Far From Home One: The Warlord's Chosen-- A M/M Fantasy Romance

1- Gods Help Us

*****Hi all! Thanks for reading :):) I hope you enjoy Amer and Geir's story <3<3 It's the first in the Far From Home series, where each story will follow a different but connected couple (or throuple!).

The lovely cover for The Warlord's Chosen is courtesy of immortalmorals because they're awesome and far more talented than I am :):)*****

AMER—

The Warlord of Akar, the Demon of Akar, Blood Barbarian. He was known by many names, all of them terrifying.

And he was coming. He had made his way through the Pass of G'atar two days ago, leaving behind the majority of his troops. He didn't need them anymore. We were sufficiently cowed by his brutality, his blood lust, and his complete disregard for human life or mercy.

He had ravaged our small kingdom of El'kahr like he had a personal vendetta of blood against each man he cut down, tore to pieces. The stories abounded about him scalping men and tying the scalps to his horses' saddles to proclaim his battle prowess to the world. To bring fear to the men he left alive on the battlefield. If they were unlucky enough to survive. Of him bathing in their blood and gouging out the eyes of the dead for some necromantic ritual no one could truly explain without breaking out into cold sweats.

He was our boogeyman. And we had brought him on ourselves.

More than a year ago, my father, King Groban III of El'kahr, sent out small parties of slavers and mercenaries into the borderlands just inside of Akar. Against the advice of over half his advisors. Akar may be a land of many tribes led by tribal chiefs, rather than one large country led by a king, but weak and divided they were not.

However, my father, blinded by his pride and greed, went against the warnings of many. He sent mercenaries to rape and pillage and burn. And he drew the wrath of the Chiefs of Akar.

In retaliation, they sent their demon and his army to avenge their people. To protect what was theirs. And to prove to the world that weak would never be a word associated with the barbarian tribes.

For the actions of my father, one man, so, so many have suffered.

Now the suffering would fall back where it belongs: on my family. As part of the surrender, my father had agreed to give one of his children as a Warprize to the Warlord Geir, the Demon of Akar.

One of my poor sisters would be subjected to slavery for the Demon of Akar's lusts. I mourned for them, but they were so brave. They held their heads high, Hestiel with her cold blue eyes flashing with fury, the only emotion even I, close as we were, could see her show as she glared down our father with her usual apathetic expression of disdain. Ameliel, her sweet mouth pursed with fear, her golden eyes wrinkled with her terror. But she tried desperately to hide that fear. She tried so hard. But she was only fourteen winters yet, and I feared for her. She was just a girl, in more than her years. She spent the majority of her time watching the stars, counting raindrops, and laughing at daffodils and butterflies.

I feared my and Hestiel's reaction if the Warlord chose our dear younger sister, though she was the most likely choice. Although Hestiel was a beauty beyond compare, her countenance spoken of in whispers as the daughter of gods, she refused to submit to man's dominion and had a sharp tongue and even sharper wit. At almost twenty-two, she was many years older than marriageable age. Not that she paid any mind. She was happy enough commanding the castle's servants and looking after the kingdom's accounts and books.