Steven J. Morris is here to tell us about The Fractured Arcana, two series - one shattered universe, fantasy.
There's also a great giveaway.
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Two series, one shattered universe:
an ancient war that
forged magic,
and the modern invasion that it made possible.
Mother of Trees
Thaumatropic Roots Book 1
Part of the Fractured Arcana Universe
by Steven J. Morris
Genre: Epic Fantasy
A dying goddess. A
fractured prophecy. A magicless elf who shouldn't exist.
Elliah has spent her entire life being told what she
is—bereft, wrong, a mistake the world would prefer to correct. Drifting from
town to town with a mother who won't explain why they keep running, she has no
magic, no place, and no future. Then a single misstep draws the attention of
those who've been looking for her, and everything her mother was hiding comes
apart.
She isn't ready for what she learns. But ready was never an
option.
Mother of Trees is the thrilling first book in
the Thaumatropic Roots epic fantasy series. Enter a world of dangerous magic,
ancient powers, and one impossible girl who refuses to stay down.
My mother told me many times that all adolescents feel like
they don't belong, but… I really didn't. So I spent my free time away from
other elves, on my own but for the animals… they didn't understand how broken I
was. And I was quite pleased with my current find, so I snarled when a noise
behind me scared away the drakeling that had settled in my hands. Black with a
pattern of red scales along its spine, its body the thickness of my finger, it
took flight with a flurry of thin leathery wings and disappeared behind a
massive brown trunk.
"The real ones are much more intimidating," said
an unfamiliar voice.
Time slowed as I tensed to run, shocked that I'd let my
guard down so much that anyone had gotten that close. How many lurked behind
me? On the outskirts of town, in the thick of the woods near the river, I had
expected solitude.
"Stay, Bereft. I am not afraid," said the voice.
His words provoked me.
"No one's afraid of me," I
blurted. Bitterness stained my words as surely as the pollen of the bloodcups
had stained my ragged clothes.
I turned away from the vanished drakeling to focus on the
intruder who'd scared it away. A man. No, I corrected myself, someone
my age. Someone not quite old enough for adults to consider one of their
own, but too old to call a child.
But not Bereft. No other elf shared that with me.
The newcomer was slightly taller than me with a thin frame,
his light hair hanging long, wild, and tangled. He was new to the village—I
would have noticed an elf with skin so light. I'd heard whispers of him at
school. Kethryllia had called him Salt-kissed, and I'd wondered what that
meant, but his light skin answered that question. He'd undoubtedly caught
whispers about me, heard of my… condition. Bereft. Yet at that moment, I
thought only of the hours of coaxing I'd spent to draw the little drakeling
into my grasp, and that the stupid elf had scared it away. I wanted to punch
him.
"Maybe they should be," he said, taking a step
back, though it would have taken me two leaps to get to him, and he'd have me
pinned in one, if he had any skill with magic at all. But I'd prepared a leap
already, only not in his direction. As I sprung away, he continued, raising his
voice, "And you're right, they're not afraid of you."
I landed with a tree between us. His magic wouldn't be able
to snag me there. Unless he was very good at it.
"They're afraid of what you represent."
Continue the Thaumatropic
Roots Series
Magic is as
natural as breathing in Elliah's world — except to her. Born without a single
spark in a war that runs on it, she has nothing but her will and her refusal to
accept the limits everyone else has already decided for her. This is what
happens when the world writes you out of the story, and you refuse to leave.
Magic isn’t real. Red Hernandez is very sure of that.
She wants a quiet life after Special Forces—just a steady
security job at a half-finished Manhattan skyscraper.
But then a sister tower implodes in a way physics can’t
explain.
Witnesses report creatures in the smoke.
And something hunts her in the tunnels beneath.
Red wants answers. What she gets instead is an elf with a
sword, a troll with a wry sense of humor, and a dwarf who believes every battle
requires an audience. They insist an ancient enemy has crossed into our
world—and Red becomes an accidental gatekeeper simply because she’s standing on
the fault line when it cracks open.
As a hidden war erupts in the shadows of New York City, Red
must decide: run from the past that nearly destroyed her… or fight for a world
she’s only just beginning to believe in.
A veteran with
nothing left to lose. A threat born of magic and shadow. A team she never saw coming.
