Far From Home Two: The Monster's Heir-- a M/M/M fantasy romance

Prologue: Prized Possession

***** Ok, so I was supposed to wait until tomorrow to upload, but I'm an impatient, bored person by nature, so here we are.

In The Monster's Heir, both Akari and El'kahrian are spoken frequently. Neither Llyric nor Sage speak Akari (fluently, although Sage knows some), but they're in Akar for most of the book. To keep things simple, and so I don't have to always point out when they switch languages, anytime anyone is speaking in Akari, it will be italicized. Llyric and Sage will learn Akari eventually, of course, but they're not as quick learners as Amer was ;)

This is the second of the Far From Home series, but can definitely be read as a stand-alone. There will, of course, be spoilers for the first book, but otherwise you should be able to read this one without having read the other.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: While I of course never go into detail, there will be mentions of child rape and the aftermath thereof. Also, torture, attempted incestuous rape, attempted suicide, memories of a successful suicide, suicidal thoughts, and basically just a really evil father being an evil asshole. Proceed with caution please if any of those things may be triggering for you.

**This is my first try at a M/M/M romance, so go easy on me :)***

Cover courtesy of the wonderful immortalmorals ***

LLYRIC—

I hadn't seen Father in at least 9 feedings. I couldn't be sure, because Nanny was very old, and I knew sometimes she forgot. Sometimes it was Father who told her to forget, but there were times it was her own mind working against her. But it had been at least 9 since Father had come down into my prison and taught me of his displeasure.

And it worried me.

Not because I was worried for Father, to say the least. The man could die a thousand fiery deaths, and I wouldn't piss on him to put the fire out, the gods save my soul for the evil thoughts. But because if it was only Nanny who was left to care for me... I knew I wouldn't last much longer. And it wouldn't be the quick death of Father losing control and beating my body until I no longer breathed. It would be the slow, painful death of starvation.

Dear gods, was it very wrong that sometimes, in my very weakest moments, I prayed that she would forget about me completely? Because painful or not, I had prayed for death for more years than I could count, and those prayers had only grown louder in the silence of my prison as the years had gone by.

With each new piercing Father saw fit to adorn my body with. With each lash of the whip, purposely leaving thick, ropy scars against my pale, sickly skin. With each day gone by, starving but kept alive, just barely. With each of these, my prayers grew louder.

In my mind, of course. For my mouth had been bound with wires and leather since I was a child, too young to remember much, and I had spoken not a coherent sound but wordless screams since that day. That fateful day Father had finally decided to take me to his bed, to force my body—

I cut the thoughts off. I had gotten off easy, for some reason. I knew that. I had known the other children. And after that day, and the one other, Father never touched me again. Even his men were only allowed to touch me with whips, knives, brands. Never with their bare hands.

I was Father's property, so they were allowed to do only what he had given them permission to do.

And those who broke his strict rules were dealt with accordingly.

Each time those rules had been broken haunted me. Not for what they had done to me, but for what Father had meted out to them in retribution.

Like Cayl, who had dared give me extra broth, warm and not moldy, cold, and stale from days among the rats and bugs of the dungeon's darkness. He had met his end so horribly, right in front of my eyes, that I couldn't close my eyes without seeing his pleading eyes, darkening with pain and death, staring up at me as he grunted through his death throes.