It's one thing for me to tell you the published version of Paladin is different, better, worth your time re-reading (or in some cases, reading for the first time); it's another thing to show you. The version of Paladin I'm publishing represents the best of my writing and gives you new glimpses of this world and these characters that you haven't seen before. And to give you a taste of what the revised book has in store, I'm premiering the prologue of Paladin on Wattpad. Enjoy!



Sam paced anxiously outside the Duke of Haywood's solar. The duke, Sam's father, had not had the chance to properly scold her the night before since he couldn't very well scold her in front of all his esteemed guests. But before she'd gone off to bed, he'd instructed her to meet him on the morrow for, as he put it, a "brief discussion." Sam knew the conversation was bound to be neither brief nor a discussion. She was in for a one-sided rant.

Gathering her courage, she knocked on the great oak door to her father's bedroom. "Come in!" her mother, Duchess Tsalene of Haywood, called out in her thick Rhean accent.

Sam exhaled a breath in relief. The duke was infinitely more reasonable when his wife was present. Sam drew her shoulders back, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

With its damask-covered walls, mahogany carved furniture, and massive double fireplace, the solar had a romantic elegance that reflected her mother's eclectic tastes more than her father's unimaginative aesthetic. As was customary, the duchess had her own suite of rooms in the western tower of the castle, but she rarely used them, choosing instead to share quarters with her husband.

The Duke of Haywood reclined in a throne-like chair by the mantle of the fireplace. "Samantha," he drawled, drawing out the syllables of her name as though to nettle her. He knew she preferred Sam.

She dipped into a curtsy. "Your Grace." Then she went to her mother, who sat on the edge of the canopied bed. "Mother," Sam said warmly, pressing a kiss to her mother's cheek.

The duchess made a clicking sound with her tongue. "La, daughter, show your father some affection. You wouldn't want him to get jealous."

Sam rolled her eyes. The duchess was the only person capable of inspiring jealousy in the duke. "I'm quite sure he prefers I don't," Sam said.

The duke cleared his throat. "He is standing right here and prefers not to be spoken for." He gave his wife a long look before returning his attention to Sam. "How did you sleep?" he asked awkwardly.

It was an olive branch, and Sam was smart enough to take it. "Well, father. Thank you."

"Excellent, excellent." He gave his wife another long look.

The duchess did not return his gaze, instead looking down at her turquoise-varnished nails. Sam began to grow nervous.

"Samantha," the duke said, "take a seat beside your mother."

Sam obliged, smoothing her skirts underneath her. The duke stared at her for a long moment, not saying anything. Even her mother began to fidget.

"I'm sorry!" Sam burst out when she couldn't stand the silence anymore. "I'm sorry about last night. I should never have provoked Lord Crawford."

"What's this?" asked the duke, his eyebrows narrowing. "You provoked Lord Crawford?"

Sam blinked. "He didn't mention it to you?" She had poured her drink down Lord Crawford's shirt when he'd gotten a little fresh, and she'd been sure he would blab to her father.

The duke glowered at her. "No he did not, but perhaps he should have." He turned toward his wife. "You see, Tsalene, this is exactly the sort of behavior I'm talking about."

"I said I was sorry!" Sam protested.

Her mother took Sam's hands into her own. "Your father didn't ask you here to apologize."

Now Sam was well and truly nervous. The last time her mother had spoken to her with such gravity was to tell her that Old Tom, the former castle steward, had passed. "Why am I here, then?"

"To talk about the future," said her father. "Your future."

Sam folded her arms over her chest. "I don't see what there is to talk about. I already know my future. Find a suitable husband, marry, and produce an heir. I understand." Sam didn't like her future, but she'd made peace with it. What other choice did she have?

The duke raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Do you? Because it seems like you're doing everything in your power to obstruct it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't be obtuse, Samantha!" he snapped. "ProvokingLord Crawford, of all people?"

Sam returned his glare. "Lord Crawford is a fool."

"He is young, handsome, and wealthy. A catch by most ladies' standards."