The Guardian of the Palace launches the
action-packed Guardian League series—perfect for fans of urban
fantasy, modern-world magic, found family, and heroines who refuse to back
down.
Corpses patterned the ground as far as my eye could see, a
patchwork quilt of death.
I stood atop a skeletal tower, overlooking the broken ruins
of an ancient civilization, so very far from home. I envisioned the beauty that
the soaring arches once held, the bridges between the constructs reaching out
with broken arms, buildings leaning against one another like ancient lovers in
a final embrace. Crumbled remains powdered the bases of former statues, and,
everywhere, all of it was littered with the dead.
Like a phoenix, I stood, bathed in fire. An Angel of Death.
Not the Angel of Death—he was an ass.
A part of me wanted to go down and see for myself. Maybe
just to make sure… to make sure I had done my job… and killed everyone that
used to inhabit that world. The magic I was wielding should have destroyed them
all—something inside of me could feel that it had—but I wanted
to see it.
Yet I knew that was unrealistic. I didn't have the time.
There were other worlds that needed my infection, and Earth was on my
shortlist.
Chapter 1
Red - Day 20, Sunday, the day after the attack
"Ms. Hernandez?" a muffled voice called from a
distance, accompanied by a gentle rapping on a door. My consciousness
registered the interruption as a nuisance and pulled me back under.
What seemed like seconds later, the rapping came again, more
insistent. "Ms. Hernandez."
Ms. Hernandez was my mom… why were they bothering me?
Then a scraping sound, and an alarmed voice. "Ms.
Hernandez! Are you okay?"
Some scrambling, some grunts, more scraping… shit, I was
going to have to wake up. Why couldn't they just let me sleep?
I tried to answer, but my throat was dry and nothing came
out. Coughing, I attempted to sit up, not wholly returned from my trip to
dreamland. "I'm here. I'm okay." Was I though? I wasn't sure.
I was in my flat. Not the desert. My door was partway open,
and a slightly overweight man had paused in the act of pushing his way in. I
recognized him, but his name escaped me. Swinging my legs off my cot, I did a
quick modesty check. I was fully dressed, though rather tragically, in some
semblance of civilian fatigues—muddied, disheveled, and a little bloody.
The reason came screaming back to me. There had been
creatures, unearthly monsters, in The Palace. They'd done things I
could not explain by any of the rules I knew. And they'd beaten the hell out of
me and then patched me back up in a matter of seconds. I'd blown the head clean
off of one of them and fled the scene.
Not my smartest move.
Continue The
Guardian League Series!
Earth, through its technological advances, supports nearly
eight billion souls; from a cosmic perspective, that makes it ripe for the
picking. 'Red' Hernandez, trying to put a questionable military life behind
her, finds herself caught in the middle of stopping an apocalyptic invasion of
Earth. But to do that, she has to figure out who the good guys are, and how she
can combat forces in which she does not believe.
Steven J. Morris writes fantasy where magic runs deep and
the consequences run deeper. By day he's an engineer and father of three in
Austin, Texas. He's the author of eight novels across two completed series —
the epic Thaumatropic Roots and the urban Guardian League — both set in the
shared Fractured Arcana universe. Find him at sjmorriswrites.com.
R.J. Blain is here to tell us about The Art of Keeping Dangerous Books, The Apothecary's Secret #1, fantasy, urban fantasy.
There's also a great giveaway.
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The Art of Keeping Dangerous Books
R.J. Blain
(The Apothecary’s Secret, #1)
Publication date: July 6th 2027
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Urban Fantasy
To master the art of keeping dangerous books, one must learn the golden rule: some knowledge should never be shared.
Bookshop owner by day, restorer of rare and dangerous books by night, Kita James is thrilled to acquire a new poisonous book from the Victorian era. From the swirling patterns on the cover to its unusual leather binding, IN SEARCH OF LIFE is truly a unique find. However, testing of the vibrant tome reveals its darker nature: the leather is that of a human along with an extinct animal from the ice age. To further complicate matters, a new radioactive element is discovered lurking within its pages.
The deeper she delves into the toxic text, the less she likes about what she learns. From the dawn of humanity, people had searched for the secrets of eternal life and resurrection. And if Lugalbanda-Alad, the author of the mysterious volume, was to be believed, he had found it.
