I enjoy the weekends and today’s no different. I’m off to a kiddie party today for family but wanted to share a sneak peek of my next book in the Warlord’s Series. Well, like a true pantser, I’m working on the next TWO books but for now we’re focusing on immediate next in the series and that’s King Tarik Sabarn’s story. Whoop!! I just couldn’t leave him alone after Thenl’s treachery. He deserved happiness and it seemed like his marriage to his wife was a good one so that’s what I’m tackling. I’m halfway through writing it and while he is fighting me every step of the way I must admit to really liking Tarik. He’s quite the charmer and I hadn’t expected that from him. He was supposed to be tortured and yet his dignity in the face of his lost made me love him more. Below is a tidbit that I shared in my August newsletter so if you missed it, please enjoy :)
Tarik strode down the hall, his boots thumping loudly. For once he paid no mind to the entourage of guards behind him. Instead, his thoughts strayed to the date. He entered his private chambers and allowed his shoulders to slump. Two guards followed him while their peers remained outside to bar the outer door to would be trespassers.
Tarik ignored the concerned voice and headed straight for his desk and the bottle he’d ordered earlier. The servants left the clear bottle on the cart with a crystal cut glass etched in a red glaze around the rim. Pouring a healthy portion, he threw back the golden liquid welcoming the burn as it blazed down his throat and settled in his belly.
“Sire, are you well?”
Tarik paused in pouring his second helping and glanced over his shoulder. Mati’s dark eyes narrowed in dismay. Tarik swallowed before speaking. “I’m fine, Mati.” Or would be after he drunk himself into a stupor and pretended today didn’t exist. He’d waited all morning for his meetings to end so he could seek the oblivion of alcohol and forget what today represented.
Someone knocked on the outer door. Tarik sighed then waved a hand at his personal guard. “I don’t wish to be disturbed, Hensel. Get rid of whoever it is.”
Hensel didn’t hesitate. “Of course, Sire.”
Grabbing the bottle, Tarik turned from his desk and braced himself. Every morning, every evening and every God’s Dammed night, he forced his feet to move forward to the connecting door. He took a deep breath and turned the knob. To some, the room appeared like any other sleep chamber. At the center of the room, a large bed elaborately covered in the finest silks and sheets claimed his immediate attention.
The familiar scent though light lingered in the air. Tarik closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Pasal. The room smelled of her favorite perfume. Allowing himself a moment, Tarik wallowed in the memory of the woman whose presence stamped itself on the large space. From the light colored window coverings to the dresser with its feminine accessories scattered across the top, all of it reminded Tarik of her.
Footsteps sounded behind him. Tarik opened his eyes and used his booted heel to slam the door shut barring anyone from entering. He needed no witnesses to his complete and utter misery. Directing the bottle to his mouth, he drunk heavily
With a deep sense of sadness, Tarik walked toward the dresser and fingered a jeweled comb. Strands of red hair clung to the teeth. His thumb looped through the silken thread as a lump formed in his throat. Last year, there had been more hair. Soon there’d be nothing left of the fiery strands he adored.