Secrets of Avalon
Secrets of Avalon
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★★★★ "This newest romantasy novel needs to be on your shelf...Think the “princess bride”, top chef, and the Greek gods were put in a blender and Merlin himself pushed the start button." --Reviewer
A Fae prince cursed to madness. A human woman with a forbidden gift. Their worlds are broken, and only together can they survive.
Hawke must convince Melinda to trust him, to believe in their connection, and to embrace the bond that could save both their worlds. But she’s terrified—everyone she loves dies, and she can’t risk losing him too. As their enemies close in and Avalon teeters on the brink of war, they must face an impossible choice: save their love, or save their realms.
★★★★★ "What an intricate plot with intensely complicated characters!" --Reviewer
★★★★★ "This book has so much I love! King Arthur AND the Fae?? Greek gods?? Romance and adventure? Check, check and check. All delivered in a fast-paced, tightly plotted story with gorgeous world building and a deeply felt romance. Fantastic and highly recommended!" --Reviewer
Main Tropes
- Fated Mates
- Touch Her & Die Vibes
- Found Family
- Forbidden Love
- Soul Mates
- Slow Burn To Spicy
Synopsis
Synopsis
Hawke Stormblood, heir to Avalon’s Fae throne, must marry and lead his people. But a curse threatens his sanity, and unless he recovers the missing shard of his soul, he'll lose everything—his crown, his life, and the future of his realm.
On Earth, Melinda Mayweather is fleeing for her life. Her mother was burned by anti-magick fanatics, and now Melinda is hunted for the gift her mother died to protect. Her only hope? A mythical doorway to Avalon, a realm where magick is freely practiced. But once there, she’s caught between danger and desire—especially when she meets Hawke, the man whose fate is tied to hers in ways she never imagined.
Hawke must convince Melinda to trust him, to believe in their connection, and to embrace the bond that could save both their worlds. But she’s terrified—everyone she loves dies, and she can’t risk losing him too. As their enemies close in and Avalon teeters on the brink of war, they must face an impossible choice: save their love, or save their realms.
For fans of fated mates, intense passion, and cinnamon roll alpha heroes who will make you swoon, this series blends mythology and magic into a sweeping saga of emotional fantasy romance. If you love the massive mythological world building of Sherrilyn Kenyon, Kresley Cole, and Christine Feehan, you'll love Secrets of Avalon.
Intro Into Chapter One
Intro Into Chapter One
CHAPTER 1
The Door Calls My Name
Hawke Stormblood
Leaving Camelot isn't a mere departure—it's a raw, jagged tear in the fabric of my soul, the severing of a lifeline.
And this year it’s even worse. This year it is an evisceration. A treacherous thrust of my own sword to my heart.
This pain doesn't ebb like it normally does. This time it's a relentless suffocating anguish, an unyielding vice that whispers of death if I don't act with haste.
Desperation. Lack of control. These are shadows and weaknesses that have no place in my life, yet here they are, larger and more foreboding than the towering spires of the castle itself.
Fuck. I slam my hand against the stone balcony, where the history of my ancestors is etched into every crevice. A piece breaks off, crumbling to dust—a harbinger of potential ruin. But with a mere flicker of intent, I command the fragments to coalesce. The air crackles with my silent fury. The stone fuses, flawless once more, leaving only the ghost of my wrath behind.
From this vantage point, the view of the heart of Camelot is unobstructed. The Earth-Realm door stands below, a monolith of bygone oaths and silent accusations. Its forbidding presence is the source of all my current frustration.
The Upir began arriving days ago, their arrival marking the beginning of the end of the Fae stewardship of Camelot for the year. The castle, a nexus of cosmic pathways, hums with a tension so palpable, it’s as if the stones themselves brace for the impending change.
No longer will the Fae command the nexus of the Universe, no longer will my word be law. This forced agreement and sharing of Camelot still cuts deeper than any blade.
Camelot was breathed to life by Fae hands, infused with our essence. We created and built the doors—portals that stitch the fabric of realms together. Yet even the most enduring of legacies can falter, just as the stone beneath my touch gave way.
I love this castle—it is the crowning achievement of my people, my legacy. And though I can mend its fissures with a thought, there are some cracks that even a prince cannot repair, nor a politician.
In a mere three days, following the ceremonial handover, I’ll be no more than a prince without a kingdom, a knight without a charge. And Camelot, with its resplendent spires that claw at the skies and its gardens, lush with enchanted flora, will pass to the custody of the Upir. Then, in turn, to the Asgardians, the Vanir, and the Olympians.
The Fae’s home is a house of many masters.
Today, my duties should have me readying the castle for the influx of guests. I’m tasked with ensuring their comfort and making sure the transition and ceremony goes smoothly. Yet, the only thing I crave is to touch that forbidden-fucking-door.
I’ve been around it all year, never once tempted. I’ve never thought about running my fingers over the enchanted locks, sculpted to resemble dragons entwined in eternal combat across its surface. The Drakonem-forged metal, impervious to any magick save for the fire of their creators, has always been just a part of the scenery—until today.
But today has unraveled unlike any other. Since dawn, I’ve been fixated on the Earth-Realm door, yearning to touch it. Each task I set out to complete only leads me back to the Hall of Realms, back to the door’s siren seduction.
