Dalla’s Royal Guards E-Book

S.E. Smith

• Herausgeber: Montana Publishing LLC
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Second Chance
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 393

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2026

Beschreibung

She was fated to be the champion of those in need…
Dalla Bogadottir knew the day would come when she would be awakened again. When she hears the soft plea on the wind, she doesn’t hesitate to answer the call-to-arms. What she didn’t expect was how much the world had changed since she last woke.
Sheik Nasser Al-Rashid and his brother, Musad, have made a vow to protect their kingdom and their people no matter the cost. On a desperate mission, they are caught in a trap—and it seems their death is inescapable.
In the heat of battle, a legendary warrior from the scrolls of time appears—but is she real or an imposter? Could she have been sent by their enemies to pit brother against brother and undermine their rule? As the mystery deepens, Nasser and Musad decide to guard Dalla against those who would use her or kill her to gain power.
Can a legendary woman thought only to be a myth capture the hearts of her royal guards, or will time run out for her as she faces her greatest battle yet… the one for love?
A NY Times and USA Today bestselling author, the internationally acclaimed S.E. Smith presents a new story with her signature humor and unpredictable twists! Exciting adventure, hot romance, and iconic characters have won her a legion of fans. Over TWO MILLION books sold!

Leseprobe

DALLA’S ROYAL GUARDS

S.E. SMITH

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my husband, Steve, for believing in me and being proud enough of me to give me the courage to follow my dream. I would also like to give a special thank you to my sister and best friend, Linda, who not only encouraged me to write, but who also read the manuscript. Also, to my other friends who believe in me: Julie, Jackie, Christel, Sally, Jolanda, Lisa, Laurelle, Debbie, and Narelle. The girls that keep me going!

And a special thanks to Paul Heitsch, David Brenin, Samantha Cook, Suzanne Elise Freeman, PJ Ochlan, Vincent Fallow, L. Sophie Helbig, and Hope Newhouse, Allison River, Jonathan Strait, and Bethanne Reid – the outstanding voices behind my audiobooks!

—S.E. Smith

Dalla’s Royal Guards: Second Chance Series Book 3

Copyright © 2025 by S.E. Smith

First E-Book Published December 2025

Cover Design by Melody Simmons

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission from the author. No parts of the author’s work may be used for AI training without express written permission from the author.

All characters, places, and events in this book are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations are strictly coincidental.

Summary: A legendary Viking warrior from the past returns to battle a modern-day regime that threatens the lives of the people, and the two men who vow to protect her.

ISBN: 978-1-963823-79-0 (Paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-963823-78-3 (eBook)

ISBN: 978-1-963823-80-6 (Hardcover)

Romance (love, explicit sexual content) | Paranormal | Royalty | Multicultural | Action/Adventure | Suspense | Thriller | Saga | Destined Love | Reincarnation

Published by Montana Publishing, LLC

& SE Smith of Florida Inc. www.sesmithfl.com

SYNOPSIS

She was fated to be the champion of those in need…

Dalla Bogadottir knew the day would come when she would be awakened again. When she hears the soft plea on the wind, she doesn’t hesitate to answer the call-to-arms. What she didn’t expect was how much the world had changed since she last woke.

Sheik Nasser Al-Rashid and his brother, Musad, have made a vow to protect their kingdom and their people no matter the cost. On a desperate mission, they are caught in a trap—and it seems their death is inescapable.

In the heat of battle, a legendary warrior from the scrolls of time appears—but is she real or an imposter? Could she have been sent by their enemies to pit brother against brother and undermine their rule? As the mystery deepens, Nasser and Musad decide to guard Dalla against those who would use her or kill her to gain power.

Can a legendary woman thought only to be a myth capture the hearts of her royal guards, or will time run out for her as she faces her greatest battle yet… the one for love?

PROLOGUE

Norway: 832 A.D.

Dalla Bogadottir laughed as she danced around her two younger sisters and little brother. Runa and Olaf were playing with a set of wooden swords, their epic battle ensuring that they would be loudly and gleefully underfoot. Aesa shook her head and adjusted the basket of freshly laundered linens on her hip. Dalla carried a matching basket, though hers was filled with vegetables from her mother’s garden.

“Watch this, Dalla!” Olaf shouted.

Of the four of them, Dalla was the most skilled at fighting, her specialty hand-to-hand combat, the longbow, and the sword. Runa was nearly as good—especially with the short bow and blade, but this time, little Olaf, only ten and one years old, twisted under Runa’s outstretched arm and slid his sword between her arm and her body.

Runa groaned, dropped her sword, and twirled in a graceful circle before she crumpled to the ground in a dramatic defeat worthy of the thespians who had visited their small community. Dalla and Aesa laughed as Olaf strutted like a gander around Runa before she caught him by the ankle and tripped him. In seconds, she was sitting on top of Olaf, tickling his sides as he begged for help.

“What is all this noise?” Asta, their mother, called from the door to the longhouse.

“Runa has defeated Thor!” Aesa shouted in answer.

“Nev… never!” Olaf laughed.

“Runa, give your brother mercy and come help me prepare dinner,” their mother shouted back.