Joining forces with Dav, a rather vocal book in her collection, Kita works to unveil the apothecary’s secret. With the right magic and a strong enough will, the forbidden lore might be able to set Dav free along with the other sentient books confined within her shelves.
But all knowledge comes at a price: if IN SEARCH OF LIFE were to fall into the wrong hands, it could usher in the destruction of all Kita holds dear and the enslavement of all mankind.
Copper, when mixed with arsenite or its equally toxic cousin acetoarsenite, created a vibrant green. Some dubbed it Paris green. Some preferred the name emerald green. No matter what one called the pigment, it remained a silent killer of those foolish enough to handle it for long.
It had come as no surprise to me, when I first began learning the art of keeping dangerous books, that nobody knew for certain how many had died to the beautifully lethal covers and the pages they contained. One confirmed mortality from the pigment had involved a floral arranger specialized in artificial blooms by the name of Matilda Scheure, and she had breathed in the substance on a daily basis while going about her work.
The Victorians had adored brilliant shades, and they had unwittingly sickened themselves with color. Mercury, in the form of the vibrant vermilion pigment, could bring about madness among other things. Lead, offering shades from pristine white to fiery reds and oranges, sickened in a myriad of ways. Then there was cadmium red, which had limited toxicity unless handled often.
I marveled over how the Victorians had managed to discover so many shades of toxic pigmentation.
Within the walls of my personal library, tucked behind a secret door in the back of my bookshop, I owned books of every hue from every era I could get my greedy hands on. I’d outgrown my single shelf of emerald hue years ago, and the toxic volumes now consumed an entire wall. Each color of the rainbow offered some new and interesting way for someone to perish should they fail to handle my collection with care.
To the few who knew of my art, I offered a glimpse into a dark past decorated with a glorious veneer, one willing and able to kill at a single mistake.
I charged a reasonable amount for access to specific volumes of my archive, making use of a different room on the other side of the bookstore for those sessions. I required waivers, and I even had an agreement with an insurance company so I held no liabilities should they be sickened from the inappropriate handling of any one of my pieces.
The waivers eliminated my personal risk, as I refused to hold responsibility for the stupidity of others.
But the colors I held in safekeeping were not, by far, the most dangerous of the volumes.
Knowledge had become power, and I safeguarded all from the deepest of darkness and the brightest of light, for both, when used inappropriate and to their extreme, caused equal harm.
A little after midnight, after closing my cash, locking the doors, cleaning up the self-serve coffee machine, and otherwise preparing for yet another grind in the morning, I retreated to my sanctuary. Most of my work—and all of the magic—took place in the ten by ten closet with a ventilation fan installed, which piped through a series of specialty filters to keep any fumes or residue from making it outside. Those filters would cost me my sanity one day.
They needed to be cleaned or replaced every three weeks, and failure to do so ran the risk of making me the next victim of my collection.
The latest tome to be tamed waited within a glass box on my desk, and it was a marvel of toxicity, magic, and lore, most of which society would deem forbidden if they knew it existed. Thus far, nobody had unlocked the secrets of raising the dead, but the author of the volume had gotten uncomfortably close.
With the right materials, skills, and incantations, the dead could walk again, puppets for the book’s owner to control.
On the outside, it seemed harmless enough for those who lacked knowledge of dangerous books. Swirls of bright reds, oranges, and white decorated the spine with stamps of vibrant emerald green declaring the book to be titled In Search of Life. Everything within had been penned with a careful hand, and a date on the first page declared it to have been from the year 1725, over a hundred years before the popularization of the toxic tomes made famous in the Victorian era.
In 1725, magic had not yet been acknowledged, although society had always told tales of witches and arcane arts in hushed whispers.
In Search of Life, should I be able to authenticate it, would once again change the timeline on humanity’s introduction into practical magics and the role of superstitions in protecting from malevolent incantations. But as was the nature of my work, if all went well, only I would know.
The knowledge held within the pages, which defied time and refused to turn brittle, was best kept a secret.
Author Bio:
RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.
In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.
V. Ajinkya is here to tell us about Rakshasa's Wrath, The Clawed Chronicles book 1.
Read on for details...