There’s no law against touching it. The High Council would not need to condemn the act—my very touch would be a silent scream of defiance, a stain upon my parents’ and house’s honor, upon the Fae people as a whole.
I should not do this thing…but, I know I will.
A creeping dread, a madness insidious as the winter’s first frost, seizes me. Get to the door. Now. It’s a deafening roaring command in my mind.
As I fixate on the Earth-Realm door yet again, a new kind of fear begins to take root, one that extends beyond the present moment and into the essence of who I am, who I am destined to become. It’s been a millennium since the Knights of the Round Table sacrificed a shard of our souls to lock away an evil that threatened to consume our world.
That sacrifice stopped her, but also shattered magick and destroyed the soulmate dreams our universe depended on. And now, with each passing century, the absence of that piece of my soul eats at me, threatening to unravel the very threads of my being.
The dread of going feral haunts me—a whispered tale among my kind, the fear of losing oneself entirely. It's the kind of slow, creeping terror that slithers into a warrior's heart and whispers of madness.
And what happens today, with this door calling to me with a siren’s insistence, stirs that ancient fear even more. I struggle with loss of control, but it’s few and far between. Nothing like the crazed need I have today. The inability to focus on anything other than the door.
My brother Destrien’s approach is as familiar as my own heartbeat. His concern, thick in the air, only fuels my self-loathing. To be seen in such a state by him is a vulnerability I can’t afford. I can’t let anyone suspect I’m not in control.
“Hawke,” he begins, his voice carrying the smooth cadence of a diplomat, “We have things to do. Why are you lurking here again? His tone holds the patience of a man accustomed to mediation, a glaring opposite to my natural simmer of high intensity.
“This is the second time I’ve found you in the Hall.” His bright blue eyes probe, searching for an answer I’m not fully prepared to give.
I deflect with a casual shrug, my gaze drifting to the Upir moving below us. “I’m just watching them,” I reply, a lie smooth as the marble floors below. The Upir, clad in their traditional attire of white satin and leather, adorned with silver weaponry and diamonds, move like a shining tide through the Hall with a precision and silence that is ethereal.
Destrien cuts through my pretense with a dismissive snort. “Bullshit. We have things to do and you need to stop growling about the Upir being here. They know better than to break our accords here.”
He sees only the surface—our father’s son, yes, but the second-born, unburdened by the full weight of our legacy. He does not have the constant tug of a missing piece, a void where part of his soul should reside. Nor does he battle the encroaching darkness that now whispers of liberation through the very door I’m forbidden to touch.
Destrien navigates our world with a politician’s grace, smoothing over rifts I would confront with steel and my iron will.
If any will remained within me.
I often wonder if we were born out of order. Destrien, with his innate aptitude for governance, seems the better fit for the throne, while I struggle against its confines.
Would our father prefer him, the silver-tongued diplomat? Perhaps this madness overtaking me will be a blessing in disguise.
Normally he would be right about why I’m concerned. Usually I do worry about the Upir arriving at Camelot—that the dream-walking, energy-sucking vampires will feed on the Fae who live outside the castle. They have in the past. Patterns of repeated behavior rarely lie.
But that’s not what’s taking space in my brain this year. My brother’s worries are misplaced. If only he knew the true source of my unrest…
I steal another glance at the Earth-Realm door, and a new wave of pain clenches in my chest, so intense it threatens to bring me to my knees. With considerable effort, I force my feet to move, step by agonizing step toward the stairwell, distancing myself from Destrien’s perplexed scrutiny.
“Hawke, what the hell? Are you just going to walk away from me now?” Destrien’s voice cascades down the stairs after me, tinged with incredulity and brotherly concern.
Pain screams in my head, becoming a deafening roar. Now. Now. Now.
“I must touch it,” I grit out between clenched teeth, the words tearing from my throat as if they too are part of the compulsion. “There’s something…there I need.” My response is cryptic, even to my own ears, but it propels me into motion.
I break into a sprint. I leap down the stairs two or three at a time, touching down on the landing with a loud resonating thud.
The Upir pause, their predatory instincts alerted by my sudden dash. Their gazes are penetrating, suspicious, and question my erratic behavior.
I’m acting strange. I’m well aware of how I must look to them. To Destrien. To any onlooker. A prince unhinged, a Knight of the Round Table behaving like a feral madman.
The Hall of Realms stretches out before me, its grandeur lost to my singular focus. This place, designed to be wide open like a throne room, lacks the expected regal dais. Instead, massive doors of wood and steel line the walls, each concealing a portal to another world. The power and energy that hums in this room makes it so very alive.
The Earth door looms at the end of the Hall, its call now a roar in my veins. It beckons with a pull more potent than any enchantment, an urge that tugs at the marrow in my bones. It whispers of forgotten ties and unspoken longings. It is as though the very essence of Avalon, Camelot, and the sacred Tree itself, demands my attention.
With each step toward the door, the compulsion strengthens, taking more control and the grip of pain loosens. Each stride brings relief, each movement a promise of release from the agony that’s claimed me.
I weave through the Upir and the guards, their presence now just a peripheral blur, my gaze fixed on the door.
My resolve hardens, as unyielding as the magick-forged metal and carved-oak I’m compelled to touch, to understand, to conquer.
If the darkness is coming to claim me today, I’m going toward it with my sword drawn. I’ll not be taken without a fight.