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Prince of Time

Prince of Time

by Glenna McReynolds

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The enchanting blend of passion and sorcery that has won Glenna McReynolds such high accolades weaves its unique spell once more in this new novel. Here is a one-of-a-kind reading experience, bringing together a thief and a princess on an unforgettable journey toward danger and desire....

Prince Of Time

He's the last thing she expected--and she has waited


The enchanting blend of passion and sorcery that has won Glenna McReynolds such high accolades weaves its unique spell once more in this new novel. Here is a one-of-a-kind reading experience, bringing together a thief and a princess on an unforgettable journey toward danger and desire....

Prince Of Time

He's the last thing she expected--and she has waited for him all her life! Ten thousand years ago it was written that her barbarian prince would have the powers of a mage, the heart of a warrior, and the courage of a saint. Instead she gets a mercenary thief with a fondness for off-world wine and the vice-filled dens of the Old Dominion! How can the sacred prophecy be wrong--or is there more to this man than meets the eye?  

Lady Avallyn, Princess of the White Palace, has little choice--and no time--to ponder the possibilities of a mistake. She's the one woman with the knowledge to save a twelfth-century mage whose demise turned the earth into a barren desert. And there's only one man who can take her back into the past: the charismatic thief who may or may not be the fated Prince of Time.  

Morgan ab Kynan knows nothing of the ancient prophecy, only that he was wrenched from his own world and thrust into a future where he has a price on his head. Set upon by a pack of bounty hunters, the timerider finds himself saved by the most extraordinary woman, a golden-haired beauty in tattered black robes. Now they're bound together--literally--by the tracking bracelet she slapped around his wrist.

He is hers--for the moment--but who is really the captive and who the captor? For even without the bracelet, their fates and emotions are bound together by something greater.

The reluctant thief and the resolute princess now must travel back in time, followed by a ruthless villain who wants them both dead. Morgan and Avallyn will need more than skill, courage, and magic to survive in the ancient past, where the greatest enemy of all awaits them at journey's end--Dharkkum, the devouring darkness of a lost age. They will need faith in each other...and a trust born of a passion willing to sacrifice everything--even life itself--for love.