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The Clawed Chronicles, Book 1
Fantasy
Date Published: February 1, 2026
Shipwrecked on her way to an arranged marriage, Lyliana McKenzie
discovers that her rescuers are not the saviours she thought them to be.
Amidst the dangers of a pirate coup, she must find a way to keep herself safe
with the help of only a pixie and one pirate captain. After a failed escape
attempt leads her to discover what she thinks are gems, she begins to realise
that the stories she heard as a child might not be all just fantasy.
As Lyliana collects more allies, dark forces rise around her creating yet more
enemies, both at home and in the pirate camp. Despite these hardships, her
desire to escape becomes marred by newfound power and her mirky path grows
complicated. Will she honour her family and friends, or will she accept this
new life of hardship and adversity?
About the Author
I was born and grew up in Leicestershire, UK where I have lived my whole
life before joining the Merchant Navy at 18. I achieved my dream of becoming a
Master Mariner and held the post of captain for more than ten years, working
mostly on the West coast of Africa and the North Sea. Since before my sea
career I have loved writing. It gives me great pleasure to share my
creativeness with the world, but that is just gravy on top of meeting another
life goal. During my off hours I write, read and, occasionally do the odd
degree by distance learning. To date, I have master's degrees in Creative
Writing and Environment, Health and Safety from the Open University and
Sunderland University respectively. My other main interest is tropical
fishkeeping though I have yet to write a story about them.
Inspired by a mad vision of the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, a centuries-old time war is being fought to determine the destiny of the human race. As the conflict rages between the early 18th century and the battlefields of World War I, Czarina Sorceress Catherine Romanova joins forces with her younger self, Princess Von Anhalt, magician Zolo Bold, and World Maker Niccolo Paganini, to face a gamut of powerful and implacable foes. The most dangerous and ruthlessly brilliant of them all, the immortal E. G. Godfellow–once known to ancient Greece as the “Scourge of the Gods”–intends to stop Catherine and her allies from rewriting the history of the 20th century.
Their bold plan, to prevent the 80 million deaths of WW II and inaugurate a new utopian vision for humankind in the 21st century, interferes with Godfellow’s plan to maintain the status quo and thereby usher in his own utopian vision of “One Earth—One Master.” Only one vision will dominate, and either way, the cost will be terrible.
AS SHE KNELT AT THE CATHEDRAL ALTAR in the year 1762 for her royal coronation as Czarina of All the Russias, Catherine Romanova felt like starting a new war. She’d already endured two hours of a five-hour ceremony while wearing twenty pounds of silk and nine pounds of Imperial Crown; and to increase the burden even further, the droning excess of pomp and boredom had drained her of patience, not to mention goodness.
Wishing to distract herself from the seemingly endless prattle of the Russian Orthodox Patriarch as he recited Old Testament scripture, as well as the oven of suffocating heat created by a hoop dress big enough to hide twenty dwarves, Catherine lifted the curtain on theater. She replayed to herself Earth’s most important war to date—the ultimate conflict to define the fate of human nature itself. Her old violin-playing mentor, Niccolo Paganini, had dubbed it “The Utopia War.”
While the aged Patriarch stumbled over a droll reading of Malachi, her musing inevitably took her back to the time just before the war, to another world at age fifteen when she lived in the Castle Bärenthoren and had been known to all of Europe as the famous and unruly Princess Fredericke von Anhalt (aka “Freddie”)—the name born by her proudly until her terribly boring coronation now underway.
Dear God, help me survive this day. My destiny is Catherine, but my soul is Fredericke.
Even though her every breath and eye blink was being carefully watched and measured by the gaseous Moscow nobles who filled the pews of Assumption Cathedral, her first memory began with a sound. A barely audible titter, like distant footsteps on decayed leaves. She’d considered the scraping sound of a mouse to be the origin, or some other invading creature, for every now and then a cat bird or a dove flew into the study and fell to the floor, finally tiring itself out with fearful flutters.
So truly, it could have been any number of things.
Nonetheless, Freddie vowed to ignore the disturbance and return to her prior task: recreating the Greek mathematics of Eratosthenes to determine Earth’s circumference while imagining herself the gallant Sir Francis Drake sailing the Azores in search of Spanish gold.
