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Stallion Assassin

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"The bastard Valde Fitzroy has but one purpose in life: to serve his unacknowledged father, Lord Royan, by slaying his enemies. He has performed this duty for many years, amid the endless intrigues of the were-horse clans.

Yet when Lord Royan dies, Valde is left without purpose. He finds himself following his last target, Raneld Orley, the youngest son of the new king. He doesn’t understand why, nor does he understand why he alternately rages against and is drawn to the oh-so-perfect prince. But as his fate begins to unfold, the curse that drives him becomes clear.

Fate may twist in strange ways, though. So what happens when a cursed assassin comes to lust after -- and love -- his intended target?"

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Chapter 1
Stallion Assassin By Stephanie Park Raneld’s eyes were blue. I should have had other things on my mind, but in close combat, our swords locked as we struggled back and forth, I couldn’t help but notice them. They were intensely blue, as bright as the sky itself, their coolness warmed by the same golden sun that lit the cloudless expanse above. It was so strange. Blue eyes were rare among our people, but it was more than that. Those eyes should have been icy with hate or hot with rage. Only seconds before I had attempted to stab Raneld in the back. I was not above such acts in the pursuit of my duty. He had obviously heard some sign, some scrape of my boot as I approached, so even as I’d lunged for him, he had spun and drawn his sword in one single motion, meeting my blade with his. I had expected a cold glitter of hate in brown eyes, or rage glowing hot in dark amber eyes like my own. Instead I found myself staring into two calm pools of blue. He threw me back suddenly, and it was all I could do to keep my feet. We had been locked in combat for mere moments, but I already suspected he was the better swordsman. Our styles were certainly different. I simply bulled forward, putting all my energy into the attack. I had trained, and the sword moved easily in my hand, but I was not concerned with fussy technique. My sword was light, and I counted on my speed and aggression to dazzle and overpower. Raneld moved like a dancer, despite bearing a heavier blade. His strokes were economical, swirling fluidly from one position to the next, never wasting energy. I would have scorned him for bothering with such fripperies, yet the way his sword was always exactly where it needed to be to block my strokes made any such scorn absurd. His body, too, moved with fluid grace, never off balance. I was hardly clumsy, but only a few minutes into our fight he suddenly shot one foot forward, hooking my ankle. At the same time his sword flicked out, twisting around mine and knocking it from my hand. I was out of balance, too exposed by my aggression, and as I fell, I knew I would pay for it with my life. His sword was at my throat as soon as I hit the ground. I closed my eyes and waited for the killing blow, but it never came. I heard a soft sigh, and opened my eyes to see him looking down at me, shaking his head. His eyes were still just as quiet, just as calm as they gazed into mine. “Lord Royan is dead, Valde. The succession is settled.” Then he lifted his sword from my throat, turned, and walked away.

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