Lover, Destroyer

A Grandimanderian Tale

by Sionnach Wintergreen

Lover, Destroyer - Sionnach Wintergreen - Grandimanderian Tale
Editions:Kindle: $ 3.99 USD
Pages: 230

Can he build his dreams with a destroyer?

Beautiful young Elarhe, crown prince of Ayklinn, leaves his homeland disguised in rags because he wants to learn how to use his magic. He travels to a border city in the Grandimanderian Empire, where magic isn’t forbidden. But that land isn’t fond of immigrants; fear permeates its streets, and cruel things lurk in its shadows. One of these cruel things is a man who wields a terrible magic that—instead of healing or mending—deals only in death…. And Elarhe wants to rule his heart.

As a child, Kite destroyed an entire city with his dark magic. Now, he serves the Overfather of Grandimanderia. Feared and alone, Kite is content with the ice in his veins…until a talented young immigrant challenges everything he thought he knew.

This gay erotic romance depicts two lovers testing each other’s boundaries and discovering new experiences together. It contains sexually explicit scenes, including scenes with BDSM and various fetishes such as bondage (cuffs, suspension, straitjacket), pony play, spanking, flogging, gut punching, wax play, and others. Some scenes are extreme. (But there’s actually a story!)

This book is on:
  • 1 To Be Read list
Cover Artists:
Pairings: M-M
Heat Level: 5
Romantic Content: 5
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Gay
Protagonist 1 Age: 18-25
Protagonist 2 Age: 26-35
Tropes: Age Difference, Big Character / Little Character, Class Differences, Enemies to Lovers, Healing Power of Sex, Hurt / Comfort, Love Can Heal / Redemption, Mistaken Identity, Most Mindblowing Sex Ever, Opposites Attract, Rescue
Word Count: 46,000
Setting: fantasy land of Grandimanderia
Languages Available: English

As he climbed the steps to the Darelock Academy of Magery, Elarhe wondered, again, if he were in the right life. So many days seemed wrong, now. A stargazer in Old Ramshead had told him once that the life each person led was only one of many, that Elarhe and everyone he knew led myriad, simultaneous lives.

So, maybe, in some other fragment of time, in some other reality, Aben had not died. Maybe the wound in that life had not festered, and that Aben had not gone mad with fever. Or maybe the gamekeeper had missed, or Aben had stayed behind in Ayklinn, was still safe there and had not followed Elarhe those long weeks ago. Or perhaps Aben lived and Elarhe lay dead, covered in leaves and straw, rotting beside the road between Nasktown and Adderly.


The registrar, dressed in fine robes of white and gold, greeted him coolly. Behind him, a startlingly handsome brown-haired man cloaked in black brocade perused an enormous gilt-edged book. Elarhe, in homespun with holes in his shoes, settled his breath.

“Show me your light,” the registrar ordered, his arms folded across his chest.

Elarhe spread his palms open before him, allowing the energy to pool in his fingers. Green light, a fist-sized peridot star, glowed above his hands. The registrar’s brows rose. Behind him, the black-cloaked man looked up from his reading, his magnificent, dark brows arching like the wings of a predatory bird. His eyes, pale blue and well-deep, met Elarhe’s and held them for a heartbeat.

Elarhe caught himself staring openly at that strong, sculptured visage and looked away, forcing his attention back to the much less attractive registrar. The folds of the registrar’s bland face shifted slightly. In the pall of Elarhe’s light, his features looked as if they were melting. “Odd to begin with green…. Still, it is vaguely yellow, and the shade is pale, but the clarity is impressive.”  Yet the registrar frowned as he said this and did not seem impressed. “You said you had no previous training.”

“Yes. That’s true.”  Elarhe banished his light and bit his tongue. It was half-true. He had told them he had had no previous training. Deceit sickened him, but he had rejected his princely status, left his kingdom, and lost his best friend traveling here to enroll in the mage's academy. There was no other way….

The black-cloaked man interjected. “Stop scaring the boy, Vole. A green beginner is not unheard of.”  His voice was deeper than Elarhe had expected, smoky and dark like a cauldron. He turned to Elarhe. “Red or orange is more traditional. And progression takes time; Vole is still yellow.”

Elarhe couldn't help blinking in surprise. Greens were more powerful than yellows; Elarhe was more powerful than the arrogant man judging him. When Vole rounded on the black-cloaked man, the handsome mage added with a slight bow to the registrar, “But his clarity is superlative.”

Elarhe wondered if he had imagined the mocking tone at the end. The sneer on Vole’s face suggested he hadn’t.

“If you’re finished interrupting us, Lord Kite, I would like to continue this interview.”

Lord Kite shrugged and returned to his book. Vole, still frowning, asked Elarhe for his papers. Elarhe obliged.

“Squirrel?”  Vole asked him, looking up from the documents Elarhe had given him. Elarhe nodded and tried not to hold his breath while Vole gave the papers a second appraisal. They were good forgeries—costing twice what he had hoped. If he failed to impress the registrar, if the academy rejected him, he would be sleeping on the street again tonight. To calm himself, he stole a glance at Lord Kite, allowing himself a momentary bask.

Something about the black-cloaked man—perhaps the wise, wry expression or the confident set of his broad shoulders—reminded him of his tutor. Tylam had been shorter and dark-skinned, with a generous mouth and a quiet depth. Tylam’s lessons had sparked Elarhe’s curiosity and had set him down his current path, had made him long to be a scholar rather than a prince. Although Kite—tall, fair, stern-faced, and blue-eyed—bore little resemblance to Tylam, Elarhe sensed a similarity and felt drawn to him. Lord Kite, however, no longer paid him any mind.

Vole strode to the map spread across a nearby table and pointed to the name of a city marked by a black dot. “What is the name of that village?” he asked. The name was written plainly above the dot. Puzzled, Elarhe read it aloud. For the first time since they had met, the registrar smiled. “Very good,” he purred. He bid Elarhe wait as he swished out the door, still holding the forged documents.

“He knows,” explained Lord Kite. “Your tongue gave you away. No one born on this side of the border would have pronounced that final vowel.”

“What happens now?”

“Being that the only thing Vole loves better than a monstrous law is seeing it enforced, he has gone to alert the authorities. I am going to become single-mindedly engrossed in what I’m reading, as is my habit when obsessing over some bit of research. You, if you have any sense, will flee through the door just behind me, take the first corridor to the left, find yourself in the court among dozens of bustling students, disappear over the hedge wall, and lose yourself amid the crowds in the market square.”

“Thank you.”  Elarhe started for the back door.

“Did someone say something? I didn’t notice. Likewise, I’m sure I wouldn’t notice if a few potions somehow found their way into your bag on your way out. The ones with the highest street value are on the right.”

Elarhe bristled. “I am here illegally, but I am not a thief.”  He closed the door behind him and ran.



Lover, Destroyer is set in the same universe as the femdom romance, The Inquisitor's Gift, but it is NOT a sequel. The main characters in Lover, Destroyer are not in The Inquisitor's Gift. This is NOT a series.

About the Author

Sionnach (pronounced shuhn ukh) Wintergreen is a genderqueer author of gay romance, epic fantasy, and adult fantasy. (All pronouns are fine.) Their character-driven stories usually involve misfits because they have always been one.  Sionnach lives in Austin, Texas, with a husband, a dog, and is the obedient servant of six cats. Sionnach also has a wonderful adult son.

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