The Glass Girl
The Demon Door Series Book 3
Genre: Fantasy
Tropes: Epic Fantasy, Adventure, Sword & Sorcery, Outcast/Reluctant Hero, Damsel in Distress Turns Warrior, Morally Grey Characters, Slow Burn, Portal, Royal Intrigue, Dark and Ancient Magic, Magic Book
Heat: Open Door, Medium/High Spice
Love opens all doors…but betrayal locks them forever.
Newly blessed (or cursed) with wings and fire, Prince Rhuun of the demon realm of Eriis sees hope for his life on the human world of Mistra with his fierce human lover, Lelet va’Everley. She literally went to hell and back to save him, and she’s not about to let anything—or anyone—ruin their perfect future.
All too soon, the claims of family, duty, and justice force Rhuun and Lelet to confront new griefs and old mistakes as they attempt to restore balance to the throne of Eriis. But, with every jealous rumor and each vengeful whisper, friends turn, family schemes, and forgotten enemies creep from the shadows.
Treachery in Eriis and betrayal in Mistra jeopardize what Rhuun and Lelet have fought so hard to build, threatening to tear apart the two lovers, their families, and even their worlds.
Excerpt
THE GUARDHOUSE -100 YEARS AGO
GITA CONSIDERED herself to be a pragmatic sort of girl. She wasn’t one to get caught up or dramatic, not like the other women who served at the Guardhouse, that great old stone heap that served as a school and a wall between the worlds of Mistra and the demon kingdom of Eriis. Any time a visitor with a ‘Sir’ or a ‘Lord’ in front of his name favored them with a smile, those girls were ready to pack their bags and move into a great house in the city. More than one of them ended up with a great belly and empty hands. Not Gita – she knew her place, and she knew very well a fancy Fifty Families man would get put out on the stoop if he brought home a girl who poured wine and did the wash for a living. At least the Guardhouse gave a girl the promise of her own room and a bit of open air, close as it was to the sea. Back in the city it was people underfoot and the stink of the Gorda River at low tide.
She knew better. Which made it even worse when she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The ambassador from the demon city had gotten himself lost; otherwise she might never have met him, not really, not like that. It was his first time at the Guardhouse, new to his appointment as he was, and the old stone pile was poorly lit in places and unmarked in others. It was no surprise that he lost his way between meeting rooms and dining rooms and state rooms. But what was a surprise was the kindness in his strange, crimson eyes, and how eager he seemed to talk with her. The last ambassador had been a dried up old stick with a permanent scowl. As far as she knew, that old redeye never acknowledged any human other than his counterpart and the Masters. This one, Preeve, was young, nervous, and positively garrulous by comparison.
“I fear I’ll make you late,” he’d said, following her down a damp stone corridor. “I think I can find my way back from here. It’s so kind of you to help me. Is it always this cold? I fear I’m not dressed for the weather.” And here he had looked down at himself and laughed, indicating his fine (although thin) black silk tunic with its wide band of red at the collar and cuff, and his woven black hose and thin-soled desert boots. She had glanced at his well-made legs and looked away. He, perhaps realizing he’d embarrassed her, pulled his cape around his shoulders to hide his form. “What is your name?” he’d asked, and she mumbled it at the floor.
She kept her eyes down and her hands at her sides. ‘Don’t touch them, even if they’re about to tumble down a flight of stairs’, she’d been warned by her Masters of the Guardhouse, who would have been happier to keep their Eriisai guests hidden away from human eyes. The Masters didn’t trust the demons and feared corruption among the uneducated—her. The Masters made the rules; they ruled the Guardhouse as if they were little lords themselves, and they were clear: keep away from them, and definitely don’t touch them, they won’t thank you for the assistance. And don’t stare at them. Touchy, the lot of them. But this one smiled at her and introduced himself and thanked her for her help, just as any human man would do. She found herself saying his name inside her head. His name sounded like something you were about to do: She stood at the top of the hill, ready to preeve.
Later he would confess he understood he’d made her uncomfortable, the way she stared only at her feet, but hadn’t been able to figure out why. Perhaps helping him had caused her trouble? Not that day. The trouble came later.
She saw him again at dinner that very evening, and found herself proud of him for finding his way. She served his wine herself. He moved the cup just far enough that she had to reach across his body to pour it. That time, he managed to get her to look him in the eye. But it was a week before she smiled back, and another month before she led him to her quarters.
“If my brothers of Eriis knew about these,” Preeve would say, cupping her generous breasts in his hands, “no Door on any world could keep them away from Mistra.” He was careful with her, and she appreciated that. He told her he’d heard whispers from the old ambassador’s assistants that human women were as delicate as flowers (despite their size) and one must never use a flame or mark their skin.
She reached between his legs. “If my sisters knew you demons came with jewelry in your privates, they’d line up to take a turn.”
He gave a little sigh of pleasure and continued. “I know what your Masters want, and they know I know. But, darling Gita, no one says what they mean. That’s the soul of diplomacy.” He kissed her and got up to dress.
“Is it diplomacy, what we do?” she asked. “When I serve your soup and you pretend you’re not looking down my dress? And I pretend I’m not letting you?” She watched him slide his boots on. “Late for a meeting, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “They said they had something to show me— Light, Wind and Rain know what they’re on about this time. I’d rather stay here but these—” he gave her breast a squeeze “—are outside of my job description.”
She got up and ran a comb through her long red-brown locks. “I’ll come with. I can always find something to do.” He looked alarmed and she added, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to follow you into the meeting, hand in hand.” He colored. He was funny about hands. She laced up the front of her olive-colored gown and said, “Go shimmy yourself back to your chambers, and I’ll see you down there. I’ll let you look down my dress if it gets dull.”
When she arrived at the appointed hall she could see the Masters assembled, and the back of Preeve’s head. Before she could enter with the wine, the Mistran ambassador ushered his own assistant, Malloy something, out the door, which the older man then closed in her face. She looked curiously at the young man, who shrugged. She handed him the jug of wine and went back to bed.
The trouble began the next day.
What People Are Saying
Full Series
Two Worlds. One Love. A Door That Should Never Have Been Opened.
In a universe split by magic and shadow, a hidden Door connects two realms: the war-scorched demon world of Eriis, and the peaceful, myth-drenched lands of Mistra. For centuries, the Door remained sealed—its existence dismissed as legend on one side and guarded with blood and fire on the other.
But when Prince Rhuun, born of both worlds and belonging to neither, is forced through the Door, fate ignites a chain of events that will challenge empires and awaken ancient hungers. On Mistra, Rhuun finds an unlikely ally—and irresistible enemy—in Lelet va’Everly, a sharp-tongued heiress who never believed in demons until one landed on her doorstep.
As forbidden love grows between them, the fragile barrier between worlds begins to crack. Old enemies rise. Secrets burn. And betrayal, both human and demon, may cost them everything.
Magic built the Door.
Love opened it.
But some Doors were never meant to be breached.