She lifted her chin defiantly. "I'm not most ladies."

"That doesn't excuse your ridiculous behavior!" he yelled.

"Richard," her mother cut in with a note of warning. The duke closed his mouth. Squeezing Sam's hands, her mother said, "What your father is trying to say is that it's time for you to take the prospect of marriage seriously."

"High time," the duke said, moving towards the bed so as to loom over her. "You're sixteen years of age, Samantha. You can't keep running around with your hair all amok and dirt on your face, waving your silly sword. You're a lady, for the Gods' sake. Act like one."

"All right," Sam said in placating tones. "I'll pay my appearance more mind and make an effort to be more courteous." Assuming the matter was settled, she rose from the bed.

The duke put his hands on her shoulders and shoved her back down. "This conversation isn't over." He glanced at his wife, who gave him a slight nod. "We've given you too much leeway for too long. You have till your next birthday to find a husband, or we'll find one for you."

Her mouth fell open. "You can't be serious."

"I am entirely serious, Samantha. Enough is enough."

Without another word, Sam shot up from the bed and stormed out of the duke's solar, slamming the door behind her. She strode across the long corridor, down several flights of stairs, and out of the castle, shoving past the guards without so much as a "pardon me." Her father wanted to marry her off to some lordling stranger before she turned seventeen? Faith in blood, her seventeenth birthday was less than six months away!

She felt betrayed-not by her father, as she expected this sort of nonsense from him, but by her mother for going along with it. Sam would have thought that her mother, of all people, would stand up for her. True, her mother had married at her age, but she'd married for love. Shouldn't she want the same for her daughter instead of forcing her to meet some arbitrary deadline?

Needing time alone to think, Sam walked till the notched turrets of Castle Haywood disappeared from view and the light of the afternoon sun filtered red-tinted through the trees. When she could hear the sound of moving water, she forked left, heading onto the winding forest road that bisected the land between Haywood and Catania. She'd traveled this road hundreds, maybe thousands of times, in search of the one place that always gave her sanctuary: the small clearing that was her mother's secret spot, or had been, till she had shared it with Sam.

When Tsalene of Rhea first came to Haywood, a new bride and a stranger in a strange land, she'd found this place, a hidden alcove surrounded by coppice and a babbling brook. She'd dug a hole in the soft ground and planted a seed taken from her homeland. Now, twenty years later, it was a firm cherry tree with drooping branches that bore cascades of pale pink blossoms. Tsalene had dubbed it the Goddess Tree in tribute to Rhea's patron goddess, Emese the Great Mother, and when she came out here, she would pray beneath its flowering boughs.

Sam sagged against the Goddess Tree, closed her eyes, and prayed. Emese, if you're listening, help me . . . She paused, uncertain of what kind of help to pray for. Finding a good husband? Someone who made her parents happy? Someone who loved her? Someone she loved?

Sam didn't want a husband, not really. In her heart of hearts, she wanted more. She just didn't know what "more"looked like.

A twig snapped, and Sam's eyes flew open while a startled yip escaped her lips.

Husky laughter floated across the breeze. "It's only me," her mother said, emerging from the brush. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I wasn't scared. You just surprised me."

"Of course. My fearless daughter," her mother said with gentle mockery, a smile transforming her exotic features from merely striking to beautiful. She might claim that Sam had inherited her smile, but the duchess's smile had an air of mystery that Sam's lacked, as though it guarded a thousand secrets.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked, her anger still raw.

Her mother wiped a stray leaf from her gown and crossed to the Goddess Tree, running her fingers over the bark. "I came to find you." She sat down against its trunk and patted the ground beside her. "Come sit by me." Begrudgingly, Sam did as she was told, settling her skirts around her ankles. Together, they sat beneath the Goddess Tree, watching the cherry blossoms fall in silence.

Her mother spoke first. "You're angry with me."

Sam saw no point in holding back. "Aye. It's bloody unfair, is what it is."