Runa made a face and rolled off Olaf. “She knows I hate cooking.”

“Not as much as we hate eating it,” Dalla retorted with a laugh, dancing out of the way when Runa picked up her wooden sword and swung it playfully in her direction.

Dalla turned to Aesa, her eyes bright with mirth, but her smile slowly faded as she noticed the thoughtful, uneasy expression on her sister’s face.

“You need to work with Olaf more, Dalla,” Aesa quietly reflected as Runa and Olaf ran off. “Runa defeated him far too easily.”

“He did well,” Dalla replied. “He simply forgot that an opponent who is mortally wounded on the ground could still be dangerous.”

“Ja… but he should not forget that,” Aesa insisted.

Dalla frowned and touched her sister’s arm. Aesa looked away from her questioning gaze, and her stomach clenched with alarm.

“Did you have another vision?” she asked.

Aesa swallowed before she reluctantly nodded. Dalla pulled back with a low hiss and waited.

As far as she knew, only she and their mother knew of Aesa’s gift. The visions had begun after Aesa had almost drowned two years earlier. Dalla would always remember Aesa’s still, unbreathing form on the sand, her face pale and cold. Aesa had visited the gates of Valhalla for a moment before their mother had brought her back. Since then, Aesa could ‘see’ some things before they happened, sometimes in her dreams at night, other times during the day when she was awake.

Dalla had learned of it when Aesa asked her to return to the spot of her death two days after the event. She hadn’t understood why Aesa would want to return there so quickly, but it soon became clear.

Two years earlier:

“Tell me how it happened, Dalla,” Aesa quietly requested.

Dalla stopped where the water, now at low tide, left a line in the sand. She curled her toes in the cold, moist sand and stared out at the breaking waves, wrapping her arms around her waist as she remembered the shock of the freezing water when she dove in after Aesa. The waves had tumbled the sisters against the coarse bottom, and Dalla had struggled to escape the current that swept them toward the rocks.

“You had your back to the water and didn’t see the wave when it struck you. It happened so fast. One moment you were there, the next you had disappeared, as if Njord had reached his hand out of the ocean and wrapped it around you.”

Aesa stared out at the water. Dalla was surprised by the serene expression on her sister’s face. Two days before, Aesa had been dead. Dalla’s screams of anguish, captured on the wind and delivered to their mother, had brought Asta down the treacherous path as if carried by Meili, the god of travel. Their mother had the healing touch, a gift Aesa had inherited. Asta had drawn the water from Aesa’s lungs and delivered air in a kiss of life only a mother could give.

“I saw a vision whilst I was dead,” Aesa confessed.

“A vision? Have you told mother?” Dalla asked.

Aesa shook her head. “Nei. The vision was not for her. It was for you.”

Trepidation filled Dalla. Visions were seldom a good omen. Most of the visions that she had heard of spoke of…

“When… How will I die? Can you tell me?” she forced out past the lump in her throat. At ten and nine years old, she was not yet ready to die.

Aesa smiled and shook her head. “I did not see your death. I saw you… in a strange place, a place far from here.”

“I will travel with Thorsten to a distant land?” she mused, staring out at the sea.

“Nei. I did not see Thorsten. I saw two men. Strange men. They will be your guards.”

Dalla snorted and waved her hand in dismissal. “Let them try! No man, not even Thorsten, can keep me prisoner.”

Aesa shook her head again, her expression thoughtful and fond. “I do not know if that was exactly what.... Well, what I do know is that these are no ordinary men, Dalla. They live in a world where magical things exist.”

“So, I do die,” Dalla replied.

Aesa frowned. “I don’t know.”

Dalla huffed and kicked at the sand in frustration. “You need to work on clarifying your vision if you are going to have one. They are as murky as the waters after a storm!”

Aesa laughed. “I will ask Njorun to work on them.”

Dalla bent down and splashed her sister with a handful of freezing water. Aesa squealed and danced away. Dalla chased her sister, delighted because Aesa was still with them. They fell to the sand in a tangle of sandy skirts.

“Mother is going to make us wash tonight before she allows us inside,” Aesa groaned.

“It is worth it to laugh with you,” Dalla confessed, rolling onto her back and staring up at the brilliant blue sky with its soft, fluffy white clouds. “Tell me about this magical realm and the two mysterious guards who will try to capture me.”

Aesa turned her head to look at her with a worried expression. “Are you sure you wish to know?”

Dalla cupped a handful of sand and let it flow through her fingers, thinking about Aesa’s question for a moment before she gave a sharp nod.

“Ja. Father says the more knowledge you have of your enemies, the more control you have over your destiny.”

Aesa smiled and stared up at the sky. Her expression turned dreamy. Dalla wished she could see the images in her sister’s mind. They were probably much nicer than the ones she had.

“The wind is hot, but the landscape is beautiful. There are horseless wagons and magical birds that fly people across the great ocean. Your guards are part of this world. They know how to control such magical beasts—and they have powerful weapons.”

Dalla listened, trying to visualize the wondrous beasts that lived in this strange world and the weapons that she would clearly have to steal from her guards as soon as possible. The only part she scoffed at was when Aesa teased her about how handsome her guards would be and how she would fall in love with them. Dalla chuckled and shook her head.

