Duke Rhime of the Spire- Sample chapter!

I am diligently editing Duke Rhime of the Spire, but the more I delve into it, the more I can’t wait to share it, as usual. The first chapter is pretty much set how I want it, though you never know with editing. I’ve completed entire books only to decide at the last moment to completely rewrite the entrance into the story. In other words, the draft below is still rough, but it should give you a sense of the story. Beginnings are important, and I hope you like this one.

Cheers!

*Update as of 6/22/25: Duke Rhime of the Spire is finished and will be available 7/29/25 (preorder now)! I’ve updated the chapter below since its original posting.

Duke Rhime of the Spire

Chapter 1

The rain hammered the windows of Lysena Keep, threatening to drown out the voices in the great hall below. Evaline knelt in the shadows of the gallery’s hidden nook, her fingers resting on the wooden latticework, straining to catch every word. The riotous firelight illuminated the figures of her father, Count Alaric, and two strangers cloaked in black, with puddles forming on the floor beneath them. The storm’s howl ruined the chimney’s draw, filling the air with a bitter haze—another unwelcome guest in this tense exchange.

Evaline found it odd that her father did not invite these men to sit down or extend other courtesies. By the mud that speckled their boots and the slight hint of a Western accent, they had journeyed long distances in harsh weather. Additionally, her father wore his sword, a rarity in their home. Did he expect trouble? Should she call for the guards?

“The faith of my late wife has a saying: when horsemen ride on a storm’s breath, they bear curses wrapped in golden words.”

“The terms are straightforward, Count Alaric,” said Lord Eldwin Battenborne, his voice smooth but edged with authority as he handed her father a scroll. He was the elder of the two brothers, his bearing crisp and disciplined. “The debt your house owes to Duke Rhime will be forgiven. In return, he asks for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Count Alaric stiffened at the words. He bent to read the parchment by the light of the hearth, his scowl deepened by the undulating glow.

“As you’ll see, there are no other provisions. You will be free and clear.”

“You speak of my daughter as if she were a coin to be exchanged.” Her father’s voice was taut as he rolled up the parchment and pointed it at the brothers. “And you present this proposal without Duke Rhime himself? He sends you both to negotiate a marriage as if I were some petty merchant, not one of his bannermen who has loyally served your house since I was old enough to ride a horse.”

Lord Eldwin remained impassive. “As Duke of Eldenspire, it is not fitting for my brother to concern himself with such negotiations. Since our father’s untimely death, it is up to Lord Ragnar and me to make such arrangements for him. Eldenspire needs a duchess. To be a bachelor is not befitting a nobleman of my brother’s standing.”

Beside him, Lord Ragnar leaned against a pillar, his arms crossed. He was younger, less restrained, and his smirk bordered on insolence. “You’ll find our brother is not one for pleasantries. But he honors his debts—and expects others to do the same.”

“And you think my daughter’s life is a fair price for clearing a ledger?” Count Alaric snapped. He tossed the parchment onto his writing desk. “There can be no greater insult!”

Lord Eldwin’s eyes narrowed. “Your Lordship, please. A marriage bond with Eldenspire is no small thing. You secure your house’s future and protect it from ruin. The alternative… well, I trust you can imagine the consequences.”

Count Alaric turned to the window, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. The storm outside seemed to echo the turmoil within him. “Your late father was such a good man… understanding of the fickle hand of fate. I have always been prideful, but I had no concern about going to him to ask for help when the land became sick and our fortunes turned. For over a decade, I have made my payments on time. This is the first I’ve missed.”

“One will soon become two,” said Lord Eldwin.

“I just need a little more time.”

“No. Duke Rhime is his own man, and Eldenspire has had its own misfortunes to confront. My family has been more than patient.”

“I find the timing of this request disturbing.”

“Oh?”

“Your brother’s reputation precedes him.” Count Alaric’s voice was quieter but no less bitter. “I’m not the first to receive such a proposition. His former bride… the girl who leapt from Eldenspire’s tower…she was from House Kalric, yes? Her father, too, owed your family a debt. He erased his obligation with grief.”

