|Book 1 to the Reign of Fire duology series.| FEATURED ON WattpadGoT!|
Daemon Targaryen x Oc.
"You stole the lion's bride, and you expect to walk out and declare mercy upon your soul? My boy, loving her has started a war you won't win."
Twenty-four...
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PROLOGUE.
The North was no stranger to change. It was no stranger to the secrets the lands inhabited, and the one castle Dreadfort was infamous for. The siege of men stalked its solid grounds and gathered seven miles from Dreadfort's walls. Two camps, victims of the North's impending chill reminded Richard Stark that the Bolton's were no strangers to flaying their enemies alive. A flayed man held no secrets. And for that, Richard Stark refused to repeat the Age of Heros. A savage age in which the Houses of the First men, waged an endless amount of bloodshed against one another.
And for thousands of years, they've ruled as monarchs of the North. The choices were arbitrary for Richard Stark. The only choice was to unify both houses, though that would prove to be an impassable task. But his determination seized each fire against his enemies. Kerrigan Bolton firstborn of King Malazan Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort, tightened his cloak. Kerrigan and his allied soldiers stalked the forest's soil. His deprived gaze circled the swirl of smoke that cascaded among the thick branches, that saluted the marble-grey sky.
Snow, lighter than a feather, danced in the light like a choreographed ballet conducted by the gentle wind. Small snowflakes rested among Kerrigan's cloak and were slowly erased by the conducting heat of his body. A restful breath escapes his lips before he began to quicken his pace.
The soles of Kirigan's boots crushed the snow beneath him, as his men trailed onto his heels. His auburn eyes cast a cautious glance upon the camp, which was heavily guarded. Kerrigan and his men marched through the camp and approached the wide-ranged tent. Two men accompanied the front entrance of the tent. Their eyes showed visual signs of exhaustion. The guards drew their swords. Kerrigan raised his brow, and the corner of his lip ascended into a sly smile. Kerrigan's men mirrored the knight's intentions, a hand ghosted over their swords, ready for the unexpected.
"If I was going to kill your camp, I would have done it so, behind closed doors and above the shade of night-"
"Lower your weapons." a raspy voice commanded. Kerrigan's head raised, upon sight of Richard Stark. He stood a couple of inches taller than the young Prince, but it was insufficient if Stark believed he could intimidate Kerrigan so easily.
"Prince Kerrigan, I see you have agreed to accompany me in this urgent matter." Richard acknowledged. Richard pulled his cloak tightly and shifted a piece of his long, chocolate, hair to the side.
"Aye. Your men stood on a thread-"
Kerrigan's words came to a halt, his hand jolted to his temple. His slender fingers curled around the spine of an arrow. His grip tightened around the spine and the needle of an arrow snapped in two.
