The Chronicles of Tanithor: Age of the Oracle • Book Four
YA Clean Fantasy Romance | Prophecy | Elemental Magic | Royal Intrigue | Warring Kingdoms
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⚠️ If you haven’t read A Bounty of Secrets and Rebellion, Book One, I recommend starting there to avoid spoilers.
Now, return to Tanithor…
A Dance of Poison and Power
Griff lay sprawled along the Lateran edge of the Great River, his body numb with exhaustion. He had never pushed his gift to its limit before. Never known where that limit truly was.
Now he knew.
Across the river, the sun rose slowly over the smoking, blackened remains of Hoken as if it were any other day. As if the kingdom that had raised him hadn’t been completely ravaged the night before.
The sun still stretched out its golden arms. The birds still sang their morning melody. The river flowed in a lazy current, its gentle rush blending into the morning’s quiet symphony.
A soft breeze ruffled his curls, cooling his overheated skin as life continued on, utterly indifferent to the devastation left behind.
A feather-light touch brushed his forehead.
Griff forced his heavy eyelids open to a welcome sight. Halyn hovered over him; her brow furrowed in his favorite way. Normally, he would have smiled.
Now, he barely had the strength.
“They’re about to make for Sands,” she said softly.
“What about the survivors?” he asked, closing his eyes again as her fingers traced soothing paths across his brow, his cheeks, his jaw. A bit of the ache in his bones eased at her touch.
“King Sundry is leaving some tents.”
“Some tents?” He drew in a deep breath and pushed himself upright. “What about food? Water? Clothing?”
Halyn sighed and sat beside him, looping her arms through his as he braced himself against the ground. “I don’t know. He’s…very unhappy.”
“Yeah?” Anger coiled in his gut, a welcome surge of strength. “Well, I’m not happy either. What did he expect me to do, just stand there and watch?”
She rested her head against his shoulder, silent in her support as they stared out over the slow-moving river.
Griff knew exactly what his father had expected.
Latera had been on the brink of war with Hoken. The king had every reason to hate them. The Hoken chief had stolen Griff away as a baby. The boy Griff had grown up calling brother had marched on Latera with threats built on lies. And just as the king was reunited with his long-lost son, a dragon descended from prophecy and set Hoken ablaze.
King Sundry had been willing to watch it burn.
His son had not.
Hoken was Griff’s home. The warriors in that camp were his people, his friends, his family. It didn’t matter that they had been preparing to fight Latera. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing while everything he loved was destroyed.
Even now, replaying the night in his mind, he knew he would make the same choice again.
“Griffin, stop!”
He ignored his father’s command, sprinting through the Lateran war camp with Halyn close behind. Soldiers stood frozen in shock as the dragon swooped low, unleashing another torrent of blue fire across the Hoken lines.
The beast’s wings beat once, twice, fanning the flames before it launched skyward with a roar that split the night.
Griff ran harder, his pulse thundering in his ears. He reached the riverbank right as the dragon circled back, its massive body glinting like a falling star against the dark sky. Heat rolled off the flames as the dragon dipped low again, sweeping fire across the land in a devastating arc.
What could he do?
Fire was everywhere: devouring, unstoppable, mocking his helplessness. The dragon wheeled away again, and Griff caught sight of blackened corpses near the edge of the camp. The memory of Pavati slammed into him, turning his stomach.
How could he fight this? How could he save them?
“Help!”
The cry snapped his focus forward.
Two figures struggled in the river.
Griff didn’t hesitate. He threw out his hands, calling on his gift of water to lasso the Hokens and drag them toward the Lateran shore. They must have fled to the river to escape the flames, but most Hokens couldn’t swim.
“Halyn!” he shouted, scanning for more survivors. “Can you build a bridge?”
“I can try,” she said, rising to her feet after checking the two he’d rescued.
Brow furrowed in concentration, the earth split and rose at her command, straining against its natural form as it arced across the river. Griff knew the cost of such a monumental feat. It would drain her completely. But if she succeeded…
He could focus on the fire.