My hand has already been given to Thorsten. I will miss this when he returns from his travels, she silently mused.

“I love you, Aesa,” she murmured, reaching out to hold her sister’s hand.

Aesa smiled. “I know.”

* * *

Present day: 832 A.D.

“Dalla! It’s father!” Runa frantically called.

Dalla straightened up from where she’d been clearing the weeds in the garden, and the hoe dropped from her hand at the sight of her father, Sven, bloody and bent over the neck of his horse. Asta, Runa, and Aesa were already helping him off his horse while Olaf held the reins. Four other men, each with wounds of their own, slid from their horses with the help of several women.

Dalla ran down the long row, cursing her long skirt when it caught around her legs. She bunched the material between her dirty fingers. Her mother and siblings were already inside the longhouse.

“Dalla, fetch water and heat it. Runa, gather some clean cloth. Olaf, take care of your father’s horse. Aesa, you will assist me and the other women in tending to the wounded,” her mother ordered in a terse, steady voice.

Dalla’s eyes flashed to the broken shafts of the arrows protruding from her father’s thigh and shoulder. Sven groaned when Asta gently leaned him back.

“Dalla.”

She paused mid-turn and looked over her shoulder. Her mother’s face was tight with suppressed emotion.

“Yes, Mor?”

“Tell the others to set up a guard. Those who did this may attack again,” her mother quietly instructed.

Dalla gave a brief, sharp nod. She grabbed two wooden buckets, one in each hand, and hurried out of the door. Several residents of their Thorpe gathered around the well as word of the men’s injuries spread.

Most members of their small but prosperous extended family were former thralls, captured during raids her father took part in. Her mother did not believe in slavery, and as fast as her father would return with new ones, she would free them. Sven had eventually given up on returning with people and instead focused on horses, sheep, and other items that would benefit the growing population.

Dalla’s sudden appearance at the well drew attention, and she took advantage of it. “Caleb, gather arms and set up additional sentries with at least two members always together. Amal, I want the same for the cliff. We do not want a surprise by sea. Bjorn, ride to Jarl Asvaldsson. Tell him what has happened and ask for support,” she ordered.

“Ja, Dalla,” Bjorn replied before darting away.

“Who did this?” Amal inquired, his voice heavily laced with a Middle-Eastern accent.

“Officially, we do not know. Most likely, however, it was Jarl Leifsson.”

She knew her response gave little comfort to the small group, but she had no reassurance to give. Gripping the rope, she pulled up the bucket attached to the end and filled the first of the two buckets she had brought with her. Mona, a freed thrall from the English coast, picked it up and carried it back to the longhouse while Dalla filled the other.

Sven and ten riders, almost half of their men, had gone to return the body of Frodi Leifsson to Jarl Leifsson. Frodi and the men with him had been stealing horses and sheep, and they had burned several huts in Sven’s domain, killing two freed thralls. It had been several nights of these attacks, until finally Frodi and his men were killed as they attempted to steal Sven’s prized stallion, Hófvarpnir.

The timing of these raids was too coincidental for Jarl Leifsson to know nothing of them. It had been less than a month since Sven rejected the Jarl’s proposal to join their families with a handfasting. Without proof, however, Sven could not gather their allies for war. The horse had been bait; the trap had worked, and they now had the proof they needed.

Jarl Bjarni Asvaldsson would send men. After all, an attack on Sven was a direct attack on his own family. Asta was Bjarni’s sister, and he loved her deeply. Sven had also saved Bjarni’s life more than once. The Jarl owed Sven a life-debt.

Leifsson resented that Jarl Asvaldsson had turned down his request for Asta’s hand many years ago. He believed that Sven’s influence with nearby Jarls, and the lands gifted to him, would have belonged to Leifsson if only his desires for Dalla’s mother hadn’t been thwarted. With an eye for gathering more power, Leifsson had turned his attention to binding Runa to his oldest son, Gamli, since both Dalla and Aesa were already promised to another. This plan was always going to fail, however.

Sven could see the greed and cruelty in Leifsson just as easily as Bjarni had seen it, and Gamli was worse than his father. The boy enjoyed inflicting pain—whether on his animals, his thralls, or anyone else who made the error of getting in his way. Sven would never have agreed to the match.

“The water is heating,” Dalla called to her mother.

Asta nodded. “And the sentries?”

“In place. I’ve sent Bjorn to Jarl Bjarni.”

“Good, good. See to the security of the village. Those who are not patrolling should be in the longhouse tonight. We can better protect them here.”

Dalla nodded, her gaze moving to her father’s still face. It was deathly pale. He must have lost consciousness when her mother removed the arrows. She picked up a shaft and turned it, displaying a mark that she recognized. Gamli liked to mark his kills.

The night passed slowly. One man passed away, and a fever overtook her father. Asta, Aesa, and several of the other women took shifts bathing the men with cool water. Dalla and Runa took turns taking food and drink to the sentries and patrolling the area.

It was sunrise on the second day before Dalla spoke with Aesa. Her sister was extremely pale and distracted, either staring off into space or looking at each of them with tears in her eyes.

