Thirdborn 4, p.1
Thirdborn 4, page 1
Thirdborn 4
By G.S. D’Moore
Copyright © 2025 by G.S. D’Moore
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permission, contact gsdmore@outlook.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
If you like Haremlit Readers, monster girls, harem lit, or want to check out something by the other Dukes of Harem then check out the linked Facebook groups for other good reads.
ISBN 13: 979-8-9898888-9-4
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Recap
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
About the Author
Recap
The click of riding boots on the marble floor of the White Palace was nearly drowned out by the rain and wind lashing the windows and the far-off booms of thunder that were drawing closer as the storm of the century raged. Severe weather was pounding the entire eastern seaboard of the New World, and almost all the way to the Mississippi in some cases. The palace weather seer nearly fainted when she forecast what was coming . . . and all when the most important operation of the war was due to get underway. Bad luck? Only time would tell.
From the Queendom of Georgia to the Kingdom of Penn, nature’s fury was being unleashed on mankind. Already, reports of tornadoes were coming in from across the capital. The students at the university were being told to shelter in place and not go outside. Inside the royal palace of the King of Penn, wind cyclones were no threat, but not all would see it that way. To the superstitious, it might be an omen that the White God was unhappy with the current situation. The extra-planar entity that most of the Kingdom – maybe even most of the world – prayed to was supposed to be a forgiving and righteous god. But if anyone spent a day operating at the highest levels of diplomacy and believed the scripture that he made mankind in his image, then he was just as petulant as his children, and this storm was his temper tantrum.
War was the ultimate tantrum of two nations that couldn’t share. A few months ago, in a surprise and devastating attack, the Queendom of Georgia crossed the border into the Kingdom of Penn and overran its defenders, sacked its towns, and killed civilians and soldiers alike. The cruelties of war slammed into Penn’s citizenry like the storm’s droplets rattling the palace’s windows in their frames. To date, most of Virginia was lost. It was a bountiful land with millions of loyal subjects and an economy that was one of the greatest in Penn. Simply gone.
The lords of those lands were doing their best to muster their militias to counter the Georgian’s aggression, but militias were generally undertrained and underequipped, even after Crown funds were allotted to them. Despite the Third Virginia’s admirable performance in the defense of South Boston, the regiment was gutted by the time it fell back to Lynchburg. They fell into trap after trap during their retreat that their incompetent commander, Colonel Ambrose, should have seen coming. It was better for the remaining troops that he was dead, or they might find and kill him themselves. That wouldn’t help morale.
But even if the Lords of Virginia managed to marshal their forces, what were a few regiments compared to the divisions of Georgians streaming across the border? Five thousand part-time troops against twenty thousand professional soldiers were odds not even the most addicted gambler would bet on. Even worse, the enemy had the initiative. Those who didn’t study war didn’t understand how critical that was. It was like the men of Penn were in a boxing match but were constantly on their back foot, forever off balance, and struggling to stay upright, much less counter.
If numerical inferiority, experience, and the loss of the initiative weren’t enough, Winter was in full swing. It was a law of war as immutable as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west that fighting diminished during the cold months. Marching troops in frigid temperatures would kill or maim more of them than combat, food was scarce, and all anyone wanted on the battlefield was a hot meal and a warm bed. Gains were minimal for both sides, which meant that even if the Virginia lords mustered their men, there was little chance of taking back what was lost before the Spring. In fact, it would be a minor miracle if they held on until the next season. The great cities of Virginia were under siege. With troops and subjects dying to siege weapons and food dwindling, the leaders of Penn were well aware that one or more cities might need to surrender to survive.
That was all some people could do in war, simply survive. All the royal family of Penn could do was ask the Virginia lords to stand tall and hang on as long as possible, because with Spring would come change. It would bring better weather, food, and most important of all, the reinforcements promised. Battalions that could be spared from the western front were pouring into eastern Penn and gathering in Baltimore, where Lord Brigadier Hershey’s Blackguard was training with the new weapons of war courtesy of the Gunsmith Guild.
The Blackguard was the first of its kind, an entire division formed around the concepts of guns and artillery. Infantry on foot that could pour massed fire into the enemy to devastating effect. Their long guns held sixteen shots before they needed to be reloaded. That meant a company of one hundred men could kill the better part of two battalions before needing to pause. War had never seen anything like that before. Nor had it seen the newfangled artillery the factories in Allentown were delivering by the wagonful. Artillery that could fire accurately from a mile away gave the Blackguard not only fire superiority but range supremacy over bow and arrow. Not to be forgotten was cavalry, the domain of the aristocracy for millennia. Armed with boomers that fired deadly pellets in an arc ahead of their charge, they could cut down infantry like a scythe through wheat. Finally, if that wasn’t enough, it was the mission of the King for every soldier in his army to be armed with a chucker. The power of a wizard’s blow in the hand of every man in the King’s service. Times were changing from the legion concepts and tactics of sword, shield, spear, and arrow that were the mainstay of combat for the last two thousand years.