Putting quill to paper, she sketched the hull of Drake’s ship, The Golden Hind, before jotting down a few notes on the logic of Eratosthenes, and just as she measured the miles between the two cities in his equation, Syene and Alexandria, the strange tittering repeated. But louder this time. Enough to make her hand slip, the point of quill jaggedly defacing her work.
What in Beelzebub’s name? she asked herself.
The disturbance had become too curious to allow any further progress on the circumference of Earth, and though Freddie hated breaking personal vows, she rose from her writing desk, determined to learn the truth.
Author Bio:
Warwick Gleeson has lived in both LA, NYC, and D.C. He has worked many different jobs, everything from brick mason to Federal bureaucrat to small business owner. His agent is currently shopping a futuristic thriller to New York, and a screenplay or two are making the Hollywood rounds. His short fiction and poetry has appeared in many journals such as North American Review, Conjunctions, and Quarterly West. He has two grown children in their forties and is married to a most wonderful woman who is an author of historical murder mysteries and a former writer for National Lampoon magazine.
Nikki Jefford is here to tell us about Immortality Island, fantasy, New Adult, paranormal romance.
There's also a great giveaway.
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Immortality Island
Nikki Jefford
Publication date: July 21st 2026
Genres: Fantasy, New Adult, Paranormal, Romance
Survivor meets Fear Factor in this romantic fantasy filled with magic, vampires, and enemies-to-lovers adventure.
Hunting her was meant to be easy . . . until desire got in the way.
Twenty human spellcasters. One deadly island. Four cutthroat vampire masters. Only one caster can make it to the end . . . and win a place in a vampire clan for eternity.
After her doctor discovers a brain tumor and gives her months to live, Joni Mullins sees winning the show as her last chance at survival.
Sterling Alder is a vampire master with a personal vendetta and a mission: destroy her. But on Immortality Island, survival isn’t just about magic—it’s about temptation, betrayal, and falling for the one person he should never want.
Welcome to Immortality Island, where contestants are literally thrown to the sharks!
My pulse thunders, loud enough that I’m sure he can hear it.
“You have a terrible poker face,” Sterling says.
Only when it comes to him.
When I glare, he laughs—a low, warm sound that does infuriating things to my nerves.
“And you don’t know when to give up,” I say.
“There it is,” he says, clearly pleased. “No more playing pretend.”
I tap my wand against my hip, right where the rune tattoos hide beneath my jean shorts. It’s meant to remind him of my powers. What I’m capable of.
Instead, his gaze drops.
Sterling is fit in a way that looks effortless—long lines of muscle beneath his shirt, all restraint and coiled strength. The Bahamian sun has done irritating things to him. His skin, once pale, has picked up color. Not much—but enough that it warms his face and makes his gray eyes look brighter. Even his thick silver hair catches the light differently now, almost luminous against the blue of the sea.
I hate that I notice.
But it tracks. I have terrible taste in men. Not that I’m into Sterling Alder! He’s literally here to kill me.
When his gray eyes slide back up to mine, his fangs descend.
Hunger flashes across his face—raw, quick, and unmistakable.
My body reacts before my brain has a chance to step in. A traitorous heat curls low in my belly, and I clamp down on it hard.
Absolutely not.
I need to shut down this freak show before it goes any further. And I know just how.
Author Bio:
Nikki Jefford is a third-generation Alaskan nomad married to an amazing Frenchman. She loves fictional bad boys and heroines who kick butt! Books, travel, TV series, hiking, writing, and motorcycle riding are her favorite escapes. The dark side of human nature fascinates her, so long as it's balanced by humor and romance.
To get in on the fun and adventure, visit Nikki at her website for release alerts, updates, exclusive giveaways, and a free story when you subscribe to her newsletter: https://nikkijefford.com/newsletter/
Chantal Gadoury is here to tell us about Beyond Ever After, fairy tales, fantasy, romance, young adult.
There's also a great giveaway.
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Beyond Ever After
Chantal Gadoury
Publication date: July 14th 2026
Genres: Adult, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Romance, Young Adult
Return to the world of fairytales that readers first fell in love with in Until the Last Page in this magically charming sequel.
When Jo fell into a book of fairytales, she thought she would only have to save one prince. But now she has to save his brother, too.
In this new chapter, Jo finds herself lost once more in a world of magic, crowns, and impossible choices. The stories have changed, but the dangers haven’t—and neither has the loving a frog prince was never meant to be easy.