Editorial Reviews

Dan H. Cooprider
The Prince of Time is a must-read book for readers of fantasy and historical romance. An exquisite saga of destiny and love, Ms. McReynolds skillfully combines sorcery and romance into a sensual narrative. Passion is an underlying theme throughout, and the seduction segment breathtaking in its simmering sensuality.
Romantic Times
Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
An energetically paced and entertaining hybrid of SF, fantasy and romance in the tradition of Anne McCaffrey, McReynolds's tale of a medieval Welshman stranded far in the future who must help a desert princess-priestess return to his time to banish a black hole wields dramatic power. Morgan, an accidental time-rider who learned to survive in the tech-heavy future as a quick-witted thief, brings himself to the attention of the wrong people when he steals a golden dragon statue. On his trail are both the fearsome Warmonger and the White Ladies of Death, the latter because Morgan is their Prince of Time, a prophesied warrior for whom they've waited 10,000 years. Luckily, White Lady Avallyn finds him first, but the explosion of attraction between Morgan and Avallyn catches both off balance. Their soul-deep connection becomes the only thing they can count on as the Warmonger chases them across the desert and into the worm hole that takes them to long-ago Wales and the seemingly unwinnable fight against the black hole. As she spins her rich story, McReynolds finely transforms Morgan from a Han Solo sketch to a man who's never fully recovered from being torn from his home, adding generous dollops of wry humor and sizzling action to keep the entertainment level high. The return to Wales two-thirds of the way through the action tosses in a dozen new characters that followers of her previous books (Dream Stone; The Chalice and the Blade) will be happy to see but newcomers will find bewildering, and Avallyn is gradually left with not a lot to do. Still, this is a vivid and enjoyable tale for readers who seek the magic of fantasy, the tech edge of sci-fi and the thrilling jolt of true love. (Dec. 5) Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.
Ten thousand years is a long time to wait for your soul mate, especially if he turns out to be a lame tech-thief who's more into wine than into saving the world. Avallyn is a half-elf-half-human princess who has been preparing her whole life for the coming of the Time Prince. Morgan is a Welsh prince out of place—and time. One minute he is in the highlands in the midst of a mage-driven battle, the next falling through time to land ten thousand years in the future. To survive, he turns into a thief; to forget, he turns to wine. Avallyn finds him in a bar in the midst of a fight. The warmonger, Corvus, is after Morgan for keeping a treasure he wanted. Avallyn gets Morgan out, sobers him up, and shows him their destiny. They must travel back through time and reengage the battle, only this time they must win or Earth will be lost. On the way, they fall deeply in love. Unfortunately, Corvus is determined to defeat them before the darkness that is taking over his body destroys him. With help from magicians and dragons and Morgan's own inborn strengths, they manage to overcome Corvus and save the world. This book combines fantasy, science fiction, and romance. Young adult librarians should note that two very sensual, graphic sex scenes in the book might be the only reason some teens read it. Some more conservative schools might hesitate to purchase this book, but the scenes are well written. The ending is satisfying, although getting there is a slow journey. VOYA CODES: 4Q 2P S A/YA (Better than most, marred only by occasional lapses; For the YA with a special interest in the subject; Senior High, defined as grades 10 to 12; Adult and Young Adult). 2000, Bantam, 333p, . Ages 16 toAdult. Reviewer: Vicky Burkholder SOURCE: VOYA, April 2001 (Vol. 24, No.1)
Kirkus Reviews
A time traveler passes through thousands of years to rescue a magical race from doom. Morgan ab Kynan is a handsome rogue—and a thief. Captured by wily monks while attempting to steal a priceless religious artifact, he expects to meet his death within the walls of their monastery. Instead, he's brought to the desert palace of the White Ladies of Claerwen, the Priestesses of the Bones. These women—and the men they barely tolerate—are descendants through time immemorial of the Quicken-tree folk (The Chalice and the Blade, 1997), and it is to their own Lady Avallyn that Morgan is presented. Avallyn knows by a scar he bears and the white lock in his hair that Morgan is none other than the prophesied Prince of Time come to rescue her people, the Ilmarryn. But first she must cure him of his addiction to the potent Carillion wine, a psychosis-inducing brew; and she does so by binding him to her with magical bracelets as he heals. Despite her autocratic mother's stern warnings, the pair fall inexorably into a passionate sexual relationship, even though the Ilmarryn's time is running out. The half-mad warlord Corvus plots their doom with Vishab, a vicious crone with a grudge against the Ilmarryn. Together they call upon the powers of Dharkkum—a gigantic, formless entity of evil—leading to a glorious, apocalyptic finale that rounds off this conclusion to McReynolds's three-part saga. The mixture of Welsh folklore, Norse myths and tales of the Aesir, Icelandic sagas, Indian and Tibetan traditions, and ingenious Star Wars—style gadgetry all hangs together somehow, mostly because the author hews strictly to the first commandment of fantasyplotting—Thou ShaltNotStop Moving—and the second—Thou Shalt Add Sex. The pace is breathtaking, and the swashbuckling and general portentousness are interspersed with some dazzlingly sensual scenes. Heady fantasy, guaranteed to wow.

Product Details

Random House Publishing Group
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4.00(w) x 6.34(h) x 1.00(d)

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Read an Excerpt

The White Palace

Deseillign Waste

Avallyn Le Severn walked the length of the palace corridor alone, her strides smooth and sure, her boots silent on the marble floor—the tread of a desert walker. A faint flush warmed her cheeks beneath her vision visor, a damnable inconvenience she needed to remedy before facing the tribune. All other signs of her inner turmoil were hidden beneath a layer of carefully contrived calm that two days of travel over the trackless Waste had not shaken.

She had been summoned.

She had come.

And now it would begin.

A sere wind blew through the open windows on each side of the hall, bringing with it the withering heat of the day. Sand moved with every breath of air, drifting over the sills and spilling onto the floor, a fallow flow from the endless Sand Sea. Someday the dunes would engulf the White Palace and there would be nothing but sand from the Dragon's Mouth to the Old Dominion. But for now, the sweepers would come. For now, her concerns lay elsewhere.

The color in her cheeks deepened, yet her stride did not falter.

