The Myths of Ophelia (The Curse of Ophelia Book 4), page 1
The Myths of Ophelia
The Curse of Ophelia Series
Nicole Platania
Contents
Books by Nicole Platania
Author’s Note
Pronunciation Guide
I. Gaveny
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
II. Valyrie
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 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
III. Xenique
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
IV. Thorn
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
80. Bonus content
Acknowledgments
Author bio
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Books by Nicole Platania
The Curse of Ophelia Series
The Curse of Ophelia
The Shards of Ophelia
The Trials of Ophelia
The Breaker of Stars (a novella)
The Myths of Ophelia
The Curse of Ophelia #5 (Coming 2025)
Copyright © 2024 by Nicole Platania
Stars Inked Press, Inc.
6320 Topanga Cyn Blvd. Ste. 1630 #1033
Woodland Hills, CA 91367
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems. For more information, address: nicoleplataniabooks@gmail.com.
First paperback edition November 2024
© Cover design: Franziska Stern - www.coverdungeon.com - Instagram: @coverdungeonrabbit
Developmental Edit by Kelley Frodel
Copyedited by Grey Moth Editing
Proofread by K. Morton Editing Services
Map design by Abigail Hair
ISBN 978-1-965362-01-3 (Paperback)
ASIN B0D8LDDNVZ (ebook)
www.nicoleplatania.com
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For everyone tired of being a character in someone else’s narrative.
Your story is your own–write it however makes your spirit soar.
Author’s Note
This book contains depictions of alcohol/drug dependency; loss of a loved one; blood, gore, and violence; discussion of sexual assault; depictions of mental/emotional neglect and abuse; organized fighting; torture; PTSD; and some sexual content. If any of these may be triggering for you, please read carefully or feel free to contact the author for further explanation.
Pronunciation Guide
Characters who are crossed out were deceased prior to the beginning of The Myths of Ophelia.
Mystique Warriors
Ophelia Alabath (she/her), Mystique Revered: Oh-feel-eeya Tuh-vahn-yuh Al-uh-bath
Malakai Blastwood (he/him): Mal-uh-kye Blast-wood
Tolek Vincienzo (he/him): Tole-ick Vin-chin-zoh
Cypherion Kastroff (he/him), Mystique Second: Sci-fear-ee-on Cast-Rahf
Jezebel Alabath (she/her): Jez-uh-bell Al-uh-bath
Akalain Blastwood (she/her): Ah-kuh-lane Blast-wood
Alvaron (he/him), Master of Coin: Al-vuh-ron
Annellius Alabath, (he/him): Uh-nell-ee-us Al-uh-bath
Bacaran Alabath (he/him), Second to the Revered: Bah-kuh-ron Al-uh-bath
Collins (he/him): Call-ins
Danya (she/her), Master of Weapons & Warfare: Dawn-yuh
Larcen (he/him), Master of Trade: Lare-sen
Lucidius Blastwood (he/him), Revered: Loo-sid-ee-yus Blast-wood
Lyria Vincienzo (she/her), Master of Weapons and Warfare: Leer-ee-uh Vin-chin-zoh
Mila Loveall (she/her), Mystique General: Mee-lah Love-all
Missyneth (she/her), Master of Rites: Mis-sin-ith
Tavania Alabath (she/her): Tuh-vahn-yuh Al-uh-bath
Engrossian Warriors
Kakias (she/her), Engrossian Queen: Kuh-kye-yus
Barrett (he/him), Engrossian Prince: Bair-it
Dax Goverick (he/him), Engrossian General: Dax Gahv-rick
Victious: Vik-shuss
Nassik Langswoll (he/him), councilman: Nuh-seek Lang-swall
Pelvira (she/her), councilwoman: Pell-veer-uh
Elvek (he/him), councilman: El-vick
Celissia Langswoll, (she/her): Seh-lee-see-uh Lang-swall
Mindshapers
Aird (he/him), Mindshaper Chancellor: Air-d
Ricordan (he/him): Rik-kor-din
Trevaneth (he/him): Treh-vuh-neh-th
Bodymelders
Brigiet (she/her), Bodymelder Chancellor: Bri-jeet
Esmond (he/him), apprentice: Ez-min-d
Gatrielle (he/him): Gah-tree-elle
Starsearchers
Titus Verian (he/him), Starsearcher Chancellor: Tie-tuhs Vair-ee-on