Her mother sighed. "There are many things in this world that are unfair, Sam. You are the sole heir to a great and noble family, and so you must marry and carry on your father's line. All of us are born with a Gods-given purpose in life, and whether or not it's what we'd choose for ourselves has no bearing."

"So that's it, then?" Sam asked bitterly. "I'm to marry whomever my father chooses for me and spend the rest of my days stitching embroidery and minding the babes?"

Her mother arched a sable eyebrow. "I think I should be offended. Do you think that is all I do?"

Sam blushed. "No, it's just-" She took a deep breath. "This life is what you wanted. It's not what I want."

"What I wanted?" Her mother gave a one-sided smile. "I am happy now, far happier than I ever imagined. But if I'd had my choice, I would have followed a different path."

"You would have?" Sam asked, surprised. Her mother had never said anything of the like before.

"Oh, yes," her mother said. "You and I are not so different. When I was your age, I wanted to be a great warrior, like my sister Nasrin."

Sam's mouth fell open. "Your sister was a warrior?"

"Is a warrior. Or she was when I last saw her, Gods, more than twenty years ago now. It is not so uncommon in Rhea for a woman to take up a weapon, though there are few who devote their lives to it." She nudged Sam with her elbow. "Who do you think convinced your father to teach you to fight?"

Sam shrugged. "I thought he enjoyed the excuse to wallop me with a stick." Although nowadays, it was usually the other way around.

Her mother chuckled. "It does seem like that sometimes, doesn't it? My father was my teacher, too, you know."

"Your father taught you the sword?" Sam asked, delighted.

"He tried," her mother said, laughing. "I didn't have Nasrin's talent. Or yours. And he never hesitated to tell me as much."

The corners of Sam's mouth kicked up. "That must have rankled."

"In the end, it didn't matter. Nasrin joined the Convent of the Sun, and as my father's only other daughter, it fell on me to marry, and marry well." She played idly with a fallen petal. "My father wanted to ally the family with a foreign lord, one with great military power. He chose Richard for me."

Sam scrunched her face in confusion. The duke and duchess of Haywood were the most famous love match of their generation. "But that's-"

"Not the story you've heard?" her mother said. "Or one I've ever told you. All of Thule knows the story of our accidental first meeting in the king's private gardens. It was no accident-my father orchestrated the whole thing. He is Rhea's finest military strategist, after all."

Sam digested this. "Does Father know?"

Her mother grinned. "I told him the day after we consummated our marriage. He didn't speak to me for an entire week after that. He forgave me, though, because by then I'd fallen in love with him, and he with me." Her grin vanished. "I did not know, or dare hope, I'd love the man I'd marry. But I did my duty, and the Gods saw fit to give me a husband worth loving, and to give me you, my most precious daughter. You'll see. The Gods will reward you, too."

"Maybe," Sam said, unconvinced.

Her mother pushed to her feet and offered Sam her hand. "Let's go home. Today is a day for celebrating, not for arguing." She glanced up at the sky. "And we best go quickly. It's going to rain."

As if to emphasize her warning, a distant roll of thunder shook the ground. Sam clasped her mother's hand and stood up. When had the sky become so dark? It wasn't the dark of evening, but the dark gray of a fast-approaching storm.

They pressed back towards the main forest road as fast as they were able, without a care for the thorny thicket. Thunder rumbled again, closer now. Sam had counted ten seconds between this boom of thunder and the last. The storm was minutes away. When dots of water began to speckle the forest path, they ran.

A violent crack of lightning rent the sky, and it began to rain in earnest. Mid-stride, Sam slipped on a wet rock, ripping her skirts at the knee. "Great," she muttered, brushing off dirt and grime. The skin underneath was bloody.

Her mother kneeled down in the mud beside her, hissing in sympathy. She, like Sam, was soaked to the bone, her gown plastered to her body and her hair hanging in lank, wet strands."Can you walk?"

Sam nodded, easing herself off the ground. "It's just a bad scrape." She put her full weight onto the offending leg, and winced. "I think."

Her mother lifted her face to the sky, allowing rain to splash down her cheeks. "We'll go slowly. We can withstand a little water." She rose and slung Sam's arm around her shoulder. Grateful, Sam leaned into her, and together they hobbled down the road.

The rain came down harder, and heavy fog settled over the forest, thick enough that Sam couldn't see more than an arm's length in front of her.She shivered, cold and a little afraid, though she was loathe to admit it.

Lightning split the sky with a sharp crack. Sam and her mother yelped in unison then traded guilty smiles. "It's very dark, isn't it?" her mother whispered.

"Aye," Sam whispered back. "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know. It feels appropriate."

A nervous giggle escaped Sam's lips, and her mother looked at her crosswise. Sam wasn't much of a giggler.

They pressed on, slower now, while visibility worsened and the rain beat down on their heads. In theory, they were moving closer to the edge of the woods, but without the familiar turrets of Castle Haywood in sight, Sam felt miles and miles away.

Lightning flashed, cutting through the fog, and Sam's heart stuttered. She had seen something in that brief flash of light. Two red orbs and jagged yellow triangles. Eyes. And teeth.

She squeezed her mother's shoulder and said, as quietly as she could, "Something's out there."

"La, don't be silly. It's only your-"

"Hush!"

"-imagination," her mother said, too loudly. A low growl punctuated the air.

Sam's stomach clenched with fear. It wasn't her imagination, whatever it was. She squinted into the fog and glimpsed black fur and a long, glossy snout. Please let it be a wolf, she prayed silently. She watched its outline grow larger as it drew nearer. Please . . . just a really, really big wolf . . .

"Faith in blood," her mother swore. There was no hiding the fear in her voice.

They could see the creature clearly now, and smell it too-it stunk of wet fur and copper and rot. And it was no wolf. The creature was the size of a horse and had fur so black it seemed to consume the light. It was tall at the withers and gaunt like a greyhound, its ribcage visible where its coat was finest, with long, muscular hindquarters that tapered into monstrous claws. Its crimson eyes were flat and unintelligent-but hungry, so, so hungry as they bore down on Sam and her mother.

Those blood-red eyes could mean only one thing . . .

Demon.

Her hand brushed against her side, reaching for a sword that was not there. Gods, how she wished she had a weapon. "What do we do?" Sam asked her mother, trying to remain calm. Sam was all confidence and bluster with a sword in hand, but without one she was as vulnerable as anyone else.

Her mother closed her eyes and traced a circle over her left breast. "Great Goddess, let us survive this day." Her lids flew open and she looked at Sam, speaking with low urgency. "You need to run, Sam. Run as fast and as far as you can."

"What about you?"

"I will run in the opposite direction. It can't catch us both." She shoved at Sam's chest. "Run!"

Sam hesitated, staring at her mother's frightened face, and then broke into a limping run. Pain shot up her injured leg with each footfall and several times she nearly fell, but she did not look back. She heard nothing but the sound of the rain hitting the trees and her uneven breath. Was the demon close behind? Had it even followed her? She half-hoped that it had-the alternative was that it had chased after her mother.

A shrill scream pierced the air. Sam skidded to a stop. Mother.Heart pumping in her chest, she twisted and looked behind her. No sight of the demon.

The scream came again, long and loud, a mix of pain and terror. Her heart leapt into her throat. Please, Gods, let her be okay. With a final prayer, she turned and ran in the direction of the scream.

She found her mother stumbling in the rain, wet hands clutching her side. "Sam," her mother said in a voice that was paper thin. "I told you to run, you foolish child."

"You said you would run, too," Sam accused as she rushed to her mother. Hot tears pricked the back of her eyes, but she refused to cry.

Her mother's pale lips formed a wan smile. "I did run. And now I'm caught." Her hands were slick not with rain but with blood. She reached out and touched Sam's cheek with scarlet fingers. "But you are not caught yet. Run. Run!"

"I'm not going to leave you," Sam said through clenched teeth.

"Better to both die then?" Tsalene asked harshly, a spark returning to her eyes. She removed her other hand from her side, revealing the extent of her wound. "Don't throw away your life for a dying woman, Sam."