“Aesa.”

Aesa turned. Dalla caught her sister’s hand when she lifted it to brush a tear away. Fear made her stomach roll when she noticed the extreme grief in Aesa’s eyes. She pulled her sister into her arms.

“What have you seen?”

Aesa released a shuddering breath. A low sob, smothered by her face against Dalla’s shoulder, made Dalla briefly close her eyes. She held her sister until Aesa made the first move to pull away.

“I… saw our deaths,” Aesa confessed.

“Our deaths? All of us?” Dalla asked in disbelief.

“Ja.”

“When?”

Aesa shook her head. “My visions are not that clear, you know that.”

“Could you have been mistaken?”

“Nei. Olaf… Nei.”

“Have you told Mor?”

“Nei. She has enough to worry about with father,” Aesa said.

“Can you see where we are when it happens? The light? Anything that can give us a warning,” Dalla pressed.

Aesa closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Dalla remained silent to allow her sister to focus, but it was agonizing. All she wanted to do was shake answers out of Aesa and scream at how unfair it was. The muted sounds of people waking told her that they wouldn’t have peace much longer. She bit her lip, determined to give her sister these last moments of quiet.

“It was light out. I couldn’t tell if it was early morn, afternoon, or evening. The sky was light… but also dark, as if the sky were covered by clouds… or-or smoke. It will be soon. Father was too weak to fight. Olaf fell, a sword in his hand and an arrow in his chest. I remember the taste of blood on my lips, but my grief was so great when I foresaw this that I—that I pushed the vision away from me. If I hadn’t… If I hadn’t, Dalla, I would know more and we might stop it from coming true.”

“Where did Olaf fall?” she asked in a low, urgent tone.

Aesa blinked and frowned. “Outside of our hut.”

Dalla smiled and hugged Aesa in a gentle and reassuring embrace. “Then we get him away from here. I will tell Mor that Olaf must be sent to Jarl Bjarni. He will protect him. If Olaf does not die, then the rest cannot come to pass, ja?”

Aesa bit her lip and slowly nodded. “Ja.”

“Gather supplies. I will instruct Amal to escort Olaf. They can take the fastest of Far’s horses and be there within a few days. Perhaps they will even meet our uncle’s men,” she said.

“Ja. I will gather supplies,” Aesa murmured.

Dalla watched as her sister walked away. Urgency was thrumming through her. She scanned the longhouse. Her mother was speaking quietly with her father.

Odin, please protect my family.

* * *

“Nei! We will not go!” Runa argued.

“You will all go. It is not safe here,” Sven weakly ordered.

“He is right. If Jarl Leifsson arrives before Bjarni, we have few resources to fight him. If he takes one of you, he will force a handfast, whether you are already promised to another or not,” their mother replied.

“I will slit Gamli’s throat first,” Runa growled.

“You will go. I will not risk Leifsson or his son harming any of you,” their mother ordered, her tone brooking no argument.

Dalla bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying anything. She knew what could happen to all of them if Leifsson, Gamli, and their men attacked. Death would be a blessing compared to what would happen if they were taken prisoner.

“Take five men with you and leave at once,” her father ordered, struggling to sit up.

“Yes, Far,” she reluctantly agreed.

“No! We can fight,” Runa growled.

“We can also die… or worse. Think of Far and Mor, Runa. We must get Olaf to safety and keep you out of Gamli’s reach. We will ride. Mayhap our paths will meet with our uncle, if Bjorn arrives swiftly enough,” she said, gripping her younger sister’s arm and pulling her away.

Runa grumbled under her breath, but she calmed and nodded. Less than an hour later, they were saddled. Dalla checked her longbow to make sure it was secure. Her gaze drifted to Aesa. Her sister kept looking at the overcast sky.

She mounted and reined her horse closer to Aesa. “What is it?”

Aesa shook her head. “‘Tis nothing.”

Dalla nodded and looked at their guards. “Stay alert. We ride hard and fast.”

She touched the side of her mare with her heels. She had changed out of her normal attire into woolen trousers and a long tunic that was belted tightly at the waist, her calves encased in a pair of knee-high leather boots that laced up the front. She wanted clothing that she could fight in if the need arose.

They rode hard for several miles before they slowed to a steady clip. She leaned forward as the mare followed Amal’s gelding up the trail. At the top of the hill, she twisted in her saddle. From here, they could see the village.

“‘Tis on fire! They are under attack!” Olaf exclaimed in horror as he reached for the sheath attached to his saddle and drew the small sword their father had given him.

“Olaf, no!” Aesa cried out as their brother turned his horse around and kicked his heels against the horse’s side.

“Take them to the Jarl. I will get Olaf,” Runa ordered.

“‘Tis my vision,” Aesa breathed in a distraught voice before she, too, followed Runa and Olaf.

Dalla didn’t think twice. She followed her siblings. Her brother’s smaller gelding, used to the steep hills and sure-footed, raced down the hill. Olaf ignored their frantic demands to stop. Dalla crested the rise above their home in time to see Gamli thrust their father to his knees. Sven bent forward and caught himself by one arm. Dalla’s anguished cry mixed with Aesa’s when Gamli swung his sword onto their father’s exposed neck.

