QSFer H.L. Moore has a new queer fantasy book out (MM, MMF), Death’s Embrace book three: Throne of Lies.
There are vipers in Arajon, from the Valley to the Bronze.
Grace Harrington, the Dowager Archon of Arajon, is approaching her first anniversary on the throne she claimed following the death of her husband, slain at her own hands.
But her position is so precarious that even the unwelcome presence of the former assassin Nathaniel Morgenstern, watching over her at her father’s behest, cannot protect her from her enemies. The city’s press has turned against her, the Bronze is rallying behind Odessa White, and her last hope of support from the Druids has gone up in smoke.
The lies are adding up. A coup is coming for Grace, and she is running out of people in the city to trust…
Warnings: Themes of addition, some graphic death scenes
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Excerpt
Though Arkadia Lane was plunged into silence when Doran killed the engine of his Devon, the pounding of Nathaniel’s heart in his ears was so loud he feared for a moment his neighbours would hear.
They did not move or speak for several heartbeats. Their breaths were almost synchronised. Nathaniel’s hands, still firm around Doran’s waist, tightened when Doran turned his head over his shoulder to meet Nathaniel’s gaze under the dim light of the apothecary’s windows.
“I guess this is –”
Nathaniel kissed him.
Doran grunted softly, then tilted his head to the side to deepen their embrace.
It was an awkward position, Nathaniel straddling Doran from behind on an imbalanced Devon, Doran’s neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Their noses bumped, their teeth collided. Doran’s hand gripped Nathaniel’s thigh where it rested alongside his, causing Nathaniel to inhale sharply and break for air. He tilted his head down and grazed his lips across the nape of Doran’s neck.
“At the risk of sounding presumptuous…” he murmured, his chest warm and his heart shuddering, “it’s a bit late for you to return to the palace, isn’t it?”
Doran breathed deeply. “Is that your way of inviting me to stay?” he asked, his voice husky.
Nathaniel said, “Would you like to?”
A year ago when Nathaniel had asked Doran almost the exact same thing without even knowing his name, Doran had declined.
This time, Doran fully twisted around in the seat, leaned forwards, and pressed his mouth to Nathaniel’s. Nathaniel issued a low sound and angled his head, deepening the kiss. His hand brushed Doran’s arm, shoulder, waist, and finally settled upon his waist. He pulled Doran closer, sending shudders through them both when their hips aligned.
“If you had any idea what you do to me,” Doran groaned against his mouth.
Nathaniel was similarly affected. “I have some idea.”
Doran inhaled sharply.“Much as I –” Nathaniel murmured, interrupting his own words to recapture Doran’s lips, “– wish to continue, perhaps we should move this indoors.”
Author Bio
H. L. Moore is a Jewish Australian writer. She holds a Master of Arts in International Relations (2015) and a Bachelor of Media in Communications and Journalism (2012), both from the University of New South Wales.
She has been writing stories since she was old enough to hold a pen. Her biggest literary influences are Adrian Tchaikovsky, Brandon Sanderson and C. S. Pacat.
She is the author of the Death’s Embrace fantasy series and the Tales from the Jovian Empire sci-fi novella series. She has been published four times in the Stringybark Short Stories Award.
Author Website: https://hlmoorewrites.wordpress.com
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