A Prophecy for Two

A 103-page fantasy book by K.L. Noone
276 copies sold
217 readers made this book possible
4 Super Readers
Userphoto9 original
Avatar 918ef5bed97e 128
1379841 10150004552801901 469209496895221757 n
Userphoto8 original
71 Readers
Userphoto7 original
Userphoto1 original
Userphoto3 original
Userphoto4 original
Userphoto4 original
Userphoto9 original
Userphoto2 original
Userphoto6 original
Userphoto4 original
Userphoto9 original
Userphoto5 original
Userphoto4 original
Userphoto4 original
Userphoto6 original
Userphoto7 original
Userphoto4 original
Userphoto9 original
Userphoto5 original
+ 53 more
143 E-Readers
Userphoto1 original
Userphoto7 original
Userphoto7 original
Userphoto2 original
Userphoto9 original
Userphoto9 original
Userphoto7 original
Userphoto5 original
14900539 10210943170085224 3710073454075203783 n
Userphoto2 original
Userphoto9 original
Userphoto6 original
Userphoto5 original
Userphoto9 original
Userphoto8 original
Userphoto6 original
13553215 1013484415431892 410504701 n
Userphoto3 original
+ 164 more
Fairy-companions weren’t unheard-of. Unusual, but not unheard-of. Rare. Legendary, even. Oliver couldn’t remember a time without his.
  • Price: $4.99
  • Quantity:
  • Price: $12.99
Very well written fantasy story, I highly recommend anyone who loves fairies and magic to consider this book.
– Luke Fellner
About A Prophecy for Two

I’ve always liked fairy-tales, romance, quests, and happy endings - sometimes admittedly hard-earned! If you like these things as well, plus dragons (well, one dragon), magic (more than just dragons), near-death experiences (but it’ll turn out okay!), LGBTQ+ representation (because the world needs more m/m epic-fantasy-romance!), and True Love (of course), then come support Oliver and Tir and the kingdom on the edge of Fairy, at the top of the world, on their adventure.

Read part of A Prophecy for Two

Chapter One: In Which A Quest Is Required

Fairy-companions weren’t unheard-of. Unusual, but not unheard-of. Rare. Legendary, even.

Oliver couldn’t remember a time without his.

To be fair, technically he could; he’d been about thirteen when Tirian had turned up at the palace for the afternoon open session, looking like any other finely-dressed twelve-year-old boy, walking in wide-eyed alongside every petitioner new to court. The difference, of course, had been that for those huge storm-grey eyes everything human was new.

The difference had been that Tir wasn’t and never would be human.

Oliver stood next to his mother on the dais. Waved at assembled barons and village representatives and small children. Aimed for royal dignity; as usual missed it by a mile and a half. He never quite knew what to do with his hands, with his feet, with himself. Big and clumsy in green velvet. Crown Prince’s coronet heavy on his hair. He didn’t mind being outside amid gilded sun and autumn grass for the announcements and honors, but he’d rather have a sketchbook and a pencil and a spot from which to document the scene, as opposed to being part of it.

Tir, who could probably read those thoughts—Oliver’d worked hard to keep anxiety and stress out of the Crown Prince’s expression, but his fairy knew him too well—shifted weight imperceptibly closer. Their shoulders nearly brushed. Support, as much as possible. Tir hadn’t bothered declining his own spot on the dais; Queen Eleuthenia’d made his position as another family member entirely clear over a decade before, and none of her children would disappoint her. In any case he wouldn’t leave Oliver alone for a public audience. That much was also entirely clear.

Tirian occasionally worried too much, Oliver thought; but then again he couldn’t imagine life without that sword-slim shadow at his side, the dark elegant contrast to Ollie’s own rumpled-sunbeam height. The Crown Prince generally looked as if he’d been made by someone who’d heard about blond-haired muscular heroes but hadn’t got all the rough-hewn edges smoothed out; Tir somehow had managed to appear polished and put-together even the morning after the last Spring Festival and all the honeyed mead. Tir could show up at a formal audience barefoot and yawning, black hair falling out of a tangled knot and into sleepy smoke-and-silver eyes, and would still make everyone else feel instantly overdressed, Ollie concluded.

