YET TO COME

BOOK PREVIEW

This is an extract from another one of my books: NANDA ISLAND. I really hope that you enjoy it! Ciao!

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There was a way, in it was a path, one to all sorts, like Pandora's box. When she had left her home, she had not anticipated that such catastrophe was awaiting her, patiently, waylaying. And now, it was upon her, descending, frightening her beyond words. The whip made its way to her, inclining towards her, plunging menancingly, its sound as it made through air almost traumatic. She tried to scream, but no sound left her speech orifice. She waited in apprehension, anticipating her doom. But, it never came.

Someone, A tall man, came afore her in split seconds -just before Eris, the goddess of chaos visited her- catching the whip in his muscular palm, intercepting the oppressing weapon. He gripped it and pulled it, so fiercely, bringing the whip and its holder off his animal and onto the ground. He drew the whip to himself, twirling it as if mastering control of it. He spun the whip masterfully, proficiently, whipping the second rider off his horse skillfully. The horse neighed fearfully, trampling on its fallen rider. The leader began to back away in fear. He tried to whirl his horse around, preparing to flee, desert his subordinates. Well, luck was nowhere on his side. The man with the whip lunged at the horse, grasping its hind legs. He pulled, causing the beast of burden to become unsteady. The horse rose on its hind legs in fright, causing its unsuspecting rider to lose balance, making it eath for the horse to throw its rider to the floor with adept ease. The leader of the robbers landed on the floor in a crumpled heap, a mass of curly brown hair, brown skin, bones and skins and lengths of clothes.

One of the robbers, the whipper had found his footing and swiftly charged at the man, her savior. The robber was almost on him when the man turned abruptly. He waved the whip in his direction, catching him unawares, his moves proficient. The robber cried out in pain as the whip ate into his skin, falling to his knees. The whip had hit his left leg.

'How dare you bother a person?!' The stranger, her saviour spoke. His voice was smooth and clear, even in tone, melodious even with a nice ring to its treble like baritone. Her eyes only then began to properly look at him. He was backing her, addressing the robbers. He was tall -about a head and a neck- taller than her, broad chested and generously sinewed. The light was fairly poor, manageable, but she could make out some things, like the fact that his hair was short, cut below his nucha. She had a feeling it'll be either strawberry blonde or brown and definitely wavy.

'Prince John?' The voice was a shaky whisper, not the kind she would have attributed to such a man, the leader of the robbers. So this selfish kleptomaniac could be shaken?

'Do I have a double?' The man, her savior retorted, vexed, rolling the whip skillfully, menacingly. She could tell that he was a hard man, the type that didn't show mercy to those who did not deserve it -like the kleptomaniacs afore her. 'Do I? Won't you answer me?' She shivered from the blood curdling coldness of his words.

'No, no Prince John.' It was then that she processed their address, as if a light bulb had gone on in her head.

'Prince?' She mouthed in shock. He was a prince? From where? One of the island kingdoms? Across the waters? She did not think that was the time to ponder such. Well, that explained a great many things. It explained the strong confidence that he exhumed, the authority oozing all over him, the power in his aura and the streaks of royalty in the way he carried himself. They fell to the ground, all three of the robbers,bowing to him, their faces almost touching the ground. Their bodies quivered before him with fear as he skimmed their faces, each of them. She, on the other hand could only stand and stare at him. She could not help but stare at the broadness of his back, the thickness of his masculine, properly sinewed and tempting body, and at the unfoldings. There was also the elegance of his gait, the sleekness of his locomotion, the smooth proficient movement of his arms as the whip landed on each of them, one after the other. The robbers yelled in absolute pain. 'Do tell me good men of Nanda, how does it feel to be whipped?' He questioned in a soft voice. 'Tell me!' He demanded jussively in a much louder voice. She watched him, as if spellbound, unable to believe that the rouge-like man afore her was the renowned Prince John of Nanda Island. She didn't even realize that she was holding her breath, watching him, agape.