Despite the snows plaguing the Charm City, Lord Hershey was training his men relentlessly for the campaign that was coming. Even with all the new weaponry, it would be hard. The Georgians were spoiling for this fight for centuries, and they wouldn’t give up their hard-won gains easily. Men would die. Generals would fall. Royal blood would spill, and a Queendom or Kingdom might tumble. Spring would show who wanted it more.
The King’s money was on the mountain of a man he charged with leading Penn to victory. The Lord Brigadier was practically chomping at the bit to take the fight to the Georgians. Why wouldn’t he? They killed his brother-in-law and robbed his favorite nephew of his father. His personal motivations to see the Georgians evicted from Penn might outweigh his sense of duty to king and country. As long as they were both pointed in the same direction, no one cared.
If it wasn’t total war against their ancestral enemy, the King, lords, and ladies of the realm might think twice about giving the power of a wizard to the common man. Since the time of the Roma Senatus de Magnus, the men and women who wielded magic were the undisputed masters of the land. Except for the Unseelie and the otherworldly Tuatha Dé Danann, they controlled the fates of nations and the billion-plus souls of the world. None realized it yet, but all of that could change with a swing of the pendulum. But first, they needed to survive the swing, the pendulum, and the madness behind it all.
That madness didn’t even start in Penn or Georgia. It started in the Old World with a Prince in a small territory of the Holy Roman Empire deciding he wanted to throw the baby out with the bathwater. With the help of a goddess of death, darkness, chaos, and winter few men knew about or even believed in, his war swallowed the continent in a matter of months.
The Empire, already under the rule of a weak Emperor, was fractured and slow to react or accept change. Provinces warred with one another, and their enemies smelled blood in the water. The Queendom of France invaded to steal long-sought-after lands and pushed deep into the Empire. England, an ally, came south across the Channel to do the same to lands held by their long-time foe. The Russians in the East were looking to take their chunk of Rome’s successor’s riches, and the Vikings to the north weren’t above a good rape and pillage when the mood suited them. In barely a season, what started as a skirmish between two provinces exploded into a conflict that would reshape the Old World . . . or destroy it and everyone in it.
It was into that chaos that mankind stared, and where only a select few had the power, guile, and will to stand strong amidst the storm and tell the forces of chaos that they would not bow. The man in the riding boots was marching through the White Palace toward one such man. Arguably, the most powerful man
He rounded the corner of the final hallway to his destination and was met by a pair of crossed swords. Hard-eyed members of the royal guard barred his path. A month ago, he would have been recognized on sight and allowed to pass. Not anymore. These men and women of Penn, firstborn sons and daughters of the most powerful families in the Kingdom, were sworn to protect the King with their lives. Not long ago, they almost failed in that sacred charge.
During a wedding, in snows not that different from what the Blackguard trained in, the King’s life was threatened and nearly taken. The key word there was nearly. The men and women of the royal guard honored their oath, did their duty, with some of them paying the ultimate price. Despite the victory, it should never have happened. Enemy assassins should not have been able to get into the venue. The security procedures were subverted and compromised, and they saw firsthand the power and terror guns could wreak. While the royal family survived, several members of the court did not, and the political repercussions of that would be felt for months to come.
When calamities like that occurred, powerful people needed someone to blame. The commander of the guard tried to blame the Allen Family, but that backfired. So, responsibility landed squarely on the guard. Whispers in the corridors of power said they were getting soft, and that their vigilance wasn’t what it used to be. So, they redoubled their efforts. Even if their reputation was stained, they would ensure nothing like that ever happened again. That meant no more freebies for the man in the riding boots.
“Halt, Lord General,” a man – more accurately a boy still shedding the last of his acne – commanded.
“Is that what he is?” a senior guardsman asked as he studied the damp riding coat over the dark military uniform of the lord officers of Penn.
“Yes . . . No . . . I need to check,” the younger man caught his error and scrutinized the Lord General.
In the attack that almost cost the kingdom its king, the royal guard suffered casualties. That meant new recruits were being trained to replace them. One of the traditions new recruits always endured, no matter the organization, was the shit jobs. And one of those shit jobs was the worst watches. It was an ungodly late hour, and most of the royal subjects in Philadelphia were huddled in bed and waiting out the storm. Not these dozen royal guards. They were protecting the hallway to the royal chambers and were alert and watching for anything that might threaten their charge.
“Sir, raise your arms,” the junior guard commanded.
The Lord General complied as the younger man gave him a thorough pat-down. In the past, the four Lord Generals of Penn’s Royal Army were allowed to carry a sword in the King’s presence. Not anymore. All four of the Army’s most senior officers carried a chucker as well, but he left that with his staff when he got the report he needed to bring immediately to the King’s attention.
“He’s clean,” the guard nodded as he finished patting the general’s ankle looking for a concealed blade. The senior guard watched as his trainee stepped back, took a deep breath, and summoned his magic.