He thought one kiss would solve everything—but now, Prince Aneurin must stop a doomed royal wedding. With Josephine by his side, they tumble through twisting tales in search of a clever witch hiding behind a perfect disguise.
Between running from bearded kings, and avoiding unwanted betrothals, they navigate kingdoms and stories that refuse to stay neatly written. As adventures collide and hearts are tested, Jo and Aneurin soon discover that even in fairytales, the most dangerous magic of all is love.
I was certain I could not tolerate another insufferable evening in these damned confining clothes. Tugging at the collar of my tunic, I silently let out a curse into the cool night air. The music from the festivities below, a gentle, enchanting melody of the celebration, drifted up to where I stood on the balcony of my chamber. I’d done my best in avoiding the gossiping members of the court who still could not cease bringing up Josephine’s name around me.
This was a night of grand celebration. My brother was finally engaged, and there was once again a promise of stability – a guarantee of a prosperous future now that he was to be wed. My brother, the epitome of regal charm, and his beautiful future bride-to-be were at the center of everyone’s attention. I was grateful for the distraction from myself.
Sliding a hand through my hair, I let out a deep sigh. It had been apparent from the ballroom floor just how much of a stark contrast I was to the idyllic scene. The years I’d spent as a cursed amphibian had only isolated me from the kingdom, and worse, my family. Sitting at the dining table night after night, left me quiet and disconnected, while my family went on as I imagined they had for years without me. The courtiers had much to say about their theories of my previous life. I couldn’t stand to hear their remarks. Memories of the long nights, being confined in a body that had never truly been mine, feeling so far away from home…from my family. My manservant Henry had tried to tend to my every whim, except for the one I’d truly wanted the most—the freedom to be a man again. In the quiet evenings, when only the sounds of grasshoppers kept me company, I had imagined myself as I once had been, and it had filled me with a sadness I’d never known how to describe. I had dreamed of my return home, to the welcoming arms of my father and mother. But the reality of my return was not one of excitement, but uncertainty and fear.
I overheard the whispers about “the mysterious woman,” who had vanished as suddenly as she had appeared. Her presence had unwittingly brought danger by luring the very man who had cursed me into the heart of the palace. Despite it being me who had bargained with the man called Rumpelstiltskin again, Josephine’s disappearance had left unanswered questions and an uneasy tension that permeated the palace walls.
The festivities below were a cruel reminder of the life I could have had but had lost.
I slid my hands over the cool stone of the balcony railing and closed my eyes. For so long, my life had been consumed by one purpose—breaking the curse with a true love’s kiss. I had never allowed myself to imagine what came after. I supposed that I would slip back into the role I had left as a young man. I would be welcomed back with open arms and take my place beside my father as his heir – his true heir. However, as that path had changed, I was forced to forge a new one —a life in which I would stand beside my brother as a symbol of unity. It was my duty to assist him in his new role, and it was an honor to do so – or so I was told. Even as I stood beside him in the glowing ballroom, I saw the hope in his eyes as he looked at me, and the quiet joy as his gaze shifted to his bride-to-be. The way he held her hand to his lips, the love that passed between them – it was clear. Charming would be a noble and worthy king, and I would serve him with unwavering loyalty.
Loosening the necktie of my tunic, I tilted my chin up towards the sky, gazing over the sparkling stars above. “Josephine…” I whispered.
In all honesty, despite my impeccable ability to keep track of the hours of a day as a frog, I had lost track of how many weeks had slipped by since the last time I had seen her. Had it been a fortnight? Longer? Or perhaps even shorter?
The memory of our last night was etched vividly in my mind. The gentle touch of her hand in mine, the sparkle of mischief in her dark brown eyes, and the softness of her laughter as I held her in my arms while we danced. I had been a fool not to kiss her then. Maybe if I had, she would have been able to stay by my side. I had ignored the silent plea in her eyes, ignored the gnawing in my stomach. I’d been so determined to fulfil the foolish bargain I’d made with Rumpelstiltskin, and it had made me so willingly blind.
I had known Josephine had been the one for me ever since seeing her with that irritating woodland man—Arch, with his untamed beard and wise eyes. For as insufferable as I found Arch to be, I knew it was because he was her friend. I had yearned for the warmth of her friendship, to be on the receiving end of her charms, her smiles.