He wasn’t jealous, though. Tir was his best friend. His anchor, especially in moments like this. Besides, he’d once seen his fairy purchase what’d looked like the entire contents of a bookshop, scoop them all into adoring arms, and proceed to drop every single volume on his own feet.

The last prince with a fairy-companion had lived just over three hundred years ago, outside anyone’s lifetime but recent enough to be well-documented in Bellemare’s history books, and they’d fought as brothers-in-arms to hold the country together during the Great Civil War. They’d...

Discuss A Prophecy for Two with the Author.
Autumn leaves owl

Hi, marvelous readers!

We’ve reached light publication (the Quill level) and joined the Quill collection here on Inkshares, so we’re moving into production! Yay! *throws confetti*

They’ve told me the timeline moving forward will be roughly ten months until readers get their copies in their hands; this has to do with time needed for a round of light copyediting, getting the back cover (design, any text, etc) done, shipping of physical copies, and so on. (I admit I was hoping it’d be a bit faster, since Inkshares is a nontraditional publisher - but I’m not complaining!) We’ll see if we can’t speed that up a small amount, though, since the cover art’s already done and it should be a fairly clean manuscript (I correct student writing for a living, after all...), but in any case: we’re into production, and I’m so excited! I’ll keep you updated as things progress...

Autumn leaves owl

Exciting update - Prophecy has been picked by the Write Out Loud Syndicate as their book for January! (Link here for more about Inkshares syndicates and what they do.)

This is wonderful for both more orders and for visibility and promotion, and I am so honored to be a choice - it means they thought this story was worth supporting, and that’s...well, that’s just really cool, is what that is. Thank you, on behalf of me and Oliver and Tir and everyone.  :-)

Here’s the little note I got: "Here’s why the syndicate lead chose your book: a great read and a creative and interesting premise. I also love the author’s sense of humor. I’m happy to support Prophecy for Two in January and I’m looking forward to read it."

I’m so excited - thank you again to the Write Out Loud members and everyone who’s supported Prophecy this far!

Autumn leaves owl



Prophecy is now at 251 (yaaaay!) pre-orders!!!

*jumps up and down screaming a lot*

So, this is guaranteed ebook + print-on-demand publication, as part of the Quill collection, no matter what! (You can of course still order copies - if it gets to 750 orders they do a full print run, and more royalties and such are always nice, but I am not even going to worry about that yet!) It should be pretty quick turnaround - all the writing part is done except for the short little Epilogue, and I shall update as soon as I know the projected publication date!

And this is because of YOU and ALL THE SUPPORT AND LOVE and I love you all so much and I am so so grateful. Honestly, truly - you guys made this happen. It’s your book. For you.

I love you.  *pops champagne and gets to editing*

Autumn leaves owl

Hi, all! A super-quick note to say: three (3!) pre-orders to go! And 8 days left before the deadline! We’re so close, and I’m so excited and so grateful to every one of you, I don’t even have good words.

As a partial thank-you, have a preview of the new opening scene of chapter four, just written today:


They camped that night in a pool of emerald grass surrounded by silver-barked trees; the green was a bit too green and the trunks too silver, to Oliver’s artist’s eye. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to paint the North or back slowly away from it. Either way he wasn’t certain he could ever do a description justice.

He handled wood-gathering and fire-building and roasting potatoes. Tir offered to help; Ollie scowled at him until he sat down meekly and got out a book. Bandages remained around slim fingers, catching light under distant stars.

They both knew enough not to go hunting or trapping, in the Northern Territories; for one thing, it was impolite, given that some fairies could shapeshift, and for another, nobody really knew what eating too much fairy game or fruit would do to a human. Tir said that the local berries and fruit that almost-but-not-entirely resembled apricots were probably safe, and anyway they were still on the human side of the border; the fruit would’ve adapted itself to less-magic conditions. Oliver considered the almost-apricot and its potential for sentience and deliberate adaptation, and did not eat it. Tirian rolled eyes, got up and picked two, and threw one at him. “You export these, you know.”