Vale (she/her), apprentice: Veil
Cyren (they/them), Starsearcher General: Sci-ren
Harlen (he/him): Har-lin
Seawatchers
Ezalia Ridgebrook (she/her), Seawatcher Chancellor: Eh-zale-ee-uh Ridg-brook
Amara Ridgebrook (she/her), Seawatcher General: Uh-mar-uh Ridg-brook
Andrenas (they/them): An-dreh-nuss
Chorid (he/him): Core-ihd
Leo (he/him): Lee-oh
Seron Ridgebrook (he/him): Sair-on Ridg-brook
Seli Ridgebrook (she/her): Sell-ee Ridg-brook
Auggie Ridgebrook (he/him): Aw-ghee Ridg-brook
Soulguiders
Meridat (she/her), Soulguider Chancellor: Mare-ih-daat
Erista Locke (she/her), apprentice: Eh-ris-tuh Lock
Quilian Locke (he/him), Soulguider General: Quil-ee-en Lock
Non-warrior characters
Santorina Cordelian (she/her), human: San-tor-ee-nuh Kor-dee-lee-in
Aimee (she/her), Storyteller: Ay-me
Lancaster (he/him), fae: Lan-kaster
Mora (she/her), fae: Mor-uh
Brystin (he/him), fae: Brih-stin
Ritalia (she/her), Queen of the Fae: Rih-tall-ee-uh
Animals and Creatures
Astania, Uh-ston-ya
Calista: Kuh-liss-tuh
Elektra: Ill-ectra
Erini: Ih-ree-nee
Ombratta: Ahm-brah-tuh
Sapphire: Sah-fire
Rebel: Reh-bull
Zanox: Zuh-nox
Dynaxtar: Die-nahx-tar
Places
Ambrisk: Am-brisk
Banix: Ban-ix
Brontain: Brawn-tane
Caprecion: Kuh-pree-shun
Damenal: Dom-in-all
Fytar Trench: Fie-tar Trehn-ch
Gallantia: Guh-lawn-shuh
Gaveral: Gav-er-all
Lendelli: Len-del-ee
Lumin: Loo-min
Palerman: Powl-er-min
Pthole: Tholl
Thorentil: Thor-in-till
Turren: Tur-in
Valyn: Val-in
Vercuella: Vair-kwella
Xenovia: Zin-oh-vee-yuh
Angels of the Gallantian Warriors
Bant (he/him), Prime Engrossian Warrior: Bant
Damien (he/him), Prime Mystique Warrior: Day-mee-in
Gaveny (he/him), Prime Seawatcher: Gav-in-ee
Thorn (he/him), Prime Mindshaper: Thorn
Valyrie (she/her), Prime Starsearcher: Val-er-ee
Xenique (she/her), Prime Soulguider: Zen-eek
Gods of Ambrisk’s Pantheon
Aoiflyn (she/her), The Fae Goddess: Eef-lyn
Artale (she/her), The Goddess of Death: Are-tall
Gerenth (he/him), The God of Nature: Gair-inth
Lynxenon (he/him), The God of Mythical Beasts: Leen-zih-non
Moirenna (she/her), The Goddess of Fate & Celestial Movements: Moy-ren-uh
Thallia (she/her), The Witch Goddess of Sorcia: Thall-ee-uh
Part One
Gaveny
Chapter One
Ophelia
Why was it so Angelsdamned hot?
Condensation crawled down the side of my glass, pooling on the dark wood of the seaside tavern’s bar one languid drop at a time. The heat of the Seawatchers’ Western Outposts shoved itself down my throat, despite the fact that we were only nearing the end of the first month of the year.
I supposed it rarely got as cold on the islands as it did in other territories, but this was unseasonable. And aggravating. Snow lay atop various regions of the continent—thick white blankets of it likely doused Palerman in recent weeks—but here, nothing more than a breeze wound between the columns of the tavern. I inhaled as a spray of salty ocean air flecked across my skin, tempering the roaring heat.
And I waited—a word that had become the bane of my existence.
“Sure I can’t get you anything besides water, Revered?” The friendly barkeep braced both hands on the aged wood, a towel slung across his shoulder.
“Thank you, Ivon.” I offered him a warm smile, then raised the glass. “I’m fine with this, though.”
He nodded, short dark hair bobbing over his forehead, and proceeded down the bar to his other customers. As he had every time we’d played this little game in the weeks my friends and I had been stationed in the outposts. In the weeks since the second Engrossian-Mystique war ended. Since Prince Barrett slayed his mother, Queen Kakias, and the Spirit of the Engrossian Angel Bant himself tore from her body, disappearing into the mountains.
I shook off the memories—the questions—a familiar restlessness twitching through my limbs at having to remain stagnant in these outposts.