I had also been a fool to deny the truth for so long, until it was too late. It was maddening how deeply Josephine had worked her way into my heart—only to be torn away before I could fully grasp it.
After the defeat of Rumpelstiltskin, Josephine was returned to her world by a mysterious woman. As the clock in the grand hall began to strike twelve, she dissolved before my very eyes, her form fading like mist in the morning sun, leaving behind nothing but the pair of glass slippers my mother had lent her. Instantly, my heart had been filled with longing. I had remained alone on the dance floor for several minutes until my brother pulled me away. In my manic desperation, I pleaded with my parents to allow me to search for her—to search for ‘the mysterious woman.’ They inevitably gave in to the request. Hours bled into days, and there was no trace of Josephine, nor the woman. It was as though Josephine had never existed in my world. Perhaps she hadn’t.
Since that moment, I had been haunted by the memory of her disappearance, by the ache of her absence that grew with each passing day. I missed her with a depth of longing that threatened to consume me. A yearning that gnawed at my soul and left me restless in the quiet hours of the night.
I knew I would never find her again. She’d claimed to come from another world that existed outside of my own. Many days, I found myself longing to retreat to my chambers and escape the routine of long meetings with my brother and silent dinners with my parents. I preferred to sit in the quiet darkness and bury my sorrows in a decanter of mead by my bedside. I hoped that if I stayed there long enough, the world outside would fade away, and with it, the ache in my heart.
Maybe then, the enchantress—the cruel and cunning one who had spirited Josephine from me would decide to grace me with her presence again. Many nights, I pictured her slipping into the room, her voice as dangerous as a snake’s whisper. She would look upon my pitiful state and offer to curse me back into the amphibious form I once loathed but now yearned for.
I knew I couldn’t let myself remain lost in those thoughts forever. As much as I wanted to linger in the past, I had a role to fulfill, just as I always had. It was time to reintegrate myself into my family, to reclaim my place—it sounded more noble than it felt. I had to come to terms with my brother’s ascension to the throne, and by the night’s end, I wanted to offer my congratulations to him and his soon-to-be bride convincingly. After all, who wouldn’t want to celebrate the fact that my dear brother would someday be the ruler I’d been trained to become? Duty demanded I play my part, and so I arrived, prepared—armed with charm and wit to navigate a room teeming with courtiers, who were more interested in gossip than actual conversation. I preferred the company of the men in the forest that Josephine and I had encountered to the people of my family’s kingdom.
I danced with many of the eligible women, aware that my participation would help pacify their gossip-hungry mothers. I moved through circles of small talk, offering pleasant smiles and well-rehearsed banter. With every conversation, I maintained an air of composure, masking my lingering thoughts of Josephine. It took considerable effort to hide my discomfort behind a polished facade, to act as though her absence didn’t linger like a shadow at the edge of my mind. I had learned to hide so much when I’d only been a few inches tall.
Opening my eyes, I stared out into the darkness and released a slow breath, letting the night air wash over me. I’d been gone long enough and didn’t want to give anyone a moment to question why I’d been gone for so long. I only had an hour more, and then it would be midnight, and I’d be able to depart from the festivities for good. I peered back up at the night sky, gazing at the brightest star above me. I hoped that wherever Josephine was, she too could see this star and think of me.
Perhaps it wasn’t very reasonable to hold onto that hope…to entertain such wishes. “Find me then,” were her last words to me, and yet here I was, unable to do even that.
“A drink would do me good,” I muttered to myself. I just needed a goblet of mead before I returned to the festivities. As I turned on my heel, something stirred in the shadows beside the velvet-curtained door, barely visible from the corner of my eye. I froze, my body tensing as I waited, my breath catching in my throat.
A faint rustling reached my ears as I watched the curtain sway on its own.
“Gerrit?” I asked, calling out the name of my valet. But there was nothing but silence. “I’m in no mood for games,” I continued. “Show yourself.”
Taking a step forward, I reached for the curtain. Almost on cue, a shadowed figure slowly emerged from behind. To my surprise, the figure was much smaller than I had expected, barely reaching half my height. There was a pause before the figure stepped into the faint light, illuminated by the moonlight. What I saw took me by surprise—a fairy! Her delicate wings shimmered like iridescent pearls as they caught the faint glow from above. She hovered before me, her wide violet eyes reflecting determination as she drifted closer.
