Here’s the promised snippet of C.L. Wilson‘s The Winter King, which is going to hit shelves on July 29.
And come that date, I can guarantee you’re going to love this book. C.L. Wilson writes with emotion in every word, every phrase, every scene she gives readers in this story. She’s built another world to get lost in, whether it’s minutes or hours at a time you’re able to sit down with these larger-than-life characters.
So have fun with this first meeting between Khamsin and Wynter, then be sure to place your order now so you’re ready to dig in when the 29th rolls around.
Summary:
After three long years of war, starkly handsome, Wynter Atrialan, will have his vengeance on Summerlea’s king by taking one of the man’s beautiful, beloved daughters as his bride. But though peace is finally at hand, Wynter’s battle with the Ice Heart, the dread power he embraced to avenge his brother’s death, rages on.
Khamsin Coruscate, Princess of Summerlea and summoner of Storms, has spent her life exiled to the shadows of her father’s palace. Reviled by her father, marriage to Wintercraig’s icy king is supposed to be a terrible punishment, but instead offers Kham her first taste of freedom—and her first taste of overwhelming passion.
As fierce, indomitable Wynter weathers even Khamsin’s wildest storms, surprising her with a tenderness she never expected, Kham wants more than Wynter’s passion—she yearns for his love. But the power of the Ice Heart is growing, dangerous forces are gathering, and a devastating betrayal puts Khamsin and Wynter to the ultimate test.
He caught her just as her fingertips skimmed the brass door latch. One hand wrapped hard around her wrist, the other came up to block the close-fisted blow she plowed towards his head. The little fury meant to black his eye if she could!
He laughed with a mix of amusement and surprised appreciation. She couldn’t win. She had to know that. Yet still she fought. He hadn’t known there was a Summerlander alive still willing to confront him with such spirited defiance. Entire armies had fallen before him, yet this slight wisp of a girl dared to grapple, barehanded and defenseless, with the Winter King, a man who could slay with a glance.
He dodged a fist meant to break his nose and laughed again, enjoying himself for the first time in a very long while. How lucky for him so few of Verdan’s soldiers had possessed such raw, reckless courage! A thousand like her in their ranks, and the war might have ended quite differently.
His humor apparently didn’t sit well with her. She snarled and aimed another blow at his chin, which he blocked, as well as a vicious kick to his groin. He managed to block that, too – barely- but the hard toe of her boot still came close enough, with enough force, that his balls tingled from the near miss.
He quit laughing. There were some things a man just didn’t find funny.
“All right. That’s enough!” He shoved her hard up against the wall, one hand curled around her throat, squeezing just hard enough to make his point. He’d let her have her fun, now he would get his answers.
The struggle had dislodged her cap. Long black ringlets of hair, streaked with gleaming white, spilled halfway down her back. His eyes narrowed on the pale hairs threading through the much darker curls, and he recognized her at last.
“The little maid from the bailey.” He regarded her with even greater interest than before. She was the last person he’d ever have expected to find here. “Do you know how very rare it is for anyone who has ever felt my Gaze to risk invoking my wrath a second time?”
Panting, she glared at him. The heat of her Summerlander skin soaked into his hands. She was so soft, so warm. So brave and defiant. More intriguing than any woman he’d met in a long, long while, and undeniably pretty.
“Tell me, little maid, was one brush with death not enough for you? Or did the danger of it simply whet your appetite for more?” He pressed his thumb against the vein pulsing so rapidly beneath the soft, oh so vulnerable skin, and felt the answering leap as her heart pounded faster.
She felt like warm satin. Smooth and creamy to the touch, reminding him how long it had been since he’d tasted the sweeter pleasures of life.
“Is that it?” His voice grew husky. “Was the thievery just an excuse to seek a greater thrill? Perhaps you wondered if the Winter King’s blood could run as hot as it does cold? It can, I assure you.”