The bridge began to take shape: rough, imperfect, but solid. While she worked, he scanned the dark sky. The dragon was gone for now, but it would return. The Oracle’s prophecy echoed in his mind, unfolding before his eyes.
Halyn collapsed as one of the rescued Hokens staggered forward and took over, reinforcing the structure with his own gift.
Griff fought the instinct to go to his wife, knowing she was fine, but spent.
He needed to focus on his own part in helping his people.
He lifted his arms, and pulled. Water surged from the river in a massive wave, crashing across the Hoken camp. Flames hissed and sputtered as smoke billowed into the sky.
He sent another wave. And another.
Over and over, with everything he had, the water sloshed and rolled over the burning land.
“THE DRAGON IS COMING BACK!”
At the panicked shout of a nearby Hoken, Griff sucked in a breath and hurled another surge of water forward. Through the chaos, he spotted survivors sprinting through the soaked earth toward the bridge.
“Hurry!” he roared, running along the shoreline to reach farther with his gift.
A deafening screech met his ears, signaling the dragon’s return, and a moment later the heat of the dragon’s flames warmed his skin as the monster’s fire swept, not over the camp this time, but over the entire forest.
“No!” Griff shouted, throwing water again and again, fighting a losing battle against the spreading inferno.
Griff dragged himself back to the present, his chest tight.
They had worked for hours: him dousing flames along the river, Halyn guiding survivors across the bridge.
But he had been only one man.
And the only one willing to help.
King Sundry had forbidden his soldiers from aiding Hoken. The dragon hadn’t touched Latera, and the king refused to risk drawing its attention.
He had even tried to block the refugees from crossing.
That had been the moment Griff truly clashed with his father.
The Lateran army had watched in stunned silence as the newly returned prince went head-to-head with the king, shouting across the war camp for nearly an hour.
In the end, the king relented. Barely.
Fewer than a hundred Hokens, what remained of an entire kingdom, were allowed to sleep on Lateran soil.
Seething, Griff refused to return to the king’s tent where he had been invited to sleep. Instead, he had slept on the grassy bank with Halyn and the refugees.
His father had not been pleased.
Griff could not have cared less.
He opened his eyes, taking in the present. The Hokens who had survived sat in clusters, staring across the river at what remained of their home. Charred earth stretched to the horizon. The dragon had come and gone in the night, and in its wake, Hoken had been reduced to embers. No trees. No shelter. No animals. The cold season would arrive before any of it could begin to recover, and King Sundry’s answer to all of it was some tents.
Griff clenched his jaw and pushed himself to his feet, offering Halyn a hand.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”
***
“There’s still viable land,” King Sundry argued, sounding as though this conversation had already exhausted him. “The shores of the Boledad Sea will provide food. My tents will provide shelter. That is all I’m willing to offer.”
“What about long-term?” Griff shot back. “Winter is coming. They have no way to rebuild. They won’t survive.”
“That is not my concern. I am responsible for my people, not Hoken.”
“But you can help them!” Griff burst out. “They have nothing, and you have everything!”
The king leaned back, scrubbing a hand across his neck. “I can’t simply take them in. We have laws. Boundaries. Agreements.”
“This is an extreme circumstance. Make an exception.”
“I don’t even know who leads them now,” the king countered. “I can’t make that decision unilaterally.”
“I’m sure the refugees will appoint someone,” Griff said quickly. “They’ll agree to whatever terms you set.”
The king exhaled sharply
His father was merely making excuses.
“Before the dragon came, we were on the brink of war,” his father said through clenched teeth. “I’ve already lost soldiers. And now you expect me to shelter my enemy?”
“They’re not all your enemies,” Griff snapped. “And they’re hardly a threat anymore. There are less than a hundred of them.” The words cut deep. “You really can’t afford to take them in?”
The king slammed his fists onto the table and surged to his feet.
“Even if I could, I don’t want to!”
Griff stepped back, stunned by the force of his father’s ire.
The king’s eyes burned as he leaned forward. “You forget that those people hid you from me for years!”
“Most of them didn’t even know!” Griff fired back. “The man responsible is dead—”
“You mean the man who stole my wife,” the king cut in, voice sharp as steel, “and my child.”
Silence fell heavy between them.