“Who are you?” I asked, taking a step back. In truth, despite all the stories I had heard as a young boy, stories about witches and enchantresses, mermaids and trolls, I had never quite believed in fairies. The woman’s gown, a deep blue that sparkled under the moonlight, glistened as if woven from the very stars. Her hair, short and white, was pinned back with tiny glass baubles that gleamed faintly in the night. She looked ethereal, otherworldly—like something pulled from a dream.
“Your Highness,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “I must speak with you.” Her words hung in the air as she paused in front of me. The timing, her sudden appearance, couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Did she come bearing news of Josephine? My thoughts raced between hope and dread.
“I am Lunelle,” she murmured. “A fairy of the stars.”
“The stars?” I echoed, disbelief mingling with curiosity. I had never imagined fairies could exist beyond the skies, let alone among the stars themselves. Was this how wishes were granted?
“My sisters and I observe from above,” Lunelle continued, her gaze centered on me. “We hear the wishes whispered from those down below. And we see everything.” Her eyes grew wide, and she gestured at the sky. “And I have seen something perilous, Your Highness. Something you must know.” Her final words fell to a whisper, delicate yet heavy with forewarning.
I forced my brow to remain calm, though frustration flared beneath my skin. “If you could elaborate,” I said dryly, my tone clipped but measured. Mystical proclamations were of little use without answers.
“Your brother, sire…” She continued. Her delicate features were etched with genuine concern. “Your brother is in grave danger.”
My heart skipped in my chest as I peered at her with wide eyes. My brother? I looked over my shoulder, listening to the soft melody of the ball taking place below. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“If he’s in danger, I must go to him,” I said firmly, attempting to move past her. If there were something to be done, I wouldn’t waste a moment standing idle. But before I could take another step, Lunelle’s small hand darted out, her fingers clutching the sleeve of my white tunic. Her grip, impossibly firm for her slight frame, held me fast. I pulled against her, but my feet felt rooted to the stone, as if the ground itself had conspired to keep me still.
“It is far too dangerous,” she murmured. “Neither you nor your brother is safe—at least not yet.”
My patience waned under the weight of her cryptic warnings. “You’d best explain yourself,” I snapped, my voice sharp with frustration. I leaned closer, my eyes narrowing. “Now.”
Lunelle released a shaky breath before replying, “There is an evil witch who has set her sights on you and your brother. She seeks to undermine you both, to plant herself in a seat of irrefutable power.”
“A witch?” I repeated, incredulously.
“One of the most powerful in all the land,” she continued, ignoring my question. “Her magic is dark, ancient, and fueled by envy.”
I narrowed my eyes, determination flaring in my chest. “If you release me, I can go directly to my father. Surely, he can do something about this.”
A bitter smile twisted her lips, and for the first time, a flicker of something almost human crossed her delicate features. “If it were that simple,” she said quietly, “do you not think I would have already alerted him?”
I gritted my teeth, frustration mounting. “Is this not exactly the sort of thing you’re supposed to handle? Instead of trapping me here, shouldn’t you be doing something about this witch?” If an enchantress had the power to send Josephine away with just a flick of her fingers, surely this fairy could deal with a rogue witch.
“You honor me with your compliment, Your Highness—”
“It was no compliment,” I interjected, scowling.
“But even my magic has limits.”
I let out a slow, exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Then what am I supposed to do?”
“There is…one person who can help you,” Lunelle said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “One person who can save your brother from making a grave mistake.”
“A mistake?” My mind reeled at her words. What in God’s teeth had Charming done now?
“It’s the woman he intends to marry,” she continued, her tone somber, her words deliberate. “She is not who she seems. The maiden he met a fortnight ago is no longer the one with whom he plans to exchange vows.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “What are you saying?”
“You must find the one who can break the witch’s hold.”
“God’s teeth, not this again,” I muttered, frustration boiling over. Another vague warning, another puzzle without a key.
“You must find her,” the fairy pressed, her tone sharp now, cutting through my doubts.
“Her?” I repeated the word hanging in the air like a storm cloud. “Who? