The Duchess of Kokora, Phera Ylir Mdana, has entered the marriage games of the neighboring kingdom of Ryene. But she’s not there to woo the dashing Prince Dominic. Her true objective? To win back one of the other contestants, Lady Rocelle Virae—Phera’s true love and ex-fiancee. Love proves to be a game like any other when Phera must not only mend matters with her childhood sweetheart, but conceal her true intentions in order to earn votes and stay in the competition. And as long-brewing political tensions simmer beneath the surface, the playful veneer of the competition begins to crack. In the end, Phera, Dominic, and Rocelle find themselves united in a desperate bid to prevent a duel that threatens the integrity of the kingdom, the stability of the continent, and any hope for a happily ever after.

The Duchess of Kokora is perfect for fans of Bridgerton and The Selection with queer romance front and center and tension at every turn!

Excerpt

“Your Honor. In my defense, the gentleman bears a remarkable resemblance to a horse’s ass. When I struck him with that riding crop, why, I was merely thinking to spur him out of everyone’s way!” The Duchess of Kokora, Phera Ylir Mdana, stood tall behind the defense table, widening her eyes in a picture of bewildered innocence as the gallery behind her roared with laughter.

“Order, order,” intoned the judge. The bald man sat upright in his chair behind the long mahogany dais at the head of the courtroom. His arms lay bare beneath a sleeveless red tunic, revealing intricate golden tattoos running down his forearms and palms in the pattern of the Signs of the Saints. A head monk of the Saintly Path, he had been called in for the inquest since no lay judges were available that afternoon.

“She makes a mockery of us!” snarled Ser Mansibal Vloram, a turnip-shaped gentleman standing at the table to Phera’s far left. A sharp cut and several bruises purpled his snarling face. “No, of these whole proceedings!”

Phera raised her bejeweled hand and swept it off to the side. Sharp-faceted blue gemstones sparkled in the glittering talons adorning her fingers, the enchanted accessory complementing the jewel tones of her green dress and the delicate sheen of her padded silver blazer. Her Kokoran braid spilled down luxuriously over her back collar in a series of winding knots, cinched in place by a gleaming silver pin.

She kept her gaze forward with the slightest tilt of her hawkish face, and with a smooth half-step of her pearl boots, took up a pose of command. She’d foregone the traditional Rynish petticoats and ruffles in favor of a striking modern aesthetic. In a nation that had held itself back from the rest of the world by nearly two centuries in both custom and technology, sporting such a style was as good as having a personal spotlight.

With a sharp flourish, she finished the layered Wind Signs she’d been tracing with her taloned fingertips. A glowing set of interlocked glyphs materialized in an emerald flash. The effort of concentrating on the spell brought a familiar tightness to the back of her mind and the muscles of her body. But the strain was a little thing compared to the magic she was trained to perform. Phera took a deep breath and the rich petrichor of storm winds washed over her throat, infusing her voice with the resonance of distant thunder.

“You’ve made a mockery of your knightly vows, Ser,” she boomed, “and all without my help. What kind of knight would beat a helpless serving girl? What kind of knight could bear to show his face to this court after having abused one of the very citizens he was sworn to protect? No! You were already shown justice for your actions, and you mock it with these charges against me.”

“She was just some Unsigned chit,” the knight cursed. “Clumsy and ignorant of how to treat her betters. Are you saying her blood is worth as much as mine?”

“Of course not,” Phera replied. “You’re a vicious, honorless idiot. No matter her lack of magical talent, her blood is worth far more than yours.”

Scandalized reactions spilled over from the gallery, long dark benches packed to the gills with commoners and nobility alike, eager to catch a glimpse of the visiting imperial duchess.

“That serving girl’s guildless!” one man shouted. He puffed out his chest, thumping his hand against the insignia of a hammer and tongs emblazoned on the breast pocket of his coat. “My family’s been smiths for generations. Unlike the guildless, we provide for this country, and we’re damn proud of it. And you’re saying that one of them matters more than a Signed knight?” A low hum of affirming chatter rose around him, and he swelled with pride. “We don’t need this kind of talk from anyone, leastwise from an imperial!”

“I can’t believe I wasn’t there when this happened!” a voice in the back called with glee. “Duchess! I’ll pay twenty gold pieces to watch you punch him again!”

