In other news, last night I went to a cookie exchange and today I had Christmas cookies for breakfast. Yes, I did.
There's also this snowy haze over the mountains that means snow, but I have company coming tomorrow, and in time honored tradition of hosting one's mother-in-law AND mother for Christmas, I'm cleaning. Not getting nearly enough done on THE LOST PRINCE. I probably have about 5K more words to go.
The hardest 5K is always the last.
I did start the next book in the Akrasia series, more just playing than anything. It's called EMISSARY. Here's a snippet:
Morning dawned early and violently in the Prince of Brîn’s household. No one, slave or noble, could sleep through the clatter of swords, much less the shouts ringing through the torchlight. Prince Draken himself had sword in hand, fighting, it seemed, for his very life. In the courtyard of the Palace, a foreign soldier had called his card in a brutal dance of death.
Muscles screaming to yield, Draken lifted his sword and met the oncoming strike, allowing it to clang against his hilt. It was a shoddy defense at best. His adversary’s blade skittered off the hilt and across his arm, failing to draw blood only because he’d taken a moment to put on the greaves and upper arm protection of his armor harness. Draken cursed as the shock of it drove him a step back. He felt a surge of frustrated desperation. When that blade struck his bare chest, it would draw blood.
“No, no, Drae, protect your high line. Again.”
There was no honorific in the practice lists, no “Lord Gallant” or “Khel Szi” or “Your Highness.” Here, Draken and Tyrolean were not Prince and liege but teacher and student.