“Revelare,” he commanded, and the general felt the magic wash over him.
If he was wearing any type of magical disguise, that spell would wash it away. If it was a powerful enchantment, it might not cleanse the concealing magic, but it would pull and yank at it enough that the guards would know he was an imposter.
He wasn’t, and the senior guard gave a nod before dropping his sword. “State your business, sir.”
“I have an urgent dispatch for the King,” the general stated. “He ordered me to tell him if something was happening with the thing we’re not supposed to talk about,” he kept it intentionally vague. The current operation was the definition of need-to-know, and the guard might not need to know.
“Yes, sir,” he didn’t question as he waved the general through. “Good luck.”
The words were meant to be a respectful farewell, but they stung. Last Summer, Lord General Hunt could have strolled right up to the king, said hello, or been invited to a private meal without a second thought. That was when he was the commander of the Army of the South and before the invasion that breached the kingdom’s borders on his watch. After his failure, the King lost confidence in his leadership, even if he didn’t say it out loud. Bringing in the former Lord General Allen to retake command of the Army of the South was loud enough that all of Philadelphia knew of his displeasure. Then came the wedding, the death of the King’s oldest friend, and Hunt’s ascension back into command of the army charged with defeating the Georgian invasion.
His Majesty did a good job of hiding it, but Hunt knew the King blamed him on some level for the death of John Allen. If he’d successfully defended the border, it wouldn’t have been necessary to call the old war horse out of retirement. Everything about this situation. Everything about this war started with his inability to counter the enemy. Hunt might not have been prepared then, but he was now. He would regain the trust of his king. Honor the man who served before him, and rally the Army of the South to take back what the Georgian scum took from Penn.
Despite being unarmed and deemed unthreatening, the two guards flanking the door to the King’s private chambers watched him warily like they didn’t fully trust the guard in training to do his job properly. Hunt didn’t take it personally. If it took an extra minute or two to get the dispatch to the King, so be it. If the King died, all of Penn would be thrown into upheaval. Now more than ever, his safety was of the utmost importance.
Hunt quickly straightened his tunic, checked his medals to ensure they weren’t askew, and muttered a spell to dry himself off. The guards tensed at his words as a ball of water condensed off to the side and deposited itself in a vase filled with some exotic plant. It was a good reminder that even without a sword or a chucker, a wizard was always armed. Confident he was presentable, Hunt knocked on the thick wooden door.
“Enter!” a voice boomed.
With a final breath, the Lord General entered the royal chambers to find the entire royal family sitting around a small dining table. It wasn’t anything marvelous like what sat in the grand hall, or the exquisite ballroom meant for hosting the entire peerage or entertaining foreign dignitaries. It was a simple slab of sturdy wood capable of handling the weight of the serving platters placed upon it.
Hunt’s mouth watered as he saw the slabs of meat, vegetables slathered in butter, and potatoes mashed to perfection. In betrayal, his stomach growled angrily. He hadn’t eaten since midday. Thankfully, the royal family’s attention was on his stomach and not his surprised expression.
It was no secret that many in the capital knew that the relationships between members of the royal family were strained. It ebbed and flowed like a river, but right now, they were in a drought. A son was coming into his power and challenging his father, and a daughter was set to go off, marry, and start a family of her own. All of that was stressful for any father, much less a king. With the war on top of that . . . let’s just say that people were starting to notice the toll it took on their monarch.
At the head of the table sat that monarch, King William Penn the Third. He was a fairly tall man with broad shoulders and a neatly trimmed beard. His golden mane of hair started to gray in the last few years, but the stress of the last few months sped up the process considerably. It even started to infect his beard with the signs of aging wizards fought off better than most men. Despite that, he looked young and full of health for a man with over a century under his belt.
As the ruler of Penn who ushered the kingdom into the twenty-first century, he’d seen a lot . . . but nothing like this. He’d seen war before, but those were raids from the Natives in the untamed lands west of Penn, and mild skirmishes with Georgia. No one still alive had witnessed total war between the two kingdoms. The last time it happened was after Georgia gained independence from the British Empire that awarded Penn its freedom. Overconfident in their victory, the Queen of Georgia attacked and tried to take land from Penn. She was rebuffed and driven back. It cost the fledgling Queendom Virginia. Now, the current queen was taking it back. Time would tell if she could hold it.
While the king was the dominant force at the table in both size and personality, he was far from alone. To his right sat his wife, Queen Margaret. She was an enigma to many, including most of the court. Even her Ladies in Waiting were mum about her private life. The Lord General had known her for decades, and he still didn’t know her likes and dislikes. She was always overshadowed by her husband. It was easy to forget about her with a personality the size of William’s in the room, but despite that, she didn’t fuss. Many assumed she was a woman whom the King married for her looks instead of her mind. They’d be wrong. That was one thing the Lord General knew for sure. On the rare occasion she offered an opinion, her husband almost always took her advice. People knew that when she spoke, it was time to shut up and listen. People who didn’t know anything about her respected her.