“Far!” she choked out, reining her mare to a sudden stop.

The mare slid on her back hooves and reared into the air. From her perch, Dalla watched with anguish as their mother struggled against the man holding her. Dalla kicked her heels into the mare’s side as her mother attacked Jarl Leifsson. Leifsson gripped her mother’s shoulder with one hand and drove his sword through her with the other.

“Olaf, stop!” Dalla yelled when she saw the man to Leifsson’s left raise his bow.

Dalla grabbed her longbow, fitted an arrow, and released it at the same time as the man. Her arrow struck true, but so did the one the man had released. Olaf was flung backwards out of his saddle, the small sword still clutched in his hand as he hit the ground. Horrified, Dalla knew her brother was dead.

She slid from the mare, her feet hitting the ground as a soft rain began to fall. She fitted arrow after arrow, swinging around to strike any of Leifsson’s men that she could until she had no more arrows. Runa’s aim was true, and she struck with her short bow until she pulled her sword and continued attacking with a ferocity that would have made any Viking warrior proud.

They were vastly outnumbered, but Dalla didn’t care. Her parents and brother’s murder was burned into her soul. She silently cursed as she fought until she could contain it no longer.

“By Odin, you will all die! By Thor, I will strike every one of you to hel. By Tyr, I will wage war upon you even after my death, and by Vidar, you shall know my vengeance!” she vowed as she fought her way toward Gamli.

Dalla fell forward when she was struck from behind. She twisted, bringing the sharp edge of her longbow up under her attacker’s chin, splitting his jaw open. Two others grabbed her before another pulled her feet from under her. It was only Aesa’s harsh cry of pain that stilled her fight.

“Bring each survivor before me,” Jarl Leifsson ordered.

Dalla jerked, trying to free her arms when Amal, dripping with blood, was thrust forward.

Leifsson walked around the dark-skinned man, trailing the tip of his sword across Amal’s shoulders. Amal stiffened, refusing to bend. Leifsson stood in front of the proud freeman.

“Pledge your loyalty to me and you shall live,” Leifsson ordered.

“None here would follow a coward like you,” Amal replied, lifting his chin.

“Then all here will die,” Leifsson responded.

Amal’s wife, Mona, screamed when Leifsson slit her husband’s throat. She broke free from the circle of villagers, then fell to her knees, a knife between her shoulders, beside Amal.

“Kill them all,” Leifsson ordered.

“You are mares! You have no balls,” Runa sneered. “Nei, you are even worse. You are an argr! Fight me! Nei, you won’t, because you don’t have the balls to fight a real warrior!”

Runa followed her insult by spitting on the ground in front of Leifsson and Gamli. Gamli stepped forward and slapped Runa across the face. The blow was enough to bend Runa’s knees, but she stiffened them. She spat blood from her mouth and grinned.

“Runa,” Dalla warned.

“Argh!” Runa repeated in a tone so contemptuous that Dalla was surprised neither man struck her sister dead before the degrading insult left her lips.

“I will see you in Valhalla,” Aesa murmured.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dalla caught the glint of the small knife Aesa slipped from her boot. Dalla wilted. The hands holding her relaxed. She drew in a deep breath and nodded, stealthily drawing her own knife.

“I will see you in Valhalla,” she repeated.

The last moment of her life was forever frozen in her memory. She rose at the same time as Aesa. They swung in unison, burying their blades in the neck and chests of their guards at the same time as Runa drove hers into the center of Gamli’s throat.

Darkness blurred Dalla’s vision when another guard thrust his sword into her side. She staggered as pain first exploded, then faded. Her knees hit the muddy soil at the same time as Leifsson pulled his sword from Runa’s body. His curses rose above the muted thump of her slowing heartbeat.

“No! Damn you. I curse you all to eternity to live and die again so you feel my rage and pain,” Leifsson sobbed, dropping into the mud beside them and next to the body of his last son. He lifted his face to the rain and raged.

A sweet sense of revenge filled Dalla as she landed on her side between Aesa and Runa. Leifsson’s savage grief and rage gave her a small solace that the Gods had not forsaken them. She reached out her hand to Aesa. Aesa’s lips moved.

“I’m sorry.”

A single tear fell from the corner of Dalla’s eye before the light faded from them.

CHAPTERONE

Island Kingdom of Narva

Present Day:

Crown Prince Sheik Nasser Al-Rashid was leaning over the topographic satellite map of the small, desert kingdom of Kashir along the Mediterranean coast when the door to his office opened, and his brother, Musad, their father, Hari, and his brother-in-law, Mario Marchand, entered. Straightening, he silently greeted each man with a brief nod of his head.

“How is Lissa?” he asked. He urgently needed to know the condition of his and Musad’s younger sister, but he kept his voice steady against the tensions in the room.

“Weak, but resting. Her fever has broken. Have you… Have you heard anything new?” Mario hesitantly inquired. The exhaustion in his voice was no surprise after such an ordeal, just as the desperation that kept him high-strung and unable to rest himself was no surprise.