“Well…yeah, but—wait, go sit down!”

“And you make wine out of them. Expensive wine.”

“Not me personally,” Ollie said. “I have no clue how to make wine. Yes, I know, you’ve made your point, thank you.” The not-apricot was delicious. “Potatoes in a minute. Read your book.”

The fire crackled. The stars glittered. Night-birds made crystalline swooping noises in the forest. And Tirian had a book, and Ollie drew little sketches of leaping flames and many-petaled flowers and tall gleaming trees, and the night settled in, content.

He wanted to check under those bandages, but did not want to interrupt his fairy; he put aside confrontation of this conundrum for a moment.

Autumn leaves owl

Oh wow - we’re at just under two weeks left to the deadline, and 212 of 250 orders reached - so only 38 to go! You are all amazing and I am so excited, and I know we can get there - if you can order one or two more, or send it along to friends or family, please please do; we’re so close!

Also, as thanks, here is a piece of chapter four, as a preview:


The final hazard was a dragon.

Oliver, flattened against a canyon wall, hissed, “Did you expect this?”

“No!” Tir peeked around rock again. “That’s new. Not in any of my books.”

“I thought they were extinct!”

“Not at all. They don’t come across the border, though. They live on magic. Oh—of course, this is your Seeing Pool, it’s entirely magic…I wonder if it drinks from the Pool itself, or—”

“You can practice comparative magical zoology later!” He risked one more glance. The Pool itself was visible beyond the not insignificant obstacle of dragon. It formed a natural spring, welling up into a bowl shaped of smoky transparent stone, carved over eons by the drip of Fairyland-sourced water. It shimmered under the slate-and-cloud sky at the end of the skinny rock-walled trail. It lay only a few steps distant, but: dragon.

Not a cuddly faithful tamable beast as in some children’s puppet shows. Not huge, about the size of a big cart-horse, but absolutely not small as a house-pet lizard. Ugly. Black-scaled, spiky, fanged. Ochre glow down near its belly. Built to be a predator and bring death. It lashed its tail like a vicious cat, waiting. It knew they’d come.

Tir gave him a mildly annoyed glare. “If anything I’d be a writer of magical romance, and it’s research—”

“I know that!”

“Give me your sword, then.”

Oliver passed it over, no questions asked. It was a good sword; no fancy name or lineage, just plain strong steel and solid craftsmanship.

Tir closed a hand around the blade, not the hilt. Oliver almost interrupted right then, but no blood appeared; he kept an eye on Tir’s fingers, though. He’d grown up with legends about magic and the cost thereof.

Tir murmured low words and stroked his hand along bare steel, a disarmingly intimate gesture. Oliver might’ve been imagining the way the sword thrilled to his caress, a ripple passing along the surface. Might’ve been.

He had a flash of astonished wondering: was this how Tir would touch someone he loved? With strength, with coaxing, with unhurried deliberate fingers and palm?

He swallowed. He tried not to think about whether magic always moved like this for Tir: a slow sweet seduction, a pulse-beat, a swell of desire.

Everyone knew the Crown Prince’s loyal companion was a fairy. Oliver had never seen his best friend as a fairy before.

Tir blinked, shook himself, came back from whatever dreamy precipice he’d been on. “Here.”

“Was it good for you,” Oliver tossed back, a joke in the face of strange uneasiness. Tir’s hand stroking his sword, Tirian beautiful and inhuman and wrapped in invisible sorcery. The teasing landed badly.

“I put myself into it,” Tir said. No perceptible reaction to his failed joke-attempt. Only sincerity and practical focus, which of course should be the case, in the face of a dragon. “My own magic. It should work.”

“You could use it. Um. If it’s…yours?”

“You’re better with a sword than I am, and it’s your Quest.” Tir shoved the sword into his hand and pulled both long knives instead. “I don’t know if it’ll work. I’ll be your distraction. Just try to cut its head off; there’s no such thing as a mythical vulnerable spot. Ready?”

“No,” Oliver said. “Are you okay? I mean…I don’t know. Are you?”