Ragnar chuckled, though there was no humor in the sound. “That was a tragedy, to be sure. But the girl’s demons were her own. Eldenspire had little to do with it.”

“Enough, Ragnar,” Lord Eldwin said, his voice cutting through his brother’s flippancy. “We are not here to dredge up the past. This is about the future.”

Count Alaric turned back to them, his face pale but resolute. “You ask me to give my daughter to a man shrouded in whispers and darkness. You offer me the elimination of debt in exchange for her life, freedom, and happiness. Do you think I would so easily consent?”

“You will,” Lord Eldwin stated, his calm demeanor unshaken. “Because the alternative is the ruin of your house. The king dislikes debtors, as you are well aware. Getting his permission to confiscate these lands would be a simple matter, especially if we pay his tithe from the proceeds.”

“I’d fight.”

“I’m sure, but would your men assemble knowing you could not pay them?”

For a long moment, the room remained silent except for the crackle of the fire and the relentless assault of the rain. Evaline’s heart raced as she grasped the lattice, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She couldn’t see her father’s face from her vantage point, but she could feel the struggle unfolding within him. And her elder sister, poor Maris, being forced to wed such a man was unbearable.

Finally, Count Alaric spoke, his voice hollow. “Very well.” He took up the parchment and scribbled his name. “If the debt is forgiven, the pact is made. Evaline… will wed Duke Rhime.”

Evaline’s breath ceased. For a heartbeat, she thought she had misunderstood. Her nails dug into the gallery’s latticework, the rough wood breaking one of her nails. Evaline will wed Duke Rhime. The words echoed in her skull, too loud to be true. She was only sixteen—wouldn’t it make more sense for her older sister to fulfill such a duty? Her ears roared, her vision narrowed, and she almost cried out in protest. Somehow, she found the strength to clap a trembling hand over her mouth, swallowing the scream that threatened to break the tense silence below.

Lord Ragnar grinned, pushing off from the pillar and adjusting his cloak to battle against the weather. “A wise choice, Your Lordship. You won’t regret it. I’m sure your house will prosper and rule this county for many years to come.”

Lord Eldwin dipped his head, though his eyes remained cold. He nodded. “The duke will be most pleased with this news. The proper arrangements will be made immediately. Expect our summons within the fortnight. As is custom, we expect your daughter’s presence in Eldenspire soon after, so preparations can be made for the wedding.”

“We of House Lysena don’t dawdle. I’ve spilled my ink on your parchment, and we keep our word. She’ll leave tomorrow to live under the graciousness of the duke’s coin.”

“Ah, your eagerness is refreshing.”

“It is not eagerness. My heart cannot bear to face the accusation in my daughter’s eyes for two whole weeks. If given that much time, she would flee… or I would do something rash myself.”

Lord Eldwin smirked. “Suit yourself.” He clapped Ragnar’s shoulder and pushed him toward the door. “We must leave in haste then to report the news.”

The brothers turned to leave, their cloaks billowing behind them as they strode toward the doors. Lord Ragnar paused for a moment, glancing up toward the gallery. His gaze lingered, and for a brief, chilling moment, Evaline thought he saw her. He smirked, shook his head, and followed his brother into the storm.

Count Alaric stood motionless by the hearth, his shoulders sagging under the crush of his decision. The firelight danced across his weary face, deepening the lines around his eyes. He turned and undid the belt holding his sword, letting the weapon drop to the floor. He reached for the back of a nearby chair to steady himself.

“Evaline,” he called.

She froze. Her heart pounded as she willed herself to remain silent, but her father’s eyes lifted toward the gallery, piercing through the gloom.

“Come down,” he commanded, his voice firmer now. “There’s no point in hiding. I have long known the roost of this house’s lady folk. We must talk.”

Her stomach twisted as she rose on shaky legs, leaving the security of her hiding place. Dust marked her face, and cobwebs clung to her hair. The gallery creaked beneath her bare footsteps, betraying her presence with each step she took toward the stairs. The descent felt endless, the sound of her feet on the stone steps slapped in the heavy silence of the hall. When she reached the bottom, she hesitated, her hands trembling as she clasped them before her.

Count Alaric’s eyes betrayed the turmoil behind them. He motioned for her to step closer. “You heard?”