Mario and Lissa had barely escaped with their lives from Mario’s kingdom, Kashir, after a coup led by the country’s Prime Minister, Hannibal Crosse, and General Victor Hellman, Kashir’s recently installed Joint Chief of the Military.

During their escape, the couple’s four-year-old daughter, Cianna, and her nursemaid had been separated from them during a heavy firefight. Lissa had been critically wounded, and Mario had been forced to leave their child behind to save Lissa’s life.

Nasser reached out and gave Mario’s arm a squeeze before replying. “Yes. Cianna’s nursemaid sent word through her nephew—they were safe, for now,” he reassured.

“Where?” Mario demanded.

Musad stepped up and rested his hand on Mario’s shoulder. A wild, dangerous light flickered in Mario’s eyes. Nasser and Musad recognized it from their younger days.

“Let us focus on returning Cianna to you and Lissa. You must focus on Lissa,” Musad said.

“Musad is right, Mario. You are the true ruler. Neither Hannibal nor Victor Hellman expected the rebellion sweeping the nation. Hannibal might have disbanded your Parliament, but they are losing control of Kashir. The outside forces they’ve brought in are no match for those that are fighting for their country,” Hari added.

“If they find Nanna and Cianna—” Mario began.

“Nanna’s nephew assured us that they are safe. We will meet him tomorrow night. Musad and I will go in, rescue them, and get them out. I have some of our best men going on this mission,” Nasser promised.

“If anyone—” Mario paused and shook his head.

Nasser nodded. “Hannibal Crosse and Victor Hellman have a lot to answer for. They attacked the Princess of Narva. They should’ve known we wouldn’t stand for it.”

“They know that if they hold my daughter hostage, I will do anything they want. I would resign my position as ruler of Kashir. I would give them access to the Vasbin complex. I’d do it without a second thought if it meant keeping Cianna and Lissa safe,” Mario declared in a low, tortured voice.

“That will not be necessary. You focus on Lissa. Leave Cianna to us. I swear on our lives that we will bring her home safe,” Musad vowed.

Mario nodded. “I know. Once she is… I want Hannibal and Victor’s heads.”

Hari chuckled. It wasn’t a sound of amusement, but one of menacing agreement. Nasser didn’t miss the calculating expression in his father’s eyes. His father was a shrewd politician and a compassionate ruler. Hari Al-Rashid was also a warrior, born from centuries of rulers before him that had protected the large island kingdom in the Mediterranean off the coast of Kashir.

Nasser and Musad were warriors. Preserving the nation’s heart required risk—it always had. The experience of battle and first-hand risk was an integral part of ruling Narva, and had been from the beginning; because the further removed from his people’s suffering a ruler was, the crueler he or she could became.

It was an odd juxtaposition with the modern age. Narva’s high cliffs, protected ports, and history made it one of the most popular spots for the rich and famous. It was also an international financial center known for its vast wealth—wealth built over a thousand years of pirating. The polish of the present and the intrigue of the past came together into something unique. Daring adventure was in their blood.

“We will retrieve Cianna and then retake Kashir,” Nasser agreed, certainty ringing from his voice.

Over the next four hours, the four men worked out the finer details of the mission.

Ancient maps, held over from Narva’s past rulers, gave them entry to nearly all the countries on each side of the Mediterranean. They pored over the route Nasser would take into the city where Nanna was hiding with Cianna, comparing satellite intel with hidden passages only locals knew.

Nanna’s nephew, Manny, would meet Nasser and two members of Narva’s special forces. Once Nasser had retrieved Cianna and her nursemaid, Musad and another team would extract them.

“Do you think it is wise to go in with such a small team?” Mario inquired.

“The fewer, the better. We do not want to expose Cianna to the same gunfire that you and Lissa encountered,” Nasser said.

A knock on the door drew their attention. A plump woman with gray hair and dressed in a nurse’s uniform opened the door and looked at them with an apologetic expression before her gaze locked on Mario. Her voice was low and soothing, a balm amid tension.

“My apologies, your graces. Her ladyship is asking for you, Your Grace,” the woman said.

Mario immediately rose from his seat and turned when Nasser stood.

He nodded. “Stay with her,” he encouraged.

“Thank you,” Mario replied. “I know you will do everything you can to bring my daughter home. For that, I will always be in your debt.”

“She is family. There is no need to thank us,” Nasser asserted, his face grim with determination.

Mario released a tense sigh and bowed his head before he turned and swiftly exited the room.

“Hannibal and Victor will pay a heavy price for their greed,” Hari said, folding his arms across his chest.

Musad remained silent, and Nasser knew he was holding something back. Musad had been quieter than usual, his thoughts clearly mulling over a secret concern.

“What is it?” he inquired.

Musad met his gaze, then a guttural curse, thick with anger, filled the quiet room. Nasser frowned, a deep crease forming between his brows, as his brother rose from his chair with a heavy thud and crossed to the bar. The ice clinked as his brother filled a glass from the ice bucket, then poured himself a tall, fizzy seltzer water. Musad meticulously examined the fine crystal glass, holding its cool weight in his palm, before turning to face them.

“Hannibal and Victor couldn’t have done this on their own. Our intel indicates that outside forces are not merely adding to the coup’s numbers, they are the driving force behind the takeover. For the Vasbin,” Musad said.