And Tir’s eyes got less guarded, more affectionate, more familiar. “I’m fine.”

They ran into battle—for the first time ever—together. The world transformed. Became a crazy collision of black scales and lunges and scorching fire. Oliver had indeed trained with a sword, but never against a horse-sized heap of fangs and claws and spiked tail; he ducked, dodged, felt the sharp sudden sting of a tail-barb scrape one leg. A flicker of blue flowed past him: Tir, he realized belatedly, turning rock-dust into sparkling motes of magic, calling a Fairyland-beast to him.

He stumbled on a rock; the dragon’s head swung his way and snarled. Fire bubbled up: not ready yet but building. Tir threw a knife instead of magic this time. It whirled back to face him.

Autumn leaves owl

Hi, readers! Just dropping by to wish you a marvelous new year, and to let you know that we’re up to 200 pre-orders - 50 to go! We can totally make this happen, thanks to you, with one last push over these last two weeks before the deadline! Also, look for new and lovely cover art very soon - I’ve just gotten the final version from my fabulous artist, so that will be unveiled as soon as I get it properly uploaded - and it is gorgeous, perfect for the story and mood!

Autumn leaves owl

Just over two weeks left, and 59 copies to go! We can totally do this!! And thank you all for the support so far - this wouldn’t happen without you!

So this isn’t the third chapter yet (soon! I promise!) but someone asked me about this over on Tumblr, and I couldn’t resist the answer: in some sort of modern-day alternate universe, what music do Tir and Oliver listen to?

Well, I do normally write with music in mind (a lot of my story titles come from there) so...

Tir is totally a catchy pop music fan. Like, Katy Perry pop music. Like he probably knows all the words to “Teenage Dream” and dances around his bedroom singing. And when he gets caught he explains, flawlessly straight-faced, that this is part of studying humanity. (No one buys it. Not really.) (And then he’ll put on Mumford & Sons and pretend he meant to do that all along. He does actually like Mumford, mind you.) He also adores musicals, but he can’t watch Les Miserables, because he’ll cry over Eponine and Gavroche every single time, for probably obvious reasons.

Oliver is rather more conventional, or at least less prone to introspection and self-examination; he’s probably a classic rock fan: the Rolling Stones, Journey, Rick Springfield...but he’s a crown prince who’s also an artist, so he’s got some quirky independent friends too. He’s got, oh, the odd Strumbellas album, some Pansy Division, early Tegan & Sara, and Tacocat on his playlist. He tends to like most genres, or at least not mind them. He likes musicals and theater too, but he generally enjoys the comedy type of musical more. He brings the tissues if they’ve somehow ended up seeing Les Mis. (He pretends, badly, that they’re for him. They’re not.)

...and now we’ve likely all got Katy Perry’s voice in our heads. You’re welcome.

Autumn leaves owl

Hi, readers! A small holiday note to say that we’re up to 172 copies ordered - wow! Thank you so much - only 78 copies to go! We can make this happen! *waves pom-poms*

I also wanted to give you a preview of Chapter Three - I’m hoping to get that up sometime this week, but in the meantime, here’s the opening scene...


The landscape grew rockier. Drier. More grey. Hills sprouted stone boulders and crags like bewildered stone faces. Temperatures fell precipitously; plants took on iridescent hues, shimmering white and turquoise and primrose. Magic in the air.

Tirian shot him a look of sheer delight, the second day into the North, and nudged heels into his mare and took off: a streak of fairy wildness, human and horse, enchanted as the wind. Ollie sighed internally—he couldn’t breathe magic like vitality, and this wasn’t home for him—but Tir all lit up and glowing and daring him to follow, well. That made him want to follow. Made him grin.

This was home for Tir. More or less. The borderlands. The closest he’d got. Ollie wondered, pounding after his fairy-companion down a crooked defile, leaping a stream, catching up and playing tag on horseback among merry towering rocks and indecently iridescent hummingbirds, if he missed it.

He wondered also for the first time why Tir had never ridden North. Never come so close to home. With that joy in each breath, in those chilly excited eyes.