“I’ve lived with that loss for years,” the king continued. “Everything I’ve done: every agreement I’ve made, every sacrifice I’ve suffered, was to get you back.” His voice broke, not with weakness but with weight. “And when you return…you are one of them.”
Griff swallowed.
“My heir,” the king went on bitterly, “bound to a Hoken woman. The future of my kingdom tied to the people who took everything from me.”
Griff looked down, his anger faltering under the truth of his father’s words.
The king collapsed back into his chair, the fight leaving him in an instant. “I love you, Griffin” he said quietly. “I want you here. I want you happy. But I cannot—will not—help them.”
He met Griff’s eyes, grim resignation settling over his features. “I will leave them with tents for shelter, but that is it.” The king clasped his hands together in front of him, his posture hardening at his resolve. “The threat of a dragon is still out there, and all my resources are better spent in the effort of protecting my own people from the same fate that the Hokens met.”
Griff swallowed the argument he was prepared to make against the king’s decision.
He knew it would be in vain.
Because he understood where his father was coming from.
But he couldn’t accept it.
Whether the king liked it or not, Griff was Hoken. Perhaps not in blood but in spirit. His father would one day have to accept this reality, and Griff was determined to make him see the good in the Hoken people.
There had to be a way for Hoken and Latera to live peaceably together. No matter what it took, Griff was going to find a way.
Fynn dragged a chair over to Alana’s bedside and sat down. He leaned forward, grasping her hand, and rested his elbows on the soft blankets, gazing at her sleeping figure. She had been changed from her masquerade dress into a comfortable nightgown. Her curls had been let loose; the smooth locks delicately spread over her left shoulder in a waterfall of golden tendrils. Alana lay motionless, and the only reassurance he had of her being alive was the faint, rhythmic pulse at her neck.
“I’m sorry, my love,” Fynn whispered, squeezing her fingers. “I had to stop Hanna torturing you. I’d do anything to protect you, I hope you know that.”
He watched her face, knowing she wouldn’t respond, but hopeful just the same. He still couldn’t get the image of her thrashing body and silent but tortured expression out of his mind.
“I don’t know if you saw what happened, but my parents are dead.” Tears pricked his eyes as he tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat at recalling the shock of their unexpected deaths. “The three-day mourning period ends tomorrow with the coronation and then the wedding will be at the end of this week.” He clutched Alana’s hand more tightly, his gaze darting to the door where one of Hanna’s soldiers waited just on the other side. Because Alana slept, he’d been granted privacy. Nevertheless, he kept his voice low so as not to be overheard. “I told her I would marry her to save you, but you are my queen, my love. Nothing will change that. Ever.”
He took his free hand and gently swiped his knuckles along Alana’s cheek. He wished he could have married her and sealed the alliance already. Unfortunately, Gaellen law required a groom to be eighteen years of age to enter into holy matrimony.
He had mere days left.
“Hanna intends to become queen and appoint the members of the All God’s Chosen as council members,” he went on softly. “Afterward, she has promised to hand you over to Henri. But I won’t let that happen either. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, my love. I swear it.”
He inhaled deeply, hoping his words would hold true even though they seemed impossible at the moment. “Hanna has Katalina and your guard in the dungeon right now, but I’m making sure they’re fed, and their injuries treated,” he went on, the quiet report easing his mind despite the one-sided nature of it. “They put up a valiant fight against Hanna’s forces, but I’m afraid they were simply outnumbered. Johnson has suffered a stab wound in his thigh, but the physician says he will be fine. Menard is relatively unharmed. Got knocked in the head and suffered a minor concussion, but he’s overall okay. Koa…” He trailed off, unwilling to share a dire report. The physician had told him that at this point, Koa was in the All God’s hands. Fynn could only pray that Koa would push through.
“Nakeera is still here,” Fynn murmured. “Hanna has her confined to her rooms: guarded, watched, ‘protected.’” His mouth twisted bitterly at the word. “As if Hanna isn’t the actual threat.”
He exhaled slowly. “But I don’t think Hanna will hurt Nakeera. She knows better than to spill Zimeran blood while she’s trying to secure the Gaellen crown. A dead princess would invite war from Zimerah, and even she isn’t reckless enough for that.”
