Sorrows of Adoration Read online

  Sorrows of Adoration

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  About Kimberly Chapman

  Sorrows of Adoration

  A dreadful apprehension seized me as I walked towards the sound …

  It was a folded and sealed piece of paper with the words “Deliver Immediately to Princess Aenna” on one side, in unfamiliar handwriting. I cracked the seal and read the note.

  “Your Highness,” it read, “His Highness Prince Kurit graciously requests that you meet him as soon as you are able in the courtyard.” That was all. There was no signature nor other indication of the author of the note, though I knew it was not Kurit’s handwriting at all.

  I puzzled at the strange request and then thought perhaps Kurit was up to some silly surprise or game. Perhaps he had some gift for me in the courtyard, though that would be a strange place to give a gift to a woman with child on a cold, windy night. I had no notion as to how long the note had remained undelivered in the kitchen, but the idea that the poor man might have been waiting out in the cold for me for some time prompted me to hurriedly rise and fetch a cloak.

  There was not a great deal of snow on the ground, as we had been fortunate enough to have had a mild winter so far. There were, however, small drifts about the shadowy areas, and the whipping wind gathered bits of ice from them to be tossed into my face, making it difficult to see. I pulled the cloak around me and looked for Kurit, but the ice-wind and sudden darkness after being in the well-lit palace conspired to blind me.

  I stumbled down the steps towards the gate when I heard a voice that I did not recognize call my name softly. I turned to the sound, which came from the south, in the poorly lit end of the courtyard by the smokehouse. I could see no one there, so I called out, “Kurit?” but there was no response.

  A dreadful apprehension seized me as I walked towards the sound. This was unlike Kurit, and if he thought he was being amusing he was sorely mistaken. I tugged my cloak tightly around me and shivered as I stepped foolishly towards the dark corner.

  Just as I realized that I could make out figures standing in the dark, one of them lunged at me and clamped a hard hand over my mouth.

  Other books by Kimberly Chapman

  Gaia Series

  Finding Gaia

  The Power of a Blush

  ~

  Non-fiction

  Flexible, Edible Stained Glass

  Cute and Easy Turkey Cakes

  What reviewers are saying about Kimberly’s books

  Praise for Sorrows of Adoration

  Five Stars

  This is a very enjoyable tale that readers will relish … The queen is a delicious villain who readers will love to hate. Author Kimberly Chapman is a gifted storyteller who will be tomorrow’s superstar in the fantasy romance sub-genre.

  —Harriet Klausner, Amazon’s #1 Reviewer

  Five Roses

  Sorrows of Adoration is such an aptly named story. The emotions were such that I often found myself overwhelmed by them and having to step away from the story for deep breaths to regain my control. I have never read of a heroine as honorable, intelligent, and proud as Aenna is … I was so enthralled with Aenna, Kurit, and Jarik that I truly never wanted the story to end, yet when it did I wiped my tears and smiled for a well written tale that took me away to a time long ago and a place far away. For an emotionally, romantically, and suspensefully wonderful read, I definitely recommend Sorrows of Adoration.

  —Vikky, A Romance Review

  I laughed, felt love, and shed a few tears

  It’s a curious thing to read fresh and candid prose, and gradually discover that what you’re reading is half fairy tale and half steamy modern romance. Aenna has grace and courage. Her sense of humor and perspective add an engaging touch to this first-person narrative … Ms. Chapman’s words flow easily and convincingly, carrying the reader along with the tale as it unfolds with slow grace. I laughed, felt love, and shed a few tears. She attacks a few social issues with great vigor, leaving ideas to mull over after the story closes. If you enjoy a compelling romance, I strongly recommend Sorrows of Adoration.

  —Jeanette Cottrell, eBook Reviews Weekly

  An unusual romance

  It is filled with strife, and gives a view of how hard relationships can be if someone is against the union … The characters are so realistic, I cried … For a book you won’t soon forget, try Sorrows of Adoration.

  —Angela Camp, Romance Reviews Today

  Will pull at your heartstrings

  Kimberly Chapman has written a wonderful fantasy tale with Sorrows of Adoration. This retelling of the old Cinderella tale will pull at your heartstrings as you read of the trials and travails Aenna must face as she deals with the Queen’s cruelty and plots against her time and time again. This is not an easy story to read as Aenna deals with everything thrown at her, but it is something I highly recommend.