He thought that this might be because of him. Because of himself: Tirian’d spent years looking out for him, finding his missing boots and correcting his arithmetic sets before the tutor checked. Ollie had never cared to ride North.

His chest did that odd twist and ache again, the way it had over bacon and toast the morning they’d left.

“Oliver,” Tir yelled over, laughing, pink-cheeked in brittle wind, “you’ll get stuck, that ravine’s a dead end—!”

“Carrot can turn on a penny!” Ollie shouted back, tugging at reins, getting Bellemare’s Autumn Harvest Joy to rear and spin obligingly, “and you didn’t tell me where we were going!”

“North!” Tir came back and reined Sprite in and waited helpfully while Ollie figured out directions. “You know. That way. Not down a dead-end ravine.”

“Bloody fairies and your bloody country,” Oliver grumbled at him. “How do you know it’s a dead-end, anyway?”

“One, because I, unlike you, pay attention to my surroundings. Two…” Cool grey eyes got a little more cloud-like, pensive. “I don’t exactly know. It’s like…knowing.”

“Oh, right, that’s completely clear, thanks.”

“No, I mean…” Sprite matched Carrot’s pace amiably, without active direction from her rider. Ollie’d always half-suspected Tir had a mysterious magical bond with most animals, though when asked his fairy’d only started laughing hard enough to be useless for answers.

“I mean,” Tir said now, thinking aloud, “no. It doesn’t work if I think about it. It’s a little like remembering.”

“Like…you…” Came this way? When you were only twelve and alone in a brand-new human land?

He thought: I couldn’t’ve done it. I don’t know how you did. And you don’t talk about it. And I can’t ask. In case it’s a spell or a geas or a charm. In case it hurts you.

He said, “Like you spend a lot of time in ravines?”

And Tir laughed, weightless and untroubled. “Maybe if you count the University archives. I swear some of those manuscript stacks haven’t been touched in centuries. It’s funny, though, if I try to push it, to really think about it, that headache…”

Oliver gathered rein. Carrot stopped. This meant that Sprite stopped too; Crown Prince and companion regarded each other for a minute. Wind ruffled unnaturally indigo-and-magenta rock-grass behind Tir’s head.

Tirian looked away first. “I know. I know what you’re saying. Not saying. You know my answer. Just—just don’t. Please.”

“You’re hurting,” Ollie said, “because you’re riding North with me.”

“It’s not like—”

“It isn’t?”

“It’s…hard to explain.”


“I know,” Tir said carefully, even gingerly, “what I’m supposed to do. And I…this feels like going home. Before I’ve done it. And that—”

“Oh,” Ollie said. “Oh. No. Stop. Nothing you’re not allowed to say,” and then they looked at each other for another second, until one corner of Tir’s mouth quirked up. “I’m okay. It’s just…a reminder. From the magic. Land-sense. It won’t matter; we won’t be going into Fairy proper.”

“I’ll believe you,” Ollie told him, “if you tell me that again. Right now. Honestly.”

“I am being honest, you turnip.” Tir was smiling, crooked, but his eyes were serious. Graveness; gravestones, that grey. Ollie swatted that thought down. “I don’t lie to you, Oliver. It’ll hurt a little, and it won’t get much worse, and I can live with it for now. It’ll go away after we’re done.”

Autumn leaves owl

One more little news item, with shiny things!  So, if you know me from fandom, as some of you might, a bunch of Fandom Friend People are offering giveaways (voluntarily! because they are Wonderful Generous People!), including art, fanfic, fanvids, and even jewelry(!) as incentive for pre-orders and support. I’m not including the link to their posts here because I don’t want to link anyone’s fandom names to any real-life accounts, but if you are either a Fandom Person or fandom-adjacent, and interested in Shiny Presents, send me a message! (I love you guys. Seriously. This is SO AWESOME. Thank you.)

Autumn leaves owl

Hi, lovely followers and readers! Just letting you know we’re at 52% of the goal - 130 out of 250 orders for light publication! This is awesome, and it’s thanks to your support - let’s keep this going, with more orders, ordering again if you’d like to support the project more, and simply spreading the word - we’ve got a month left to get there!