Age: 20 Hair Color: Black Eye Color: Dark Blue Skin Color: Light Brown Birthplace: Muhray Parents: Bolsom (bowl-sum) uth Friesard & Marma Delacorte (della-curt) Siblings: Gazeden (gaze-uh-den), Kirth, Alida (uh-lee-duh) Spouse: Gazella (guh-zel-uh) Constintia (con-stin-tia) Children: Dominus (dom-uh-nus)
Daemon has suffered much loss in his life. His three
siblings all died when he was very young and his father passed away after a
long descent into insanity. This left Daemon to be king; a position he is ill
suited for. Thus he turns to his mother
to help him rule the kingdom. What he wants more than anything else is a family
and to be a better father than his own father was. This proves to be much
harder than he imagined.
Blurb: Daemon uth Friesard is the unwilling king of Phalindros. Because both his older
brothers have died, he finds himself in a role he doesn’t want and isn’t suited
for. With a domineering mother, an ice cold wife, a tempting minstrel, and a
failing friendship, it’s all he can do to keep from falling into the same kind
of darkness that took his father. Clayden Kiel is the youngest High Priest in the history of Phalindros. He is also a Chosen of the gods, gifted with direct communion to the god of light, Basale. A war is coming, a war that he would like to avoid. But the gods are of little help, seeking only to influence so far as to not affect free will, and there are secrets to be kept. Secrets belonging not only to himself and his time, but going all the way back to the founding of the kingdom. As Clayden struggles with his own inner demons as well as those of his long time friend, the king, he must find a way to put aside his humanity in order to better serve the gods and to save the kingdom from a devastating war. Easier said than done.
Excerpt: Daemon stood in the shadow of the castle, watching the processional wind its way up the hill toward the castle gates. There were twelve white carriages trimmed in bronze, each led by four horses in ceremonial plume and flanked by guardsmen in gleaming chainmail.
In their lead was a single man on a dappled gray stallion. Both rider and mount wore bronze plated chainmail studded with diamonds, and in the rider’s hand waved the standard of Malfrey, a bronze manticore on a white backdrop.
Daemon’s heart fluttered against his chest as the gates swung wide. Events had unfolded around him so quickly since last spring that he felt as if he’d not yet had a chance to catch his breath. And now this.
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