Excerpt of Lord of the Mist by Ann Lawrence

Cristina knelt among the tree roots and gathered some ferns for her nosegays. She worked quickly for the men who escorted her, three woodcutters, were almost finished their task.

Little light remained to guide them along the road to the village. Mist enveloped the land. It curled from the nearby stream, entwined low–hanging branches, and obscured the men who bundled twigs nearby.

As she rose, the ground beneath her knees trembled. Her heart in her throat, she stared ahead between the trees for those who must be coming straight toward her.

Horsemen.

""Cristina," one of the woodcutters called. ""Beware!""

She stepped deeper into the protective shadows. A phalanx of horses burst into view, tearing the web of mist by the stream.

The lead horse, huge, towering, black as night, churned the ground a scant five feet before her, its rider oblivious to her presence in the shelter of the trees. The ferns fell from her fingers. The beat of hooves stole her breath.

More horsemen coalesced from the mist behind the leader.

His black mantle flew like two wings from his shoulders. She knew him by the heavy gold torque about his neck, the black and gold caparison on his horse.

Ravenswood's lord––Durand de Marle.

She maintained her place, struck to stone by the massive horses, the wind that tore at her gown.

"Did you see him?" One of the men asked her.

"Who?"

"Why, the king."

"Nay, I did not see him," she whispered.

The horsemen were spirits riding the wind as they burst through the fog. They were close enough to touch, a king among them, but she had seen only him.

They thundered past, shaking the earth, filling the air with the scents of horses, men, leather, and steel.

The mist swirled in and he was gone.