his face. Connor glistened in the right light like if you caught glass in the sunshine. Sweat beads dripped into the pool below disturbing his reflection and sending the fish into disarray below.

Connor pulled back from the small pond and leaned back against a nearby tree stump. His breathing had slowed now as his head fell back to rest against the stump. Connor’s eyes closed as the atmosphere enveloped him. His senses rested, calmness washed over him as he drifted off into the darkness of sleep.

The same three images flashed before his closed eyes. Ring, knife, blood. He could see the imprint of them even after he had awoken and opened his eyes. It was a slow wakening not like the sudden jolt this morning. He often wondered if the recurring dream meant anything or if some God was playing a cruel trick on him.

He could find out if he wanted to. The dream master lived in the castle. She specialised in the analysis of dreams or repressed memories. Screams could often be heard echoing through the castle as her patients realised the horror of what was in her mind. That was the official story anyway. Connor didn’t know exactly what was involved but the dream master used ethically questionable methods to get her results. Or so he heard. It happened to be the price for knowing was pain and Connor didn’t want that.

Connor looked up and tried to look through the dense forest to see how light it was but to no avail. All he could see was the underside of the translucent leaves. He hoped he hadn’t slept for long. He still remembered the last time he was late to one of his boss’s meetings.

The whip marks on his back still remembered. They hadn’t properly healed from two years ago after being only allowed the minimal treatment to stop the infection. Now at 20 years of age, he had grown, and the marks had stretched as his body had. Connor tried to wear them with pride if not to spite his boss more.

Groggily getting up from the ground, Connor stretched off and started off back to the castle. It would thankfully take less time due to the majority of it being downhill. The sun warmed his back as he ran and warmed the faces of the guards at the gates who now looked annoyed. Connor waved to them as he passed by, but he was only met with glares full of hate that seemed to burn into him more than the sun.

Passing through the town, he now noticed it was rife with life. Children held onto their mother’s hands as the mothers dashed about the stalls frantically looking for the best bargains. One drunkard was arguing about how he should be getting a cut of the profits whilst guards stood ready to intervene if necessary. A small group of kids who all wore similar black clothes had taken to pickpocketing some of the food; no doubt beggars who had nothing better to do. It wasn’t Connor’s job to apprehend them but he half-watched the group as the guards failed to notice them. He wondered who they had paid off to keep their job.

Pulled out of his reverie by a noise he knew only Bruce could make, he happily noticed he was almost back to his room. He gestured for the dog to follow him and he pleasantly accompanied him to his room. Connor was greeted by a clean room and more noticeably some clean towels. Ohhh, she is a good’un, Brucey boy. This is a sign of a great friend. We need to find you someone, Bruce, you always look so alone. Bruce whimpered and climbed up onto the bed to fall asleep.

Oh OK boy. Do as you please then. Connor bounced into his en suite and took a brief bath. He had to make himself look at least a little presentable for his boss.

Connor had best described him as a distorted mirror. On the real side was a loving man who cared about his people and on the mirror side was a cruel soul who fed on the misery of others. Not a perfect reflection but one nonetheless.

Before leaving his room, he thought about waking Bruce up and telling him to get out but he looked so peaceful and Connor didn’t want to risk getting bitten. Connor quietly shut the door hoping Bruce wouldn’t mess his bed up too much.

It would soon be midday which meant Connor’s boss would be in the grand hall eating his lunch. The grand hall was a couple of floors down at the back of the castle. It was a stretched-out H-shape was the castle with the grand hall overlooking the sea. With Connor knowing the castle extremely well, it didn’t take him long to get there.

As he got closer to the hall, the mood and décor changed. The tapestries changed to paintings his boss privately collected, chest of drawers littered the halls with all sorts of items and grey stone walls and floors turned to wooden panels and oak floors. It was like an entirely different building, the very presence of the floor acting as the foundations for the floors above.

Embedded into the centre of one of the back walls were 2 large dark wood doors rimmed with gold that almost touched the ceiling, guarded by two people, one on each side, suited up and armed with long battle-axes. Cute, he thought.

Name, said the angry-faced man, his brown hair as rustled as his attitude.

Come on guys, you must know me. Connor quarter squatted and spread himself, gesturing a come and get me with both hands. Both guards didn’t seem to notice as Connor was met with an expressionless face.

Name, he repeated in the same one tone voice. Connor couldn’t help but feel disappointed at not getting a reaction.

Ok fine. Connor Peak, your royal sir. I have a meeting with the higher royal sir. Connor added a curtsy for his own enjoyment. His cockiness radiated from him when talking to the guards, eager to see how far he could push them.

Enter. The guards stood apart and allowed Connor to push open the door. The doors were heavy and slowly showed what was inside. The sight could have been from a fairytale.

The grand hall was a large open space with intricately engraved walls rising up at least 30 metres. Windows, equispaced, let in patches of square light which allowed Connor to see the dust particles that pleasantly floated about. On the east side, a couple of steps up from the rest of the ground was a golden throne cushioned with red velvet and lion heads adorning the end of the arms.

In the centre of it all like the egotistical person he didn’t even have to try to be was Connor’s boss. He was a stocky, tall man dressed in his lounging clothes complete with his gold bracelet he liked to wear. His shoulder length hair almost fell in his soup but if the soup missed that, it usually got caught in his thick blonde beard making him look like a lion. Connor now stood a few metres away from him and his boss’s blue eyes looked up from his lunch and widened at the sight of him.

Mmh, he said after a mouthful of soup, setting the spoon down and swallowing. Even the cutlery had been specially designed to fit his hands. There you are!

Hello Your Majesty. Connor bowed low, his hair falling in front. Connor didn’t see the smile spread across his boss’s face. The King’s face.

With a feral grin and a deep gravelly voice, the King looked down upon his subject and replied, Hello, my son.

Chapter 2

My son. He rarely ever called him that. The King only did so if he had some bad news for his favourite employee. He meant it as a term of endearment, not an actual fact.

Connor’s dad wasn’t the King. His real dad, Jake, had abandoned him when he was three years old. Jake was too much of a coward to survive being a single parent. A lot about Connor’s real dad still remained a mystery to him with his boss only knowing a few details himself.

One thing Connor did know though was Jake did have a wife called Nefer who had died giving birth to Connor. Her last wish was for Jake to bring their child up to be an independent man and for Jake to be a good father. He couldn’t deny a dying person’s wish so he’d politely agreed. The backstabbing snake.

The rest of Connor’s early childhood was a block. He couldn’t remember much of it. If he tried, he only found himself in a sweat, the strain producing an image like that of milk.

King Reynard had found young Connor wandering the streets, malnourished and close to the grim reaper. He had taken one look at the wide-eyed boy and took pity on him. Raising him as one of his own in the castle, the King tried to give him the best life he could. Supplying all the toys, being there when Connor broke down in tears. He had been a good father figure.

When Connor was 11, Reynard had inducted him into his army, trained him personally and made him the best