Excerpt of Lonen's Reign by Jeffe Kennedy

“Just a few more moments of your patience, Your Highness,”
the healer Baeltya said, her tone abstracted as she
concentrated.

Lonen stared up at the patterned, arched ceiling of Arill’s
Temple, counting the interweaving strips of wood yet again.
There were one thousand and fifty-two in the central
spiral. He should be grateful for Arill’s magic—and Her
dedicated priestesses who devoted themselves to healing—
which made convalescence so much faster, if profoundly
uncomfortable. Mostly, however, he chafed at the enforced
inactivity. Much easier not to get injured in the first
place.

At least his mother, who’d initially taken care of the gut
wound he’d received from his brother Nolan during their
duel, had left the follow-up care to Baeltya. The junior
healer didn’t lecture him the way Vycayla, as both the
dowager queen and his mother, seemed to feel entitled to
do. Not only entitled, but compelled.

If he didn’t need her help to ensure he and Oria could
officially marry with Arill’s blessing, according to
Destrye law, he’d be tempted to tell his mother to go back
to her hermitage already.

The wedding ceremony was a stupid formality, really. With
the duel over and Lonen’s claim to the throne of Dru
secured, he could declare Oria his wife and Queen of the
Destrye once and for all. They’d fought hard enough for it.
It still stuck in his craw that he’d had to fight his
brother for it.

“Try not to twitch, Your Highess,” Baeltya said, sounding
more emphatic and less vague. “This is a delicate piece.”

“I wouldn’t want you to meld my intestines to my bladder
after all,” he commented wryly.

“You laugh, but given the previous state of your
intestines, that’s not impossible,” she replied in a tart
tone, her healing magic twisting in parts of his gut he
wished he didn’t know about. “That final blow could’ve
killed you—likely would’ve killed a man in less robust
condition—so maybe spend this time contemplating your
gratitude to Arill for Her healing gifts.”

“I’m grateful,” he grumbled. Though he’d much rather be
with Oria and his mother as they sorted through Nolan’s
psyche. He couldn’t decide if it made him feel better or
worse that Nolan’s rebellion and treachery might have been
fueled by a sorcerous taint from his time in Bára. And
Arnon… Lonen didn’t know what to make of his younger
brother’s changeable loyalty. First Arnon had backed
Nolan’s challenge, then—apparently somehow swayed by their
mother Vycayla’s return from self-imposed exile—he had
refused to act as Nolan’s second.

So ironic that they accused Lonen of being enchanted and
duped by his sorceress wife to the point they questioned
his devotion to Dru, and now Oria was the only person he
felt he could fully trust.

He sighed heavily.

“Your Highness…”

“That was a sigh, not a twitch.”

She laughed. “I don’t envy Oria in managing you if you’re
always this difficult.”