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I've talked before about words unique to THE KING'S THIEF before. 

Well, here's another word that might trip up those who don't know. 

Rantholic.

Don't remember this word in the story? Let me give you a snippet of where it is!

​*Any reason to give you a teaser, right!*

The two soldiers tipped their heads, and one of them called for others. Detrien squeezed my hand and winked. “Easy as stroking a cat.”

I let out my tension. “You could have told me you were known here.”

“Didn’t I mention I’d been back to Rouelle?”

He had in passing. “You are a brute for torturing me so.”

He chuckled and for that brief moment I was home.

“The problem is getting to the palace alive.” Detrien scanned the crowd. “Any moment they’ll recognize me, and we’ll be the middle of a crush.”

A line of twenty metal-suit escorts surrounded our party, and we walked forward. The rogues had covered their faces the moment they realized they might come under scrutiny. With this many people they didn’t know, the men were edgy. Torg remained in front and scanned the crowd keeping his hand over the pommel of his dagger. The others hunched over, trying to melt into their saddles. But people stayed focused on Detrien… our companions wouldn’t be remembered.

Once people saw my cousin, the whisper mill began, and jittering energy consumed the streets. It grew into a frenzy to take a gander at the singer. People jostled against each other, following our small caravan, staring. I was sure our guides were the only thing preventing dirty faced admirers mobbing Detrien. My cousin walked with a raised chin, eyes straight, hands loose, and shoulders relaxed. He gave the people no eye contact, which for him was unusual. He loved people, loved talking with them. Our walks in Xaxyia had became strolls due to Detrien’s nature of entertaining friends and passers-by taking precedence.

“Don’t stare at them,” Detrien said. “They’re likely to rush the guards if you do.”

But I could not help looking at them. The drab clothing they wore and their scrambling reminded me of rats in the streets. The stench of too many bodies in one place became overwhelming. The further in, the worse it got. The pike-men lowered their weapons as they walked beside us, making us a path. A construction I’d never seen, a wall around the palace, came into view. During my time nothing separated the people from the monarchy. While sentinels were posted, the inhabitants of the city were civil during my uncle’s time as ruler.

I saw a boy of maybe fifteen years of age climb the seven-foot wall and crouch on top watching Detrien with soulful eyes. He was as filthy as the grownups but with his innocence still intact. He looked at Detrien as if he were a god. I heard someone yell for the boy to get down and from the opposite side of the wall I saw the butt end of a pike strike the boy’s head.

I gasped and clutched my steed’s mane watching the boy fall and then disappear behind a crowd of people. “The boy!” 

“Dauphine.” Detrien clutched my hand. “Ride.”

“But the boy.”

Detrien shook his head. “It’s too late for him.”

My heart reeled back at the malice in his voice. He blamed these people for the crimes of their regime. Perhaps my cousin burned for the destruction of the Randish more than I believed.
Once past the wall, the palace was more civil. The gate locked, and I halted my steed. Turning to the soldier next to me I said, “Sir, please, a good Rantholic would check on that boy even if he deserved reprimand.”

​The guard turned his steely gaze to me, and we locked eyes.

So now you have context. 

And now I will give this simple explanation. 

My editor said she didn't understand the meaning. But it was my crit partner that eluded to making this a word. 

Here's the background.

Lady Dauphine is in Randish territory.

The Randish are super Catholic. Like beyond Catholic's. Their lives are a "celebration" of god. There is nothing else. You don't marry your spouse, you marry god. 

So Rantholic is a play on Catholic. 

For all catholic's out there that want a piece of me, please take in mind that this world is already in place and is not mine. It's a game, that sadly, might never be. But I have the honor of telling the story of said game and so I shall keep to the confines of the game's rules. 

So, that's the easy explanation. 

Does it make sense now?

Still don't get it?

Wish you never heard of it?

But if you're looking for more and want to read the story, don't bother looking for it on Amazon. Or Apple. Or Google play. Or anywhere. Because the only place you will find this story, and for FREE, is by joining the sweepstakes. 

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Three minds. One heart.
 
In the harsh reality of the post-apocalyptic frozen tundra, Raiden fights his growing attraction for Ashley Winsor and her handsome shadow, Stone.
 
Moving closer to separation the threesome navigate a world filled with angry harvesters, subterranean trains, and hungry polar bears. Through this steamy dystopian trek, Raiden discovers that these two people may be the only thing he loves on this ice bound Earth.
 
Once they arrive at headquarters a decision will be made… Is Raiden the man who will destroy their fragile relationship, or is he the harvester Ash and Stone need to love?

