❂ Sun Kissed ❂ Ch. 1 - A Weekly Serial Romance Novel

[Urahra 5359]

❂ SUN KISSED ❂

 

A Weekly Serialized Romance Novel

by

Sarah Styrne-Napier

 

A heady, sensual romance set in the long-lost city of Al Faiz... Two lovers encounter one another by chance under the searing sun. Temperatures rise and hearts beat fast as a retired HRA soldier - searching for meaning in this foreign land - meets someone he never expected...

 

 

❂ Chapter 1 ❂

 

'I don't belong here.'

 

That was the first thought that crossed Troels Andreyev's mind as he stepped off the boat in Al Faiz. The city greeted him with an assault of colors, smells, sights, and sounds. Brass chimes jingled in the open, arched doorways of nearby shops and restaurants. Gauzy, colorful drapes fluttered from open windows in the hot, dry desert breeze. In the distance, golden domes gleamed atop thin, spiraling minarets. The docks swirled with vibrant life - the people just as colorful as their surroundings. A merchant in floaty, embroidered shawls bartered with a Qalasheen woman over the price of a parrot. A man with a bright yellow turban and pink dye in his beard hawked enormous baskets of fragrant spices. A street performer -- her body clad only in thin, translucent materials -- danced barefoot across the hot sandstone streets, bracelets glittering and flashing in the searing sunlight.

 

And there, in the middle of it all, was Troels. He glanced down at himself. His plain, off-white linen shirt already clung to his chest with sweat. Aside from that, he'd dressed himself in a pair of loose, dark trousers and leather boots. Simple traveler's garb, nothing special or fancy. These sorts of clothes wouldn't make you stand out in a place like Haense, where the peasantry tended to dress sensibly and without much regards to style. But here, Troels thought, he stuck out like crooked nail. Troels wasn't normally given to self-consciousness. A Haeseni Royal Army soldier had other things on his mind besides how he looked. Still, he could not help but feel like a dark-grey splotch on this painter's palette of color.

 

Troels reached into his pocket and fished out a letter. It was written on crisp Papyrus parchment and crinkled musically when he handled it. At the bottom was the signature of the Qalasheen housing clerk – a receipt for the home he’d purchased with his scant life savings. The letter contained the address for a small, oceanside cottage. Troels' grey-brown eyes scanned over the words one more time. He'd looked at this letter several times on the trip over. Wondering if this was the right choice. Wondering if he was crazy, choosing to move this far abroad. But, he remembered as he walked down the smooth, sandstone paths, there wasn't really much tying him to Haense any longer. He had no family to speak of - no wife or children. A debilitating injury to the leg during the Scyfling War had brought his career as an HRA soldier to a close (he could still walk with a slight limp but running and fighting were out of the question). And though he was a Canonist, Troels had always worshipped in his own, small private way - with no need for the big cathedrals and packed masses. His life in New Reza had been empty. The city was always bustling with activity, but, even so, Troels found few reasons to get out of bed every morning. Once his service to the king had ended, there was nothing left to keep him there. Nothing left to motivate him.

 

In his youth, he had sometimes dreamed of traveling the world -- though work, time, and other constraints had held him back. Now that he was retired, though, it seemed as good a time as any for a change of scenery. Perhaps, in due time, he would adjust to his new home. Maybe Al Faiz would not feel quite as empty as New Reza now felt. But if it turned out that Al Faiz didn't suit him, Troels thought, he could always pick up and go elsewhere.

 

Troels followed the winding pathways through the city. His boots seemed to kick up small clouds of sand wherever he walked. He kept to the shade, out of the blinding hot sun. His pale Haeseni skin was already turning red in the searing heat. The locals shot him odd glances as he passed, though Troels tried not to pay them any mind. More things he would need to get used to, he thought.

 

At last, though, he reached the address listed on the letter. He paused in front of the house, taking in the sight of it. Qalasheen architecture was markedly different from the buildings back home. Haeseni houses were built of sturdy lumber with steeply pitched rooves, so that the snow would slide off. The Qalasheen people had no such concerns. A low, flat-roofed house with sandstone walls stood in front of him. Simple wooden shutters covered the windows - no need for glass or insulation against the cold. The door was no more than a gently fluttering banner hanging in an archway. "Need to install a proper door," Troels muttered to himself. Though he wanted to try and adjust to the Qalasheen way of living, there were some things he couldn't compromise on.