Lowborn or high, Phera mused idly, the Rynish love a good show. Her thoughts darkened. A pity that includes standing by and watching while a grown man beats a defenseless young woman in a tavern.

“My bloodline stretches back ten generations!” Ser Vloram continued once the hubbub quieted down, casting a nervous glance toward the last speaker. “As a Signed knight of the realm, I am protected from such… such indignities!”

“Evidently not,” Phera stated, crisp as cracking ice, “as your vaunted bloodline did not prevent me from introducing your face to a number of hard surfaces.” The knight met her eyes and she let her gaze turn flat. He shivered and turned away.

“Your honor! She’s threatening me!” he said.

The judge nodded, a flicker of discontent flashing in his tired eyes. “Duchess. You are not making a good case for yourself,” he said.

“I was not threatening the good gentleman,” Phera replied smoothly. “I was merely pointing out the logical flaw in his remarks. If I wanted to threaten him, I would simply tell him that I intend to gauge the worth of his blood by seeing how well he fares when it is removed from him.” A smile. “See? Now that is a threat.”

The gallery erupted into shouting at her words. “Get them out of here!” the judge called to his bailiff. The bailiff moved to the gallery and motioned emphatically with his cudgel. The crowd was slow and sullen in its departure.

A tug on Phera’s sleeve distracted her from the spectacle. “My lady. Your theatrics are not helping.” Tall and graying, Leran, her advisor, took a moment to fiddle with his horn-rimmed spectacles before continuing. “I spoke to some old contacts of mine before this started. The Rynish government does not want to take this matter to trial and create an international incident. Certainly not over a landless hedge knight like Mansibal Vloram. The judge will surely have received instructions to let this go, but he cannot do so without embarrassing his government if you continue to be so flippant.”

“You brought us to Ryene for one objective,” Leran whispered fiercely as the room emptied. “One. To place high enough in this season of the Rounds without actually winning the crown prince’s hand that your standing is elevated and House Virae will no longer object to your marriage proposal.” He drilled his green eyes into her amber. “But in the four hours since dawn when we arrived in town, you’ve managed to participate in an illegal horse race, officiate a wedding, purchase no less than three haberdasheries, and get arrested for public brawling. I fear you have lost focus.”

Phera made a pinching motion with her talons to end the amplifying spell on her voice. He makes me feel like such a child sometimes. Especially when he’s got a point. “Well, I will need a high profile if I want the Queen's Council to keep me around. I’m not from here. I don’t have an established presence like the rest of the ladies at court,” she said quietly. “Besides. Wrangling an invitation made us a month and a half late to the event. There’ve already been several eliminations. At this point in the game, there’s no such thing as bad press.”

“And this inquest? All part of obtaining a high profile?” Leran asked.

“Well, no. But he was hitting her, Leran. I had to do something about it!”

“My lady is more than clever enough to have resolved the matter without landing us in front of a magistrate. Your endless witticisms have proven that much.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. I lost my temper.” Recalling the brutal tavern scene, the sound of a fist crashing into flesh, a body crumpling to the floor, the knight advancing on that poor girl to strike her again, all mirth left her face. Her blood ran cold with a violent shiver. Her jaw tightened. “This time I could do something about it. So, I did. I had to.”

Leran’s gaze softened. “My lady. What happened back then was not your fault. You have nothing to prove, you—” A booming voice interrupted what was sure to be a conversation Phera did not want to have.

“Hespin Leclair for the defense, Your Honor!” the newcomer called out as a pair of heels click-clacked furiously down the marble floors of the courtroom.

“For the defense?” the judge said, baffled. “Young lady, this is an exploratory inquest. We haven’t started the trial yet. Who are you? How did you get in here?” A concerned frown clouded his face. “Where is my bailiff?”

With a smile of intense relief, Phera turned to regard the courtroom’s latest occupant.

Hespin’s poise made her appear almost royal. Flowing blonde locks cascaded down her temples, framing the warm pools of her almond eyes. She was dressed, as always, in the traditional Rynish style, replete with a full armament of petticoats, a veritable bouquet of ruffles on each sleeve, and of course, a dainty floral-patterned parasol that accompanied her even indoors. By all outward appearances, she was possessed of true Rynish gentility.

But Phera knew well that outward appearances lied as often as drunken sailors at a brothel.

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