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice a whisper.

He sighed. For a moment, Evaline thought she saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes, but it vanished as fast as it had appeared. “Then you understand why this must happen.”

“No,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t understand. You’re giving me away like… like a piece of property.”

Count Alaric took a step closer. “You are my daughter, Evaline, and my greatest treasure. However, as a Lysena, your duty to this house takes precedence over all else. Without this marriage, we lose everything.”

“What about my life?” she asked, her voice rising as tears welled in her eyes. “Do I mean so little to you that you would send me to the shadows?”

Her father’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, his hands tightening into fists. “You mean everything to me, which is why I am doing this. Duke Rhime’s name may be whispered with fear, but his power is real. Some say he may even be king someday. He will protect you, and our family will endure through your sacrifice. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a second-born daughter of a minor house.”

Evaline stared at him, her tears spilling over as her voice cracked. “You’re wrong.”

Count Alaric reached out to comfort her, but she pulled back, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and anger. The room flashed, and a deep rumble of thunder rolled around the hills.

Her father let out a long breath. “Go to your room and clean those webs from your hair.” He glanced at her bare feet. “It is time for you to stop acting like a little girl. The honor of our house now rests on your shoulders.”

“It’s not fair!”

“Nothing is fair in this life! Fairness is a stroke of luck…a fluke that can disappear in moments. You leave for Eldenspire at dawn. We will show those of House Battenborne our grit and not delay.”

Evaline turned and fled, her footsteps echoing as she climbed the stairs and disappeared into the shadows of the upper floor. Count Alaric watched her go and stared at where she had disappeared long after. He then sank into the chair by the fire, staring into the flames as though they held the answers he desperately sought.

The storm raged on, and the hall seemed emptier than ever.

****

Evaline burst into her chambers, slamming the heavy oak door behind her. The familiar and once comforting room now felt like a cage. Each breath was unsatisfying as she leaned against the door. The rain continued its siege against the windows, and the wind howled as if mocking her helplessness.

She crossed to her small writing desk, her hands trembling as she picked up the hand mirror lying there. Her reflection stared back at her, pale and wide-eyed, her auburn hair falling loose from its braid and dusted with webs. She looked every bit the frightened girl she felt inside.

“This isn’t fair,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t choose this.”

But there was no one to hear her protests or take her side. The reality of her father’s decision drowned her with its finality. She was to be given to Duke Rhime Battenborne of Eldenspire, a man she had never met but whose reputation loomed over the entire land. The whispers she had heard over the years—the rumors of his coldness, his dark dealings, the murder of his parents, and the tragic death of his former betrothed—clawed at her thoughts, leaving her hollow with dread.

She placed down the mirror, pacing the room in frantic circles. Her attention landed on the small chest at the foot of her bed, which her maid had filled with her belongings earlier that day. It had been packed with care as though this journey was preordained. Her father had said they would travel to Mosshaven, but now she knew the truth.

“He knew…” she whispered. “He knew this was what they would offer him. Was that all just a show for my benefit to hide his complacency in their scheme?”

The knock at her door startled her, and she froze, her heart pounding. “Who is it?” she called, the words unsteady.

“It’s me,” came the familiar voice of her elder sister, Maris.

Evaline hesitated, then crossed the room and opened the door just enough to let Maris slip inside. Her sister was taller, more composed, and had an elegant beauty that Evaline had always envied. But tonight, Maris’s usually serene face was clouded with worry.

“I heard,” Maris said, closing the door behind her. “Father told me everything.”

“What am I to do, Maris?”

“You do what the women of our house have always done. You go out into the cruel world and show them that light remains, with dignity and honor.”

Evaline flopped on her bed. “Lord, forgive me, Maris, I thought they had come for you.”

Her sister sighed as she played with her chestnut locks. “Apparently, Duke Rhime prefers ladies with fiery hair and spirit.”

Evaline covered her mane of red with the quilt. “I’ll cut it all off.”

“Maybe, but you’ll still have that spirit.”

Evaline pulled down the quilt. “You almost sound disappointed they didn’t come for you.”

“I don’t know… He’s dark, mysterious, and powerful.”

