Today I'm posting a portion of the prologue of my YA Fantasy, which is STILL untitled. My first WIPet that I posted back in September came from the second chapter of my novel, and gave you a look into one of the subplots in the book--my MC Aranelle vs. villainous Rankin. This time, I'm giving you a look into what is (hopefully) the main plot of the my novel--political corruption and rebellion.
Prince Roderick paced the palace library. Yarrell, his attendant, should have returned over an hour ago--what could be keeping him? Roderick’s lips curled back into a snarl. A low growl traveled up his throat and crawled from his clenched teeth.
The Prince worried a ring on his left middle finger, twisting it first one way, then the other. He slid it up to bump his middle knuckle and back down again. The movement of the ring revealed the skin underneath--pink and chapped, unaccustomed to being suffocated by gold and gems.
It was the King of Llanmery’s ring, and until Yarrell returned, Roderick did not know if belonged to him. It all hinged on his plan being successful.
The clomp-clomp of heavy riding boots echoed outside the room. Several moments later, the main doors of the library opened. Yarrell walked towards him. He still wore his leather riding pants and jacket, and his crossbow nestled against his back.
“What is the word?” Roderick asked. He pushed his hand through his greying hair. The design on the ring caught and tangled with several of the strands, pulling them from Roderick’s scalp. The corners of his mouth turn up at the sensation.
Yarrell smiled. “The word is good, my lord.”
“Then she is dead?”
Yarrell hesitated. Roderick prompted him again. “Answer me,” he demanded.
“Yes. Your sister is dead,” Yarrell said. Roderick smirked. His dark eyes twinkled in the low light with a mirth that made Yarrell look down to his boots.
“And her husband, and the child?”
“Are not to be found, my lord. Her Ladyship of Meriden searched and searched and found nothing.”
Roderick stopped twisting the large emerald ring on his left hand. His lips pulled back into a wide, twisting smile. He ran his tongue over his yellowed teeth, pausing on his right canine, which turned perpendicular to the rest of his teeth.
“Then I am your King. You may bow to me.”
Why I Write:
I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't love to write. When I was about nine, my parents bought me this computer program--which for the life of me I can't remember the name of--but it included pictures to jump start story writing (a kitten being saved from a tree, a book with legs walking through a library) and I think that was what really got me hooked--realizing that not only could I write stories, but I could write stories that brought interesting images to my mind and other peoples' minds. Plus, I love it. I love that crazy feeling of having your characters talk in your head, when they tell you what they're doing and stop listening to what you want them to do. I love that I can write a story about a made-up land and made-up people and that someone could read that and relate to it, even though they're just a regular teenager in the modern world. And I love that feeling when you read a good book and it ends, and you just want to turn to the beginning and start it all over again.