The Lost Kingdom

The Lost Kingdom

Rise of the Drakens Book 3

Raven Storm

Copyright 2020 Raven Storm

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover art by AJ Dane Gayosa

ISBN- 979-8-9861543-2-9

Created with Vellum

Contents

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

Afterword

Rise of the Drakens

Acknowledgments

About the Author

The Lost Nation - PREVIEW

Chapter One

Wren

It’s cold here.

I haven’t been cold since I lived in the breeding house. That deep, chilled to the bone feeling used to be my constant companion. Complaining about it wouldn’t have done any good because I knew what Crullfed would have said: we were welcome to warm the beds of any of the men who walked through the door. Unfortunately, I didn’t know then what I know now. Crullfed would have never risked breeding me, since he had known what I was since the beginning––the Lost Siren. I was the last female draken in existence, hidden away for centuries by a blood magick enchantment.

I wasn’t back there, was I? Maybe everything that had happened these past few months: my kidnapping, my mates, becoming queen . . . Had I simply imagined it all? Perhaps, I wasn’t a female draken with white scales and wings that proudly reflected the colors of my mating relationships at all. Crullfed could have beaten me so hard I was simply hallucinating, forgetting I was just another powerless human girl that was trapped in a cycle of abuse. The pain in my body currently supported that argument, but I fought against it. I didn’t want to think about being that small, scared creature ever again, even if I had to stay in my delusion to do it.

I shifted, feeling the filthy stone floor underneath me. That was my first hint I wasn’t at the breeding manor. The floors there were never dirty, courtesy of the enslaved women who were forced to clean at all hours. If everything wasn’t spotless for the clients who sent over their human breeding studs, then we’d be sure to feel Crullfed’s cane against our backs.

I opened my eyes, darkness embracing me in a light caress. A small glimmer of light came from a torch in the hallway, throwing flickering shadows through the slats in the iron door. The bars forced my mind back into the present with a sharp, stabbing clarity. I was in a cell. A prison cell.