Hari nodded, his expression grim. “Of course.”

“For all that it has been so recently discovered in Kashir, it has replaced gold and oil as the new global market economy. The weapons made from it would be virtually indestructible,” Nasser murmured.

Musad nodded. “That as well. I seriously doubt that Hannibal and Victor can think that large. Such a resource would be wasted in their feeble hands. No… there is someone else behind this, and they will do whatever they need to do in order to keep it.”

Nasser exhaled sharply. “And with the Vasbin deposits located squarely in Kashir, whoever controls it controls the future of space exploration—and warfare.”

Musad nodded grimly. “The market for Vasbin weapons alone could bankrupt nations—or make kings.”

“You both must make sure that does not happen. Bring my granddaughter home and stop whoever is behind this,” Hari said.

* * *

The sun hadn’t risen yet the next morning when Musad made his way down the long, narrow stone staircase. Lava formed the vast caverns; pirates had carved them deeper still.

Stone steps, cold and worn, led from the warmly lit candle shop above, chiseled into the cavern wall centuries ago. Most of the store owners in Narva were descendants of those pirates. The few active entrances to the vast cavern system under Narva were carefully protected by them.

Musad wanted to check the equipment he would be taking on his part of the mission. He nodded to Donovan Ramos, who paused in what he was doing to salute him.

“Carry on,” he ordered.

Donovan nodded. The soldier was one of the six elite special forces members who were traveling with him and his brother. Donovan returned to checking the fishing trawler they would use to meet up with Manny.

Musad still wasn’t happy about his brother’s plan to separate once they reached the shore, despite the fact that it made the most sense. If one of them was captured or in trouble, the other would be there to pull them out. Musad was the most experienced in combat, but Nasser and Cianna… they had a special bond. Something more than just loyalty. Something dangerous.

Musad shook his head. It wasn’t that he was detached. He could understand an emotional bond to someone else. He cared about his brother, sister, and father. Family loyalty, and loyalty to his people and country, meant a great deal to him, and he would gladly give his life in the protection of them.

No, what he didn’t understand was yielding so completely to that great and terrible thing called love.

Love—that insidious, all-consuming emotion that threatened a person’s ability to think. Nasser hadn’t understood why he should be fighting his love for others, despite knowing very well that love had nearly destroyed their father when their mother left.

Her betrayal had left a gaping hole in their family, one that their father had worked hard to fill. And yet Nasser had still woven love into his foundation. Allowed it to drive him. To make him vulnerable. To make others vulnerable.

Musad had never known how to explain it to him. The concept was so self-evident, how could one possibly explain it ? He could lead only by example.

But the worst part of all was that… Nasser’s love, his certainty, it made Musad wonder, sometimes, if his own inability to form lasting relationships or feel more than a familial bond was… a bad thing, even with the example of their mother’s desertion and later death to teach him better.

Helena Stockman-Al-Rashid hadn’t looked back when she packed her bag with the precious jewels of Narva and slipped out without telling her husband or three children that she was running away with a playboy tourist she had met.

Cianna, of course, was an innocent child, and their loyalty to her demanded her rescue, but Nasser’s love for her was a threat to this mission. It was a weakness that Musad could do nothing about right now. Nothing except worry. He didn’t like the plan of leaving Nasser’s side. He didn’t like the plan of having Nasser be the one to meet Cianna. But he saw that it made sense. Cianna’s trust in Nasser may be instrumental in the mission’s success. Children could be unfathomably unreasonable.

Just like Nasser, really.

The faint echo of footsteps on stone warned him that his brother had finally arrived. Nasser was muttering to himself. Musad grinned and shook his head.

“What’s so funny?” Nasser asked.

“You. Either my hearing is getting better or your feet are getting heavier. It sounded like a herd of elephants approaching,” he teased.

“How would you know? The only elephants you have ever seen were in a zoo,” Nasser retorted.

“Not true. I rode several while I was in India and Indonesia. What were you muttering on about? You looked like you had just been to the dentist.”

Nasser snorted, and Musad smirked. The dentist was his brother’s one and only Achilles heel that he knew of—besides the obvious. It was a good thing Nasser had never had a cavity in his life. He would probably faint at the sound of a dentist drill.

“Be warned. Father is sending us off,” Nasser declared.

“Ah, ‘the battles of old’ lecture again?” he chuckled.

“Worse. I think he spent the night in the library,” Nasser replied.

The ‘library’ was another name for Narva’s hidden treasure vault. Their father was a firm believer that in every mission, they must carry an artifact that had been passed down from one pirate to the next.

The last time Musad had gone on a mission with the United Nations, his father had given him a set of pearls that he could have used as a rope to propel from a helicopter. They could stretch impossibly far with impossible strength, allowing the device to condense small enough to wrap a few times around his neck if he hung it low on his torso under his shirt.

But as incredible as that was, they had still seemed silly, and he hadn’t wanted to remind his father what some of those long pearl necklaces had been used for—or where! He had discreetly hidden the fortune in his room before he departed.