  —Chere Gruver, ParanormalRomance Reviews

  One of the best historical romances I have read

  Ms Chapman just captures the reader’s emotions and lures them in this story. The emotions run high and you cannot help but find yourself speechless with the outcome. This story tells the reader of one woman’s sorrow, sadness, happiness, love, and heartbreak all in one book. It was awesome. That is all I can say to explain this page-turner. It was AWESOME and definitely a must read for anyone with romance in your heart.

  —Ruby, Fallen Angel Reviews

  Rave reviews for Finding Gaia

  Get this book. I promise, you won't be disappointed.

  When I finished, I sent a quick note off to Kimberly (the author) saying that I found myself wanting to know more about these characters. That I considered them as simply friends I hadn't met in person. I asked if she had prequels/sequels in print or in progress and urged her to cloister herself in a room and keep writing.

  If you like romances, if you like strong women, if you like great character development, if you like interesting dialogue, if you just enjoy reading a good story, then get this book. I promise, you won't be disappointed.

  —Stephen Kalman “techauthor” at Amazon.com

  Five stars – A wonderful yarn

  This book is a wonderful yarn that spans history and present day. It borrows from the fantasy world, yet also delves into the romance world without really becoming either one, then sprinkles in a slight dash of Sci-fi to sweeten up the plot. I thoroughly enjoyed the book from cover to cover, felt that it resolved the plot well enough yet still left a solid foundation for a series.

  —Bryce R. Alexander “PastorB” at Amazon.com

  A must read

  This is a lovely thought provoking book that is beautifully written. Fell in love with Trish as she is my kinda gal and a heroine in her own right, but Anna, the true heroine, creeps up quietly and steals your heart, as does the patient, amazing hero.

  —Claudy Conn, author

  Absolutely amazing

  This book was absolutely amazing, and I could
n't put it down. In fact at work, while a group of us were leaving, one of my friends remarked, “I can't believe you can walk and read at the same time!”

  —Kristin Plausky at Amazon.com

  Five stars – This is a wonderful, fast-moving, romantic story!

  A great book by Kimberly Chapman. This fantasy unfolds in real time, while giving the reader a great review of what was! It is written in todays time frame, yet the reader is left with no doubt that much of the story is in the distant past.

  This is a wonderful, fast-moving, romantic story! I found it to be quite easy reading, yet moved along at a pace I could follow. I could easily recommend this book to anyone that enjoys historical romance stories.

  —Charles J. Kravetz at Amazon.com

  Sorrows of Adoration

  By

  Kimberly Chapman

  Copyright Page

  Sorrows of Adoration

  By Kimberly Chapman

  http://www.kimberlychapman.com

  Copyright © 2003, 2013 by Kimberly Chapman

  First edition published by NovelBooks, Inc. 2003

  Second edition published 2013

  Edited by: Karen Babcock

  www.karenbabcock.com

  Cover illustration by Nathalie Moore

  All rights reserved

  Published in the United States of America

  Smashwords edition

  May 2013

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Names, characters, and events depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Excerpt of Finding Gaia

  Copyright © 2012 by Kimberly Chapman

  Discover this and other titles by Kimberly Chapman at Smashwords.com:

  Gaia Series

  Finding Gaia – http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/180554

  The Power of a Blush - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/254043

  Chapter 1

  IT IS ASTOUNDING how a single evening can change the direction of one’s life.

  My life had been relatively simple up until my twenty-first year. I had no family that I was aware of, having been orphaned as an infant. I have heard tell that my father was a successful, even brilliant, young merchant who made a respectable living by having a knack for knowing what town would pay the highest price for what goods at a given time. My mother was just his wife, I suppose. Nobody remembered her. She may have been a wonderful woman, or perhaps a nasty one. It always troubled me that she was forgettable because she was just somebody’s wife. I decided as a young child that I was not going to end up as “just somebody’s wife”.

  Mind you, being raised an orphan in the company of other orphans under the care of priests- and priestesses-in-training at the Aleshan Temple Academy is not a good first step to making a mark on the world. Most of the orphans go on to be servants of the Gods themselves, but I was never that enchanted by the notion. I was and remain a properly religious person, endeavouring in both word and deed to follow the rules set out by the Temple. But I left their care in my fourteenth year to seek a way to be something other than just another priestess, just another girl.

