The war has stretched on for twenty years, and the soldiers, civilians, and nobles are exhausted. Towns grow more desolate while war technology continues to advance, leaving the rest of Kaier behind.
Felix—heir to House Leigh-Van—harbors resentment for the war that has claimed his sister’s life and his father’s ethics. Regardless, he follows his orders and is content to remain equal among his fellow soldiers.
When a routine stop for repairs puts Felix at the epicenter of a brutal attack impacting civilians rather than soldiers, he struggles to continue separating his ethics from his duty. He’s privately ambivalent but publicly supportive of his uncle—the king—when whispers of an underground rebellion start to circulate. The rebellion is gaining traction and could soon make a serious play at ending the war.
But when even the tactics of the resistance begin claiming lives as quickly as the war itself, Felix starts to wonder who will survive to see the peace they’re fighting for.
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Excerpt:
The road outside of the castle gates had a few lingering souls who had stopped by to visit the church. Sven led them through the clean streets, past blocks of businesses and well-kept homes. The buildings degraded with each block, wood becoming more rotted and the air filled with the smell of bodily waste. Rats scampered across the street and disappeared into the shadowed crevices of the homes.
Innumerable amounts of people sat outside of their wooden and brick homes. The wood wasn’t properly sealed and was rotting. Water was accessible from a handful of water pumps. Not many homes had running water, and most families couldn’t afford the expensive electricity the rest of Pasidel enjoyed.
“Don’t stare.” Sven grabbed Wilson’s shirt to bring him closer when his friend stopped. "They're human beings, not zoo animals."
Wilson had never been this deep in eastern Pasidel. Their cars were too big to fit on many of the roads, the people were clothed in rags, and he wasn't used to the odor.
“Sven.” Wilson slowly jogged to catch up with him. His attention couldn’t stay on a single building. “Why are conditions so bad here? It gets worse the deeper you go in.”
Sven didn’t look back at him. He wanted to get to Exco as fast as possible. Being in eastern Pasidel made him sick to his stomach. How a nation could treat their poor so badly, he didn’t know. “This is what happens when the wealthy only care about themselves.”
“Like House Wingate and House Leigh-Van?” Wilson questioned.
“In some ways, yes,” Sven stated matter-of-factly. “House Wingate used to throw excessive parties and spent their money like it meant nothing. House Leigh-Van is strict with their money. Don’t let that fool you, though. House Leigh-Van has enough money to buy House Wingate over at least half a dozen times.”
Wilson found himself staring at the sick people leaning on the walls of the decrepit buildings and off the side of the roads and fixed his eyes on the path ahead. “If they have so much money, why aren’t Felix and Murrugun helping them?”
“They can’t.” Sven stopped abruptly. “Murrugun and Felix have their house’s money, which is their province’s money outside of their allowance. If they want anything, they can have it if they have a good reason, but I don’t think their House Councils would be too thrilled if they suggested donating money to other provinces.”
Each house had its own council that assisted in the monetary contributions outside of what it took to run the main household of the family. They assisted with businesses, unions, food and ration distribution, among many things, but their main concern was their province and the people within.
Wilson grimaced while he witnessed firsthand the public alleyway restrooms. The alleys were lined with trash, and the store owners and residents tried to use their trash cans to block the view, but they could only do so much. Wilson opened his mouth, but Sven cut him off.
“Before you ask, yes,” Sven resumed, dodging two children who ran up beside him. “Murrugun is aware of the conditions here, and he and Felix plan to offer assistance when they’re lords, but that’s years away.”
“What about King Patrick?” Wilson murmured, his feet trudging behind Sven. He spoke so low even Sven couldn’t hear him.
Author Bio:H.G. Muralee was born and raised in North Carolina. She graduated from Western Carolina University and works as a paralegal. When she isn’t writing, she’s reading far too many books, watching The Great British Baking Show, learning her husband’s native language, and playing with her dog, Oliver.
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