"Don't say that!" Sam covered her mother's wound with her own hands, felt the hot liquid against her palms. "You're not going to die. Just . . . hold on."

Her mother gripped her by the shoulders and shook. "Run, Sam! For the love of Emese, run!"

But it was too late; the demon lurched out from behind the cover of the trees. Blood dripped from a wound in its side. Had her mother done that? How?

Her mother sagged to her knees and wrapped her arms around Sam's legs for balance. "Run, child!"

Sam felt her own knees sag. "I can't," she said brokenly. The tears brimming in her eyes spilled over. "I'm afraid."

"For me?" Her mother smiled and like always it transformed her. "I do not fear the Afterlight. But it's not yet your time." The smile left her face and she became gray and drawn again. She lay her head on Sam's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Sam asked. Her mother didn't respond. "For what?" she asked again, panic creeping into her voice. "For what?"

The demon's growl filled her mother's silence.

"Stay away!" Sam shouted over her mother's slack form. She's not dead, Sam chanted in her head, as if wishing would make it so. She's not dead. She's not dead.

Gently, she tilted her mother's head back, cradling her neck. Her mother's eyes were closed, her mouth parted. Her pale faced glistened with tears. Sam ran her thumb over her mother's damp cheeks. The skin was cool-all the heat had drained out of it. Her fingers ran south to her mother's neck, where her pulse should be. Nothing.

"No," Sam whispered. And then she threw back her head and screamed. Fury like she'd never before felt consumed her, drowning out everything else. My mother is dead, echoed endlessly in the back of her head. But grief blended with anger and set her blood aflame.

Sam eased her mother's limp body to the ground and stood up, meeting the demon's crimson stare with her own defiant stare. Less than three yards away, it cocked its head to the side like an overgrown wolf pup, as if it couldn't quite figure her out.

"You killed my mother," she told the demon with a calm she didn't feel, "and now I'm going to kill you."

The demon's lips peeled back into a hungry, canine grin, and Sam bared her teeth in a semblance of a smile. "I will kill you," she promised, curling her fingers into claws. The demon snarled in response and pawed the ground with its foreleg.

A shred of rational thought managed to slip through the wall of her anger. She had no weapon or armor. She scanned the woods for something, anything she could use against the demon. A fallen branch rested on the ground near her feet. It would have to do. She snatched it up, tucking it under her arm like she would a thrusting spear.

The demon charged, and so did she.

It launched itself at her in a blur of black fur. She ran towards it, angling her makeshift spear towards the left side of its barrel chest, where she imagined its heart would be, if demons had hearts.

Before they connected, something heavy slammed into her side. The branch snapped in two as she landed in a sprawl on the ground. Dazed, she struggled up onto her elbows.

"Get behind me!" a man's voice shouted.

Sam's eyes swung towards the voice. A tall, starkly beautiful man stood in the middle of the forest path with his sword held aloft, his gaze trained on the demon. He was panting heavily, and some combination of rain and sweat had plastered his blond hair to his skull. "Get behind me, Gods damn it! Move!" He let out an exasperated huff. "Do you want to die?"

Her gaze shifted to her mother, laid out among the dirt and fallen leaves, back to the strange man, and then finally the demon. Swallowing a sob, Sam scrambled to her feet and wove her way through the brush till she was a few paces behind him.

He turned to glare at her. "Fighting a demon with a stick? Are you mad?"

Sam looked at him with a blank expression. "My mother is dead."

The sharp planes of his face softened for an instant and then hardened again. "You can grieve later. For now, focus on staying alive." He dug something out of his boot-a long knife-and tossed it at her feet. "Don't use it unless you have to. Leave the demon to me."

Sam nodded mutely and picked up the knife. She'd lost the white rage she'd been feeling. Now she just felt brittle and empty.

The man did not attack immediately-he observed, tilting his head back to take in the beast's full height. "It's big," he said quietly. "One of the biggest I've seen." He adjusted his grip on his sword and edged closer.