  I was fortunate to acquire employment as a barmaid at a fairly respectable inn along a major trade road. I say fairly respectable because it was clean, the owner was not particularly unkind, and although there were women of the sexual profession employed there, I was never asked nor forced to participate in such things—which I hear is not always the case for a young girl out on her own. And it was at that inn, the Traveller’s Torch as it was called, where an event occurred in my twenty-first year that dramatically changed the direction of my life, and certainly was a crucial element in my foolish quest to be remembered.

  It was a biting winter night and had been quite cold for weeks, though no snow had yet fallen. The inn was more crowded than usual, especially given that it was a slow season for trade. Every room was booked, and down in the pub area where I worked were no less than fifty customers, all packed into their tables so tightly there was little room to move. Only about twenty of them were regular customers. The other thirty or so had arrived together the day before and set up camp in the field behind the inn. I knew none of them, and I rarely forget a face, even when most of the faces I saw in my work were haggard, dirty, and drunk.

  These men were not like that. Actually, they were dirty, and some were quite drunk, but they didn’t have that tired look a typical travelling merchant does when he finally finds a place to rest in relative comfort for the night. They looked alert, dedicated, as if they were gearing themselves up for some great event. Some even looked inspired. Also unusual was the way the ones who were not drunk chastised those who were. I heard one of the lot, clearly some sort of leader, tell one man quite forcibly to “sober up, or you’ll drag us down.” That was certainly a strange thing to hear on a cold night in a pub that was far from any town.

  Their odd behaviour and demeanour intrigued me, and I made a conscious effort to listen to them above the noise of the rest of the guests. I made sure to be available whenever any of them made an order so I could be closer without being obvious about it.

  I heard much that either made no sense without a context or was obviously unrelated to whatever cause they seemed to be gathered for. There was mention of making sure to eat and rest well before the next night, clearly indicating that they were planning some important event for that time. Two men entered a debate as to whether it was preferable to stay up late tonight and sleep late into the afternoon tomorrow, to be rested for this mysterious event, or to rest now and prepare physically in the afternoon.

  Then, as I leaned over the table to fetch empty wine bottles, I overheard a quiet opinion that chilled me: “We’re better off rested for the attack, because no amount of exercise tomorrow afternoon will prepare us to slit a throat any more than we are prepared tonight.”

  Quickly I schooled my face and body to not show how the words had frightened me, for logic told me I would be in danger if they knew I had overheard their words. I gathered the bottles and carefully carried them away.

  As soon as I was out of their sight, I shuddered and almost dropped a bottle. I chastised myself for nearly attracting attention. My heart raced, and my mind was filled with a thousand possible explanations for what I had heard. Did they intend to slit our throats? That made no sense—most of the money in the innkeeper’s safe this week was paid to us by their group. I considered the other guests—none of them were anyone I knew to be important or influential. Being a rather respectable inn, we occasionally did attract wealthy merchants and on a few occasions a nobleman and his entourage. But these current customers were typical stock, and it seemed implausible that they would be the target of an organized group. Perhaps a traveller would arrive tomorrow, but again, why such a large group organized here where there were witnesses?

  I realized I was standing still and knew that if the innkeeper saw me doing so he would yell at me. Worse still, I knew that I had made myself a regular presence among those men, and a sudden prolonged absence might arouse suspicion. I scurried to fetch two pitchers of ale and carried them out to be served.

  Afraid to hear more but also desperately curious, I found myself focusing on the conversation of the
leaders even when my back was to them as I served another table. It was some time before I heard anything suspicious again, and I began to wonder if perhaps I had overheard a jest that I did not understand.

  Then behind me, in a low voice, a man proposed a toast: “To Prince Kurit of Keshaerlan on his last night amongst mortals.”

  I might have been only a barmaid, far removed from the world of kings, nobility, and political affairs, but I knew the name of the heir to the throne of my own kingdom, and to hear such a thing from these men filled me with a dread I had never known before. I almost spilled ale on a man at the table I was serving, but thankfully he was too drunk to notice.

  Quickly, I finished delivering the latest round of ale and ran to my small area of the kitchen. In the summer, the other two barmaids and I lived in the loft over the stables, but during the winter we were allowed to sleep on cots in the warm kitchen. The other female employees had rooms of their own, but that was largely because they needed the beds for their work.

  I told the innkeeper’s wife, who was cooking in the kitchen, that I was going to see if any of the group who had remained in their camp outside wished to order ale or food, and she approved. In truth what I did was wrap myself in my winter’s cloak and hurry outside to spy on the men in the camp in the hopes that they were being less circumspect in discussing their plans.