“He’s a tyrant.”“You don’t know that. As they say, gossip is half-truth wrapped in a whole lie.”

“Look how he treats father. Look what happened to his last bride.” Evaline’s voice broke as she spoke. “I don’t want to go. I can’t.”

Maris sighed, reaching out to take Evaline’s hands in hers. “I know it feels impossible. I know you’re scared. But Father… he doesn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Evaline snapped, pulling her hands away. “He just doesn’t care about mine.”

“That’s not true,” Maris proclaimed. “He cares about you more than you realize. But our family… we’re on the brink of ruin. It will all fall apart if you don’t marry Duke Rhime.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.” Evaline shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “What about me, Maris? What about my life? What about what I want?”

Maris pulled Evaline into a tight embrace. “I don’t have answers for you, little bird. But I know you’re stronger than you think. And no matter how dark it seems, you will find a way to endure. You always do.”

Evaline clung to her sister, her sobs muffled against Maris’s shoulder. For a moment, the storm outside was forgotten, replaced by the quiet strength of her sister’s embrace. But even as Maris whispered words of comfort, the unyielding vow of tomorrow’s event coiled, and the dawn was a silent herald of a life that was no longer hers.

When Maris finally left, the room felt colder and emptier. Evaline sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the packed chest—a coffin holding her fate. The storm continued its relentless bombardment on Lysena Keep, and Evaline, feeling small and powerless, curled beneath her quilt, praying for a miracle.

However, miracles are rare in this world, and now was not Evaline’s time.

****

Dawn brought no salvation—only the journey to Eldenspire and the man waiting for her in its shadowed halls. The storm began to abate in the early morning, the sudden quiet waking her. Evaline stirred from the restless sleep. The day’s new light was dim, filtered through heavy clouds that hung low over her family’s seat.

Amelie, her handmaiden, stunk in, her face solemn as she began readying Evaline’s belongings and laying out the gown she would wear for the journey. It was Evaline’s finest- emerald silk with gold embroidery on the bodice, cuffs, and trim. She always felt it accentuated her fiery hair and green eyes, but now she would rather set it aflame if it gave her a moment more in her home.

“I wish you could come with me,” Evaline said.

“Yes, my lady, me too.”

“It’s customary for a noblewoman’s handmaiden to join her at her new household.”

“That is true, my lady, but who would attend to Lady Maris? All the others have been let go by your father.”

Evaline bit her lip. “Yes, you’re right.”

“Eldenspire is a grand duchy. I’m sure you will have more servants than you know what to do with.”

“They can come here and take care of Maris.”

“Don’t be silly. Come, let’s get you dressed before His Lordship scolds us.”

After Evaline donned the dress, she dismissed Amelie for a moment alone. Her gaze drifted to the window. Somewhere far beyond the rain-drenched hills and muddy fields lay Eldenspire. The name was heavy, spoken in hushed tones by travelers and traders alike. She had once overheard a stable boy say it was a cursed place haunted by the spirits of those who had perished within its towering spire. She had laughed at the time, dismissing it as childish talk, but now the words haunted her.

A knock at the door broke her reverie. This time, it was her father. He entered without waiting for her permission, his presence filling the room. He looked at her for a long moment, his face lined with weariness and regret.

“The carriage is ready,” he said.

Evaline stood, her legs quivering as she smoothed the folds of her gown. Her father reached for her hand, hesitated, and then let it fall to his side. “I did what I thought was best,” he said. “You may not see it now, but you will understand one day.”

She didn’t respond, her throat too tight to speak. Instead, she allowed him to lead her from the room, down the stairs, and into the courtyard where the carriage waited.

The air was thick with the storm’s remnants, and the horses stamped, impatient in their traces. Maris was there, her eyes red and moist. The sisters hugged, and then Evaline entered the carriage. She cast one last glance at Lysena Keep; its stone walls, once the gates of her crib, would now be just a memory. The carriage door closed behind her with a heavy finality, and the wheels began to turn, carrying her toward a future she could neither foresee nor escape.

And, far beyond the rolling hills and storm-washed plains, at the edge of the world, Eldenspire waited.