He was here, as sworn by the monk from Sonnpur-Dzon.

He had been found, in this time, on this world.

Her prince.

The years of waiting were over. The destiny for which she'd been born would now begin to unfold in all its terror and glory with him by her side, the one for whom she had waited—the prince of the Fata Ranc Le, the Red Book of Doom. In another life he had written his fate upon the pages of the scarlet-bound book with the touch of his hand, and so had bound himself to her.

Sweet Mother, she had waited. Waited in despair that he would never come, and in fear that he would. She'd scarce believed it when the monk had confessed to letting him walk out of the Sonnpur-Dzon monastery three months ago without so much as a by-your-leave. Ten thousand years he had been in the coming, and the monks had lost him in a matter of minutes.

A mendicant, the monk had called him, a wandering brother who had come to the monastery to pray and meditate. He had revealed himself on a new moon night in the Sanctuary of Demons, a golden dragon grasped in his right hand and a blazing sword in his left, a warrior as the Book had foretold. He'd disappeared in a whirl of blue fire, walking off the monastery's great wall into the night sky—and the monks had let him. The next morning no body had been found, only the prince's tracks in the snow where he had landed with celestial grace.

The powers of a mage, the heart of a warrior, and the courage of a saint. So it had been written of the prince, and so it was. Thank the gods, she thought. They would need all three to survive their fated journey.

The Prince of Time.

A thrill of excitement edged with fear sliced through her, threatening the thin veneer of her composure. He'd traveled far, a time-rider from a primitive, barbaric age. Would he be a danger, she wondered, this warrior-saint from out of the past? History was littered with destruction wrought in the name of saviors. Would the prince of the Fata be such a peril? And if he was, would her course be changed?

No, she vowed. The fiercer and more barbaric, the better. Only the Prince of Doom, as some called him, would have a chance of surviving their destination, and only the mightiest warrior would have even half a chance of bringing her out alive with him.

Shadana, she sent up a fervent prayer. Let him be all that is written and more. No matter how fierce, her will would tame him to the deed. The duty they shared would bring him to his destiny, and in their moment of triumph, she would grace him with a kiss.

Her blush deepened, the damnable thing, but the prince was hers, and it was right that she should kiss him.

The entrance to the Court of the Ilmarryn loomed in front of her, white marble columns rising up out of the shadows on either side of a towering stone door, and for the first time since reaching the palace, Avallyn tempered her steps with caution, slowing her pace. Fey creatures of the tylwyth teg, the Ilmarryn were not to be trifled with, not even by a priestess of the old line.

At the door made from two great slabs of stone quarried from the caverns beneath the White Palace, she stopped and lifted her gaze. Names flowed down the granite panels, delicately chiseled letters run through with an arborescent crackling of rose quartz, the ancient lineage of the sylvan Ilmarryn traced back through the Prydion Age. Near the middle were names echoed in her own ancestry, Llynya of the Yr Is-ddwfn and Mychael ab Arawn, a lord of Merioneth.

Standing quietly, she used a novice's trick to school her breath and cool the blush from her cheeks. There was no advantage to her in allowing the tribune to see her excitement, and a distinct disadvantage to her if they sensed her unease. The tribune and their force of Sha-shakrieg Night Watchers were a means to an end, her end, and she would not have her desires or her weaknesses turned against her.

She moved her gaze over the gray doors once more. Beaded steel bars circled round with bands of iron had been fashioned into massive handles that ran the length of the granite panels, a testament to all who would enter: Those inside feared naught on earth.

Neither did she, now that the prince had come. Barbarian or not, whatever dangers lay ahead, they would face them together.

She stepped forward, onto the tile directly in front of the doors, and they swung inward. A rich scent rushed out to meet her, cutting through the barren dryness of the desert and enveloping her in the smells of fresh leaves and bitter tannins, in the sweet redolence of the flowers and plants thriving in the glass-domed forest, the Lost Forest of the Waste. 'Twas here where her heart was, in the woodland glades and meadows, not in the desert where she'd been born.

Meet the Author

Glenna Mcreynolds has won numerous awards for her writing. She lives with her husband and two children in the Rocky Mountain West. She is also the author of The Chalice and the Blade and Dream Stone.

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