Excerpt from RAIDEN OUT THE STORM © C.M.Moore ​

C.M. Moore was raised with a combination of military and Catholic values. He didn’t do a lot of writing as a kid. He did, however, master the art of sarcastic guilt trips.

After grumbling and whining his way through the “hardest” part of his life (high school), he joined the Army. The grumbling and whining stopped immediately. Uncle Sam was not accepting of those antics, and instead, the military nurtured his core values and solidified the sarcastic traits. He also had to write reports, which were not allowed to be sarcastic.

Connor served his country on three separate tours. His first tour was like a six-month spring break in England. Easy duties requiring minor brain synopsis; his kind of work. His following tour to Iraq tested his metal, and proved to his wife, who had previously served overseas, that he could survive it too. His third and final tour to Afghanistan rocked his world. In Afghanistan, Connor was tasked to a Route Clearance Platoon, where he cleared routes of roadside bombs. The job was pure boredom interjected with moments of sheer terror. Connor is attributed with five finds, and nine strikes to his vehicle over a one year period. He finished his tour and came home with several new medals upon his chest. A Purple Heart being one of them.

Connor has several injuries which limit his mobility and his career options. He has a Traumatic Brain Injury and other physical issues. He now volunteers with veteran organizations and helps with a small bookstore his wife and he built. After Connor had returned to civilian life, he took a few writing courses which inspired him to put pen to paper. He’s not sure why that metaphor is still in use when everything is done on the computer. Connor believes it should be, give your fingers hours of cramped exhaustion.

Years of watching his wife devour romances caused him to want to write a book she would want to read. With the support of family and friends, Connor began writing his first book with his wife, Monica. There were many, many copies that ended up under his bed until now.

The final draft of his romance 1:05 a.m. follows an assassin trying to get out of the game, and a base security officer who is looking for the same peace of mind. This book is a sexy love story in a world covered in ice and snow. His home in Minnesota gives him plenty of inspiration.

When Connor can step away from his finger exercise on the keyboard. He is a stay at home husband and father. He helps his two daughters with their homework (yet he distinctly remembers graduating from homework) and aids his wife with their bookstore. He also enjoys hunting and fishing near his home in central Minnesota, and his hobbies are building projects and growing a white trashy beard.

If you wish to contact him, he loves to talk to his fans. Send him a message at [email protected].

I don't ever think I'll tire of this image when I think of Bowden.

Long & Lean. 

This also brings me to why I wrote this article. When going through my manuscript, my editor asked me "What does gallish mean?" it made me go back to the scene where Chartan was teasing Bowden. I'll expand just in case you haven't read THE KING'S THIEF in which case, get thee to THE KING'S THIEF SWEEPSTAKES right now!

No, really. I mean it. We'll wait.

Okay, for everyone who has read The King's Thief, here's the scene:
​© S.N.McKibben
Excerpt from THE KING'S THIEF

Okay, so now that your memory is refreshed, and if you too were wondering what the hell did he mean by gallish? Or thought the author (me) spelled galling wrong, then you're in the right place. 

Let me explain.

​First, this is a fantasy world. Please take that in mind. 

Gallish is a play on galling meaning vexing. 

Why didn't I use vexing?

Because this is a FANTASY world and in this FANTASY world there are Gauls. 

BEFORE you go rushing to the map of Inestra with your microscopes let me save you some time. You will not find Gaul on the map. In fact, you only get a 4th of the map in the book. I limited the map to relevant areas. Gaul was not one of them. Maybe it should be, but no. 

Gallish is a play on Gauls, yes, but what are Gauls? 

I actually don't want to say, yet.

Yes, it's a cop-out but I have an idea of what they are though I'm not ready to reveal them. Perhaps in the future I will. If the book is well received, there is a story-line and a chance for more books in the Inestra world. If not, then all you need to know is that gallish means "you're standing on my last nerve". 

If this isn't enough of an explanation, perhaps this would be a good time to get in on the V.I.R. Lounge and send me an email.  

Of course if you want your own copy of THE KING'S THIEF, you can join by clicking the button below and entering in the Sweepstakes! 

Upon entry you will receive an email with a link to get the FREE ebook download. It's an awesome value because I am not selling the ebook anywhere. It's my exclusive gift to you. This story is special and only my best fans get to read it. 

It's up to you whether you want to be a V.I.R. but you'll never know if you're missing something unless you give it (and me) a try! 

To my already V.I.R. ─ thank you. I hope you loved the book as much as I had fun writing it! Go ahead and get another entry by clicking the button above and ticking the "click here for another entry" so you can rack up the chances of winning! 

Until next time!

​~ Stephy