The demon gave him a considering look and then sniffed at the air, licking its chops. Ignoring the man, it ambled over to her mother's body and snuffled at her stomach, mottled red and brown where she'd bled through her gown. It lolled out the full length of its tongue and began lapping up the blood. Teeth flashed and sank into purpling skin.

Rage flared anew. "Get away from her!" Sam screamed. She sprinted toward the demon and rammed her knife into its side.

The demon reared onto its hind legs and roared, knocking Sam onto the ground. Claws scraped the ground, inches away from her face.

Hands slid under her arms and pulled her backwards and up. "You bloody idiot," the man fumed, shoving her behind him. "Stay. Back."He gave her another shove for good measure.

He drew his sword and faced the demon. Its eyes had gone wild, rolling in their sockets. The knife, Sam noted with grim satisfaction, was still buried in its ribcage. There was no way she'd let that thing eat her mother, dead or not.

The demon swiped at the man with its front paw. He held his ground and swung his sword. The blade struck talon, which must have been as hard as steel, or harder, since it didn't break. He swung again, before the demon could retract its claw. This time, the edge of his blade sliced clean through the demon's carpals, hacking paw from limb. Dark brown sludge spurted from the stump of its leg, reeking of rotten meat.

The beast let out an unearthly howl, but the loss of its limb did not slow it down. It stretched its neck forward, snapping at the man's throat. He ducked and rolled out of reach. He regained his footing and then lunged, jamming his sword into the demon's breast. The sword slid out covered in the same putrid brown sludge. Still, the demon did not die. It attacked with jaws open wide, closing on air as he skirted out of the way.

The demon sprung at him. He shifted to the side and leapt, raising his sword high over his head with both hands. He slashed down, hard and fast, blade whistling through the air. Skull split from spine, and the demon's severed head dropped to the ground.

It was dead.

So was her mother.

The man wiped his sword on the grass and returned it to its sheath. He rubbed his face with one hand. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"My foot . . . It's sprained, I think. I fell, before." Before the demon. Before her mother had died.She hid her face with her hands and turned her back to him, so he couldn't see her tears.

A hand touched her shoulder. "It gets better."

She whipped around, let him see the angry tears. "Does it really?"

He hesitated. "No. No, it doesn't. It gets . . . easier." His hand fell from her shoulder. "I'm sorry, my lady. I don't have the right words. I'm just a man with a sword."

Sam made a sound that was half sob, half laugh. "I suppose I should thank you." She didn't say, I wish you'd come earlier. Instead, she asked, "Who are you?"

He drew himself up and swept an elegant bow. "Paladin Tristan Lyons, First of the Sword."

Sam gasped in spite of herself. "Demon slayer."

"Aye." An unreadable expression crossed his face. "I'm sorry I couldn't save her, too."

What was there to say to that? She couldn't say, it's okay-it wasn't. She couldn't blame him either. So Sam said nothing.

They stood in silence for a while, the rain falling in torrents around them. "You're shivering," he said finally. "We should get you home. Can you walk?"

She nodded. "My ankle's not so bad as that. What about my mother's-" She stopped short, unable to finish the sentence. "Will you bring her home, too?"

"Aye, my lady." With a backward glance at her, he walked over to her mother's body, unmoved from the forest floor where Sam had left her. He knelt down and scooped her mother into his arms. Her body hung like a wet rag doll, her head flung back at an unnatural angle, hair trailing in a snarled black curtain.

Bile rose in Sam's throat, and she looked away. That corpse wasn't her mother. It was a shell, nothing more.

My mother is dead.

And there was nothing she, Paladin Lyons, or even the Gods could do about it.

Her hands clenched into fists.

She couldn't change the past, but she could change the future.



Paladin will be released on Thursday, May 14. You can pre-order a Kindle copy now on Amazon (click/tap on the external link or search for Paladin on Amazon.com). The hardback version will be available on May 14th, and we'll have digital versions for iBooks, Kobo, Smashwords and Nook too! If you're only interested in paperback, please email my publishing assistant at jdawson@perfect-analogy.com.