Rules of Engagement E-Book

Keyla Damaer

• Herausgeber: Keyla Damaer
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

What happens when a cadet defies tradition in the name of duty?

A young cadet rebels against an arranged marriage to a privileged suitor. Desperate to remain a soldier, she confronts corruption within the military and a brutal encounter with the infamous Manderian Secret Service, the Black Squad.


Join her in a fight for justice.

Leseprobe

Contents

Title Page

Notes

Guide

Contents

Rules of Engagement

by Keyla Damaer

https://keyladamaer.com

***

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or a used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. I really mean this. Totally not you.

All rights reserved. Any reproduction or unauthorised use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

I write in British English. Colour and leant aren’t typos. It’s the funny way Brits spell the words.

That said, even if several set of eyes looked for errors (aka horrors), and despite the great professional editing by Kerry Murphy, you may still find typos.

Some kind souls have reached out to me to warn me about them, and I promptly corrected them. You can do the same here: https://keyladamaer.com/report-an-error

Other kind souls who had an opinion about the story have left reviews. I thank them all and you for snatching a copy of this story. Feel free to leave a short, honest review.

This story is part of the Tales from the Sehnsucht Series.

Copyright © 2022 Keyla Damaer

www.keyladamaer.com

Rules of Engagement

Manderian year 2462

Halazar rose from the wooden chair, tugging at her shirt. The green mourning band she’d wrapped too tightly around her left arm cut into her scales on purpose, distracting her from the grief that threatened to crush her spirit.

Danar was gone, his funeral over. She wished she could archive the event as she would a status report.

Her brother’s death meant not only pain and sorrow, but it also brought change. Something she was not yet ready to face. Perhaps this is part of my mourning process, she told herself, but the expressions on her parents’ faces made her gut move.

‘We must talk about the future,’ her father said, an omen of bad things to come. He stood by the polished wooden table in the common room of their farmhouse—a musclebound eighty-year-old carrying too much weight around his abdomen. The daylight streamed in through the wide windows, making the curtains dance in the warm breeze of the early Mander Prime afternoon.

A visceral hatred grew inside her, and she knew herself well enough to give it a name: rage.

Rage towards her brother for leaving her in this mess.

Rage towards her parents for bringing up the future.

And rage towards life for being so complicated.

Her father sat, his black eyes pressing her to do the same. She resigned herself to obey. He said, ‘With Danar’s death, the farm …’

Halazar only half-listened to his words. She remembered the song. As the last offspring of the Meviz family, she would inherit the farm. But what would a soldier want with a farm?

‘… and he agreed to marry you.’ Her father’s last words slapped her back to reality. She’d been prepared for a lecture about her duties towards the farm, but this went beyond all of her expectations. At sixteen, she was already sexually mature and had experienced mating rituals with a cadet or two, but a betrothal wasn’t in her plans. The conversation reminded her of a scene from a comedy digi-book she’d read as a child, except there was nothing amusing about this.

Her father’s eyes flickered down to her hand and back up, staring at her face.

She forced herself to stop tapping her fingers on the table. ‘Father, with all due respect, I do not intend to abandon my training as a cadet.’

‘Hal, don’t be unreasonable. Karis Partak has agreed to wed you,’ her mother said, her voice calm as a surgeon’s after a successful operation.

Aedar Meviz stood by the window on the table’s right. The green, fitted robe enhanced her curves and accentuated her waist and hips. Her long black hair was pulled back from a still beautiful face.

Halazar’s hand resumed its tapping. Why would a member of the Partak family—rich, prominent, and with a reputation for disdaining humble families like ours—marry someone like me? Not for my good looks, that’s for sure. My family has no money, either. What would the Partaks get from this union that they couldn’t get from another marriage? Only one answer came to mind: punishment for a rebellious son.

Marriage to a mate who loathed her for her low origins did not fall on her checklist.

‘You should have asked me my opinion about getting married.’ She spat the words out.

‘We are aware of your modern ideas about weddings, Daughter, which is why we did not ask your opinion.’ Her father’s lips pressed together until they were almost white. He pronounced the word modern as if it were venomous, speaking in the thick Manderian accent typical of their region, which she’d laboured so hard to eliminate from her own speech.

‘I will not marry Karis Partak, nor anyone else. I swore to protect the Halden, and that’s what I intend to do until I die. It is my duty as a citizen of the Halden and as a soldier.’

He brushed his coal-black fringe back with one hand. ‘I had no choice. Family comes first.’

Halazar snapped and banged her fists on the tabletop.

‘You should have asked me.’ She picked up the sound of her mother stepping forwards and turned to stare at her. Aedar’s mute expression sent Halazar an obvious message: calm down.

She matched her mother’s stare without backing down. The older woman smoothed her robe over her hips.