His grip tightened around Alana’s hand. “That’s why the wedding is still moving forward. To the public, I’m still set to marry you. Hanna and her supporters have agreed to maintain that story outside of Holden castle, because appearances matter. Because Zimerah must believe Gaellen is stable.”
His voice dropped lower. “If they sense weakness, if Dakari learns the crown was taken by force, he’ll strike. My parents’ deaths, the earthquake, the coup…any one of those could be enough to invite invasion.”
He swallowed. “Tanithor needs to see strength. The people of Gaellen need stability. They’re already reeling from the earthquake and my parents’ deaths. The last thing they need is more uncertainty. I hope with my coronation I can bring them some peace.”
Fynn ran a hand through his hair, struggling to accept the weight of the reality before him. He had spent his entire life preparing to lead Gaellen, but he had never imagined ascending the throne amidst a political nightmare without his father’s guidance.
A woman he once considered a friend had betrayed him. She’d allied with religious zealots, orchestrating his parents’ deaths to force his early ascension to the throne. Worse still, she had ordered the brutal slaughter of his father’s entire council, stripping him of the guidance he should have relied upon in his first days as king.
He had no intention of heeding the counsel of the All God’s Chosen, which only left him more isolated than ever.
Fynn heaved a breath and lifted Alana’s hand, his fingers brushing the ring resting on her marriage finger. He rolled the emerald at its center beneath his thumb, grounding himself in the familiar weight.
“Kieran and Brynn are missing,” he continued. “I’m hoping Brynn somehow managed to escape, and stays as far away from here as possible. Hanna has ordered her men to kill her the moment she’s found, and I couldn’t bear it if I lost her too.”
Fynn shook his head. “I’m hoping Kieran is with her and keeping her safe.”
Fynn wished he had someone he could rely on similarly. “I don’t know who I can trust anymore,” he revealed to Alana’s sleeping form, the only person in all the castle with whom he could confide. “Hanna has been planning this for a long time. Almost all the castle staff and guard were on her side. The few that were not have been thrown in the dungeon. Bridget is down there, together with Cormac and Sean. Very few survived her attack.”
He blinked away the tears that threatened to fall, overwhelmed by the losses he had endured.
Mourning would have to wait; at this moment, he had to stay strong for Alana, his kingdom, and his people. “I’d kill Hanna myself if I could, but she’s promised a slow and painful death for you if I hurt her or disobey her in any way. I won’t risk anything happening to you, my love. I’d sacrifice everything to keep you safe. I promise you; I’ll get us out of this. Just…hang in there, okay?”
He leaned in closer to study her features: her sun-kissed skin, long lashes softly resting on her smooth cheeks, and her petite, round nose. She was flawless and stunning, even as she slept. He remembered a fairytale where a true love’s kiss could break any enchantment. Certain that Alana was his true love, he bent over and gently kissed her lips. Pulling back, he gazed at her doll-like, slumbering face, clinging to the hope that she would awaken.
But this wasn’t a fairytale, and she wasn’t under a spell. The only way to free his one true love would be to marry another.
“I love you, Alana,” he whispered. “I always have, and I always will.”
***
Later that day, Fynn stood in his father’s office, his heart hammering against his ribs. He raked a hand through his hair as he tried to calm his nerves.
Hanna had arrived.
He quickly turned to the window, staring out at the sprawling lands situated behind Holden castle. He hated looking at the face of one he once called a friend. Even her voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
“I’ve had your formal regalia cleaned and pressed and the king’s crown shined for the coronation,” she explained in her silky sweet tone as if she were actually helping him.
She paused, clearly expecting a response.
He refused to indulge her.
“The king and queen’s chambers have been cleared, and their possessions boxed up,” she continued. “Where would you like them to be stored?”
He remained silent, staring out at the trees that were bent, forcibly bowing to the wind. He knew the feeling.
“Fine, I’ll have the servants burn it all then,” Hanna snapped, breaking her sweet demeanor.
Fynn slid his hands in his pockets and said tightly, “Put their things in my antechamber.”