 

As he pushed aside the door flap and stepped into the house, though, he heard the patter of feet and the clatter of falling dishes in the next room. Immediately, Troels' hand flew to the sword on his hip. "Who's there?" he bellowed, his voice like low thunder. Gripping the hilt of his sword, Troels approached the door to the other room - itself still no more than an archway. He crossed the threshold and found himself in a small kitchen. There, on the floor, was a knocked-over pile of wooden bowls, iron pots and pans. And sitting on the counter was a green-eyed black cat.

 

"Oh," Troels chuckled quietly to himself, sliding his sword back into its sheath. "Shoo, cat." He gently waved the creature toward the window. It meowed at him indignantly and instead went in the complete opposite direction, toward a wooden cupboard standing in the corner. Almost at once, Troels noticed that the cupboard's door was ajar. His hand flew back to the hilt of his sword.

 

"Come out," Troels demanded to the empty silence. "I know you're in there. No use hiding."

 

Very slowly, the cupboard door creaked open. A small brown foot stepped out, onto the smooth sandstone floors. Delicate hands reached down to pick up and cradle the black cat. "I am..." a quiet, quavering voice began, "I am so sorry, sir. I did not know this house belonged to anyone."

 

Troels looked the girl up and down. Before him stood a Qalasheen maiden, perhaps no older than nineteen. Her inky dark hair was covered in a plain ivory headscarf - though a few silky tresses escaped to frame her round, innocent face. A pair of olive-green eyes studied him warily from beneath the shade of her headscarf. Mud and dirt stained the hem of her loose, cotton dress. The tatters of her hemline hung around her bare, callused, and sun-baked feet. But none of that caught his attention so much as the round swell of her belly.

 

She was pregnant.

 

Troels loosened his grip on his sword. "Who are you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at the girl. "What are you doing here?"

 

She quickly bowed, still looking fearful. "I -- I am -- I am called Yasmin, sir," she explained, tripping over her words. "Please, have mercy on me. I am poor and homeless. This house has stood empty for a long time and I -- I thought perhaps I could take shelter here."

 

"No family?" Troels asked gruffly. "Someone put that bairn in your belly."

 

The girl -- Yasmin -- shook her head. "No family. Besides Abu." She scratched the cat's back, flashing a fond smile. At the mention of her baby, though, her smile faded. "...No family." She repeated simply, closing her eyes.

 

"How long have you been here?" Troels asked.

 

Yasmin blushed, biting the inside of her cheek. She gazed past him, toward the door, as if gauging how fast she could make a run for it. Troels stepped aside, giving her a clear path. If the girl wanted to leave, he wouldn't stop her. She remained where she was. "I..." Yasmin began hesitatingly. "I have been here a few days. Maybe a week. Again, I am deeply sorry, sir. I had no other shelter. I'll leave quickly... just don't report me to the guard."

 

With that, Yasmin picked up her feet and hurried toward the door. Troels caught her by the shoulder before she could exit. "Wait. Hold on," he said. The Qalasheen maiden paused mid-stride, tensing up as his hand landed on her. "I don't know what kind of man you think I am. But I'm not tossing a young mother out of the only shelter she has."

 

Yasmin turned to him with wide eyes. "You're... not?"

 

"I'm no monster," Troels replied, glancing away. Her big eyes shown like polished jasper. For some reason, he found it hard to look at her. "My leg is... I had an injury. It's no good anymore." He reached down and hiked up his right pant leg, showing her where he'd been injured. A deep scar cut him nearly to the bone. "I can't do as much as I used to when I was younger. Household chores and such. If -- If you can cook and clean, you can stay here." He let his hand drop off her shoulder and - instead - held it out for a shake. "The name is Troels."

 

Yasmin placed the black cat down on the floor. She took his hand with both of hers, cradling it gently as one might a baby bird. Her palms felt warm and smooth against his skin. "Thank you," she breathed, her voice no louder than a whisper. "Thank you. So much. You have saved my life."

 

"Don't mention it," Troels replied, still looking away. When he arrived in Al Faiz, this was the last thing he had expected. But this city was quickly teaching him to expect the unexpected.

 

 

Published by Penton-Napier Publishing

 

 

 

Read CHAPTER TWO!

[tadabug2000 3504]

Princess and Sheikha Esmae bint Saqr Al'Nabeel Al-Ulamah flipped through the first novel of the series, marketdly taking in the details and comparing it to her own memory of the city, pleased as most seemed to be correct, back against her husband as they read the novel together. @ComicD