“You live in a world with bad men, and I’m among the worst.” The blade flicked out and sliced through a tendon. The young man fell to the ground. “I understand why you want to play the hero.” Another swing took the other leg. “But the position’s filled.” The cloaked man stood over the kneeling, bloodied one. “It’s a shame. In another life, I would have cheered for you with the rest of the crowds.” A quick flick of the wrist and his head separated from his body. The man left standing sighed and wiped the blood off his blade. Too many young fools and too few challenges.

Rowan hated cutting through the Kingdom’s young hopes one at a time, but that was their own fault. The king had meant to be replaced years ago- and was. But few knew that truth. Fewer tried to act on it.

Rowan Tarnahill— last remaining son of an ancient house and current most wanted man in the kingdom. Reduced to standing in a field covered needlessly split blood. He’d like to think his grandfather, Adraic, would have been proud. The Tarnahill line was a long line of bastards and would-be kings.

Rowan had been many things in his short life so far. An orphan, a favored grandchild, a bright star for the kingdom, last hope of a dying line, and a ruthless killer.

It was the last that needed most explaining. But with all great stories and their mysteries-- you have to start at the beginning.