Author's Note: The prologue and first chapter of Touched by Fire have been published!

Here's a snippet from the prologue:

Once a month, during the moonless night, an inferno blazes across the sky as Nardak descends upon Locbarrow to collect his offerings.

But the dragon isn't satisfied with the taste of brawny sheep and bony cattle.

He wants something far more delicious.

This is a price the villagers are willing to pay, if only to maintain the fragile peace treaty with the monster.

Once a year, a human girl is chosen by the village elders as a sacrifice.

And this cycle would have remained unbroken were it not for a maiden with a touch so soft it can melt even the coldest of hearts.

Go check it out :))

~~~~~~~

Y/N paces back and forth, wringing her hands.

The ceremony. That's all she can think about.

It's happening, and she has no way of preventing it. Lysanthir made it clear that she has no choice in the matter anymore. He is done waiting.

Her murdukann has disappeared, off doing whatever preparations need to be done for the upcoming ritual.

But she won't be alone for long. Lysanthir revealed he's sending someone over to talk to her. Someone he wants her to meet.

This is all happening so fast. She thought she would have more time.

She hears the door swing open and turns to see an unknown murdukann. His golden brown skin merges into a coral tail, a woven satchel fastened at his hip. Sparkling eyes crinkle as he smiles, wavy brown hair framing his soft features.

"Y/N," he says, voice rich and mellow, "It's nice to finally meet you. My name is Maxim."

Y/N blinks. Maxim. Vesryn's Maxim.

"You're the painter," she exclaims.

Maxim's smile grows. Unlike Lysanthir's, his is comforting, radiating warmth.

"Painting is my great love. I was a portraitist back on land, though my greatest accomplishments are the murals around Athtar," Maxim chuckles, "Probably because I have had a few hundred years to refine my craft."

The mention of his immortality brings Y/N back to the topic of the ceremony.

"Lysanthir sent you to talk to me?"

Maxim sighs, leaning against the doorframe. He tucks his unruly hair behind his ears. The strands immediately spring back out, taking on a life of their own.

"He wants to make sure you feel comfortable, before the ceremony."

"I don't want to do it," she says.

"Because you don't want to give up your legs?"

"I don't want to give up my life."

"Y/N, this isn't the end of your life. It is only the beginning," Maxim says.

When Y/N doesn't respond, he continues.

"I remember how difficult it was for me to let my past go. But our marks have destined us to live at sea," Maxim insists, "And this ceremony, it is especially important for you, the Kyren's mate. It will grant you your safety. Then, you'll be free to roam around as you please."

There's that word again. Kyren.

"Maxim, what does Kyren mean?"

The murdukann freezes, realising he probably wasn't supposed to mention it. He nervously looks behind him before coming inside and closing the door.

"I shouldn't have brought that up. Lysanthir doesn't want to tell you yet—so that no one can use that information against you."

"Please, Maxim. I need to know what I'm getting myself into."

Maxim hesitantly scratches the back of his neck, brows scrunched in thought.

Then, he ushers Y/N closer.

"I'm only telling you this because I recall being in your place. Granted, my mate isn't the Kyren, but it was still frightening being surrounded by unknowns."

Y/N feels her gills shiver. She wants to find out, of course she does, but she also knows that whatever Maxim is about to tell her will only complicate things.

"Kyren," Maxim murmurs, "is a murdukann title. Now, murdukann don't usually use honourifics. They're not like humans with complicated hierarchies. So the term Kyren is...special. Unique, even."

Maxim gestures animatedly as he speaks.

"There is no direct translation for Kyren in any human tongue. You could think of it as King, though that isn't entirely accurate. Your Lysanthir is a sorcerer, able to command the oceans at will. This means he is respected, and also feared, by other murdukann."

Maxim's tone now changes to one of warning.

"But with great power comes great enemies. There are those who would love to have something to use against him, to control him with. And what better than his mate?"

Seeing the look of fear on Y/N's face, Maxim hurriedly adds, "Oh, but once you become murdukann, you'll be able to defend yourself. That's why Lysanthir has arranged for the ceremony."

Y/N sits down, resting her face in her hands.

The king. The sorcerer. The Kyren.

Her mate.

~~~~~~~

In the bedroom, Y/N finds a gown of royal blue. The close-fitting satin bodice melds into chiffon, forming a long train of twinkling starlight. It is as if the dress is made of the night sky itself, a display of exquisite, ethereal beauty.

When she slips it on, the material hugs her curves, flowing around her in a display both elegant and sensual.

She returns to Maxim, who offers her a kind smile.

"You look radiant," he says, reaching into his satchel to remove the palette and paint brushes within.

"Are you going to give me a painting lesson?" Y/N asks.

Maxim lets out a hearty laugh.

"We can definitely do that sometime, though for now I'm afraid you'll have to settle with me doing the painting."

He beckons her towards him as he begins mixing colours on the palette, creating a vivid blue to match her gown.

"What are you doing?"

"For the ritual, you are to wear murdukann symbols. As Athtar's resident artist, I will be doing them."

He takes her left hand, carefully lowering the brush to her skin and deftly painting whorls and coils across her palm. As he moves up her arm, she tenses at the tickling dance of the brush.

"The design is comprised of intertwining runes, ancient, tracing back to the first murdukann," Maxim mutters absentmindedly as he colours her arm.

"There we are, you're all done."

With a final flourish, he sets his brush down. The patterns now stretch from her finger tips all the way to the side of her neck.

"Thank you," Y/N whispers, her throat tight.

She can't bring herself to enjoy the finery. Her heart hammers in her chest at the thought of the looming ritual.

"Maxim, what happens during the ceremony?"

"I wish I could tell you, I really do," he says, avoiding her gaze by fiddling with his paint brushes, "But I've already revealed too much tonight. Just know that Lysanthir will be with you every step of the way."

She doesn't know if she finds that reassuring or not.

"Our great ocean is lucky to be graced with your beauty."

The sound of Lysanthir's silken voice makes her jump. She hadn't seen him quietly enter the room.

He holds a swath of shimmering golden material in his hands, the fabric so delicately woven it is almost translucent.

Lysanthir swims to her. In one fluid movement, he drapes the veil over the trembling girl.

"It is time."

~~~~~~~