“I don’t think it’ll all fit in there.”
Back to her sickly-sweet tone.
Fynn clenched his jaw. “Then put what doesn’t fit in Alana’s antechamber.”
He heard footsteps and then the squeak of his father’s chair.
“Get out of that chair,” he nearly growled, whirling around to face her.
Hanna looked up at him, her smile the picture of innocence. “Ah, now I have your attention.”
“Move. Now,” he ordered darkly. No one was allowed to sit in his father’s chair, especially not Hanna.
She stood, only to turn and sit on the edge of the desk. “The king’s chambers will be ready for you to sleep in tomorrow.”
Fynn ground his molars together. “I’m not sleeping in there.”
“Tomorrow you’ll be king. It’s only fitting you take the king’s chambers.”
“No.”
Hanna narrowed her eyes. “You promised to cooperate, Fynn.”
“I am cooperating,” he snapped. “Sleeping in the king’s chambers makes no difference to your plans.”
It made every difference to his. As long as he remained in his own suite, he was close to Alana; and proximity was the only advantage he still possessed.
Hanna studied him for a moment, suspicion sharpening her gaze. “She’s asleep,” she said at last. “Only I have the antidote to wake her. And that won’t happen unless you continue to do exactly as you’re told.”
Fynn resisted the urge to laugh. Hanna had no intention of waking Alana.
To the outside world, the alliance between Gaellen and Latera would be sealed by marriage. The people would celebrate. The kingdoms would believe peace had been secured. A new age dawning.
But inside these walls, the truth was far uglier.
Hanna would stand beside him at the coronation, holding Alana’s life over him while he vowed to rule Gaellen. Then, by the same coercion tactics, he would marry Hanna, granting her the title she so desired. And once the crown was hers, once Latera believed the alliance sealed, Alana would quietly die.
Poor health, Hanna would announce to the masses as she handed Alana over to Henri to exact his revenge.
Then, after believing their Lateran queen dead, Hanna would marry Fynn in a farce of a public wedding, solidifying her place in the people’s eyes as the new queen of Gaellen.
She’d made the mistake of revealing her long-term plans, and Fynn had been quietly forming his own ever since.
Hanna stepped closer.
Instinctively, Fynn’s hand went to the sword at his hip. Since the attack, he never went anywhere unarmed. Not that he could truly use it. Still, it brought him some small measure of comfort when surrounded by his enemies.
“Careful,” Hanna murmured, tracking his movement. “You wouldn’t want the guards thinking you’re about to attack me.” Her gaze flicked, cold and deliberate. “Those little yellow seeds still work on her, even in sleep.”
Fynn followed her glance to the door. Two rebels stood at attention where his father’s guards once had. One mirrored Fynn’s stance, hand resting casually on the hilt of his blade. The other lingered near the door, fingers poised to bolt, ready to carry the order that would end Alana’s life without hesitation.
Fynn drew a slow, measured breath and forced his hand away from his sword. His jaw locked, teeth grinding as he choked on his fury.
The castle was no longer his.
While he may have spent the day going through the perfunctory rituals expected of a prince soon-to-be king, signing documents, listening to reports from frightened stewards, reviewing policies, every corridor, every watchful eye, answered to Hanna.
And Alana was the price of his restraint.
Hanna watched him with a smile and waved toward the guards, never taking her eyes off Fynn. “It’s all right, boys. My groom won’t hurt me.” She leaned closer, bold enough to rest her hand against his chest as she whispered, “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to Alana…would we?”
He turned away as Hanna pressed a kiss to his cheek, every muscle in his body recoiling at her touch. Hanna laughed softly and turned on her heel.
“See you at the coronation,” she called over her shoulder.
Fynn swallowed the bile rising in his throat as he watched her go. The guards fell in step behind her, and only when the door clicked shut did he finally release a heavy breath.
“Ugh. I thought she’d never leave.”
Despite himself, Fynn smiled at the familiar, low voice behind him.
Continue A Dance of Poison and Power
A Dance of Poison and Power is Book Four in The Chronicles of Tanithor: Age of the Oracle series
Release Date: October 27, 2026
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