“I see you have all your equipment in order,” he teased when Nasser placed his black duffle bag next to the one Musad was packing and he noticed a small unicorn head hanging out of it. The white plushie had a rainbow-colored mane made of yarn.

Nasser brushed his palm over the unicorn’s soft mane. His brother’s tender touch reminded Musad of the last time they had seen their niece.

“Don’t forget my unicorn, Uncle Nassy!” she had insisted, all toothy smile and wild curls.

His jaw tightened when he remembered Nasser’s fond response. “I won’t forget, little one.”

Nasser must have been remembering the same moment because he looked up at him with a grim expression.

“I promised Cianna I would give her a unicorn,” Nasser murmured.

“I thought she had outgrown the unicorn and wanted a longbow,” he said.

“She wants both. She said she could ride the unicorn and carry the bow at the same time. Mario was telling her about the mythical Warrior of the Sands and how she saved both the kings of Kashir and Narva… all on the same day,” he dryly replied.

“Nasser, Musad.”

They turned in unison when they heard their father call them. Hari descended the steps, his presence exuding all the qualities that made him the King of the Pirates. Out of the corner of his eye, Musad saw Donovan straighten to attention and execute a stiff, formal bow. His father acknowledged the man with a clenched fist to his chest.

“I warned you,” Nasser muttered in a barely audible voice.

“Yes, you did. Father, you could have just texted us good luck,” Musad greeted.

“Text?! Text?! What kind of father, much less a king, texts his sons before they go off to battle?” Hari growled.

Nasser cleared his throat. “Mayhap one that refused to go to bed last night,” he said.

“Bah! I’ll sleep when I’m dead. I have something for you both,” Hari replied.

“Please not the pearls. Please not the pearls,” Musad chanted under his breath.

Hari frowned. “No, not the pearls. You think I know you didn’t take them with you? Plus, they are not what you need this time. This time… you both will need something very, very special.”

Before Musad or Nasser could say anything, their father pulled a short sword from his waistcoat. Musad stepped back when his father swung the blade in his direction, flipped it to hold it by the blade, and offered him the hilt.

“For you, Musad,” Hari said.

“I already have a knife,” Musad replied, patting the modern military-grade blade in the sheath at his side.

Hari scowled. “You have a fancy piece of metal. I have for you none other than the Seax of Dalla Bogadottir.”

“Are you serious? You are saying you have the Warrior of the Sands’ blade? The actual, real blade that she is said to have used to kill a hundred men? Where did it come from?” Musad asked, reaching out to take the blade with reluctant awe.

“Look at the etching on the blade and handle! I can’t believe it is over a thousand years old,” Nasser commented, reaching out to stroke the carved bone handle.

“Dalla herself gifted it to our ancestor, King Gerold,” Hari said.

Musad stared back at his father with a doubtful expression before he stroked a finger along the blade. A sense of connection to his bloodline, the ancient pirates who had lived, fought, and died—and believed in the legends—coursed through him as he balanced the sword in his hand.

Every Narvian had grown up with tales of the Warrior of the Sands. The legend said that a beautiful and mysterious woman named Dalla Bogadottir had ridden out of a ferocious sandstorm and slayed the thieves who had ambushed King Gerold, their great-grandfather a dozen times removed, and his best friend, Pascal Marchand—the two men who would one day become the rulers of Narva and Kashir.

“And for you, Nasser,” Hari said, pulling a large gold, silver, and jeweled pin from his coat pocket.

“You get a sword and I get a fancy brooch?” Nasser dryly commented.

“It is more than a brooch. It is the brooch worn by Dalla when she struck down an assassin sent to kill Pascal,” Hari said.

His brother glanced at him, and Musad shrugged one shoulder. They must have missed that story. Of course, their father and teachers had filled their heads with so many ancient tales of valor that forgetting one didn’t surprise him.

“Well, thank you for the brooch. I’ll wear it with pride,” Nasser hastily replied, taking the brooch out of his father’s hand. He turned it over, running his thumb along the worn edge.

A ridiculous part of Nasser wondered if the blood of the Warrior of the Sands still clung to the metal. The weight felt heavier than gold—it felt like destiny. Shaking off the odd feeling, Nasser looked up at his father and brother. “We need to leave.”

Hari nodded and sighed. “If I were a younger man, I would go with you and challenge Hannibal and Victor to a duel like in the old days.”

Musad pursed his lips. The last thing they needed was their father on this mission. The ‘old days’ would end up getting them all killed. Today’s duels involved automatic weapons. A seax and a brooch were no match against a M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, a SAW M24 Sniper Weapon System, or a M240L 7.62 Medium Machine Gun—and those were just a few of the weapons their special ops were carrying. That didn’t even touch the explosives or military vehicles.

Yeah, a horse and a sword would just get us killed, he mused.

Hari’s gaze lingered on the sword in Musad’s hand, then shifted to Nasser. “Strange, isn’t it… how some bloodlines refuse to fade?” He gave a soft grunt, waving them off. “Go—make your own legend. Just… be safe. Mario and I will follow along in the command center,” he added in a gruff voice.

“May Dalla protect us,” Musad said with a nod to his father, the old saying automatically rolling off his tongue.