Dormant, because the ruler of the fae, the bloodthirsty Queen Ritalia, was on her way to Gallantia, and according to her soldier, Lancaster, she wanted us pliant beneath her heel, but she did not deign to tell us precisely when she would arrive.
And I was forced to cooperate. She was a threat, and it was in the warriors’ best interest to get her here and gone as quickly as possible. And because Lancaster held a bargain over Tolek’s and my heads. If we failed to comply, we would be violating the deal and thus forfeiting our lives.
So, here we sat.
The tavern, The Sea Maiden, had become my favorite way to pass the days, and not only due to Ivon’s attentive staff or the affable crowd they drew. The polished stone pillars lining the front opened directly onto one of the outpost’s white sand beaches, soft mounds rising and dipping nearly fifty yards before melting into crystal blue ocean.
The waves were calm, peaceful, and an abundance of colorful wildlife occupied the coral reefs below no more than one hundred yards out. Ezalia Ridgebrook, the Seawatcher Chancellor, had taken us to explore them one day last week.
They were beautiful. I grew tired of it.
The waves curled lazily into the shore—my warrior hearing picking out the gentle roar over the voices in the tavern—and each sweep worked to dilute the dissatisfaction budding within me.
It was a bit like standing in the surf as it pulled away, the sand around your feet drifting, toes sinking further into the wet grains until you were certain you’d be taken with it.
I’d spent a lot of time on those shores these weeks. Spent a lot of time in the Sea Maiden, as well. Both to feed the spiraling creature inside of me that wanted out and to appear as we’d been bid.
My queen wishes your court to prepare for her arrival. And to cause no reason for delay.
Groaning internally, as I did each time Lancaster’s warning fluttered through my mind, I pushed up from my seat at the bar and strode toward the veranda. Water in hand, I leaned my shoulder against a sun-warmed stone pillar.
I highly suggest you heed her instructions. You do not want to see what ruin she may unfold if disobeyed.
Fucking fae.
Who was a foreign queen to command warriors? But Lancaster had always been a solid force. A bit tricky, a lot deadly, but never wavering.
And he had wavered that day.
When he met my friends and me as we were about to depart the mountains after the final battle, heading for Soulguider Territory in search of the next Angel emblem—when Santorina shot him daggers with her glare, hand tightening on her knife—something in the fae had waffled.
My fingers curled into my glass with the memory. Don’t shatter another glass, Ophelia, I instructed myself, but an inevitable agitation reared in my chest.
It didn’t drown out the footsteps echoing behind me, though. Nor did it mask the unfamiliar, masculine scent that joined me on the veranda.
“That drink looks awfully low.”
I turned toward the warrior leaning against the pillar opposite mine, his arms crossed and a bottle dangling between his fingers. Seawatcher, based on the coral and aqua gems adorning his ears. A symbol of rank among the ocean-farers.
Three of them lined one ear, poking out from beneath his hair, sun-bleached highlights gleaming against the dark strands falling past his shoulders. A thick beard coated his jaw, like he’d been on a ship for many days recently, and he wore a thin linen tunic instead of leathers. To accommodate the heat, if the sweat along his brow was any hint.
“I’ve been thirsty,” I said, tipping the water to my lips again.
“Let me buy you your next.”
I gave him half a smile. “Thank you for offering, but that won’t be necessary.”
“Come on.” The man pushed off the pillar and stepped closer to me. Not close enough that I was threatened, but enough that I placed my glass on the table beside me and dropped my hands to my sides. Easy and relaxed, but within reach of my dagger. “Have one drink with me. My next patrol leaves tomorrow.” His eyes crawled over my face. “And with the way you were watching the water just now, it’s clear you have a lot of stories crowding that pretty mind.”
In another situation, the invitation might have been light-hearted, warriors exchanging tales of travels over a drink. But he kept coming closer, until we were toe to toe, and his eyes fell to my breasts, to the way the binding of my leathers was tied so tightly, they pushed up with every inhale.
My pretty mind clearly wasn’t what he wanted.
“I have many stories,” I said, voice even.
“I have hours to listen. All night, in fact.” No comment about the fact that I was clearly not a Seawatcher. No acknowledgment that he knew who I was—what title I held—which despite his invasive behavior, was a bit of a reprieve.
Shame for him I wasn’t interested.
“I suggest finding someone who has hours to spare with you, then.” Waste your efforts elsewhere.
He leaned closer, bracing a hand on the pillar above my head, and my back stiffened. Spirits, he smelled like a damp ship cabin baking in the cloying heat.
