Excerpt from Book Two

I am pushing my way through the first draft of Book Two of The Unicorn Hunter. Somedays it's like gliding on a canoe through a mirrored lake, other days it's like scrambling up a steep mountain trail full of loose gravel.

Today feels like more of the latter.

But I wanted to share with you an excerpt from Book Two, (1) because I love you and (2) just to prove that it exists. There will be more to come! Thanks for reading!

When the king finished his speech and everyone toasted Jessalyn’s safe return, the feast began. While her goblet was being filled Jessalyn turned to her father. “You didn’t mention Erik.”

“Who?”

“Erik. The fortune-seeker you had accompany Sir Connor to find me.”

The queen, listening quietly across the table, added, “The one who was stabbed by a unicorn and lived to tell about it.”

Of course her mother would bring up unicorns. “Yes, him. You didn’t mention him in your speech.”

King Gillam shook his head. “I didn’t think it was necessary, seeing as he’s received his pardon and moved on. Sir Connor deserves the accolades. There’s no reason why he needs to share his glory with a thief. No one knows Erik was involved. It’s better we keep it that way.”

“Why? Because he’s a thief? He saved my life, Father. Multiple times.”

“Then I’m glad my trust in him was justified.” The king forced a small smile and patted Jessalyn’s hand. “Sharadel would have wanted Erik’s blood for what he did. It’s better that he didn’t stay.”

Her head agreed but her heart felt strangely tight. “Do you know where he went?”

The king shook his head as he took a bite of steamed fish. “Does it matter?”

Jessalyn cut her gaze to her plate, afraid her mother would be able to read the feelings hidden there. “No.”

After the feast a group of minstrels played the piping tunes Jessalyn always loved to dance to, and a steady stream of courtiers wound their way to her side, anxious for every detail of her adventure. Since the moment the carriage left Gontir, Jessalyn had daydreamed about this, the words she would say and the expressions she would use to convey her exciting and terrifying ordeal. Yet now that the courtiers were beside her, attempting to pry her open like one of those clamshells the fishermen catch by the dock, she found herself wanting to stay shut. The details were hers—the good and the bad—and, much like the string of pearls her father had given her when she was six, she didn’t want to share them with anyone.

Love,

The Brown-Eyed Girl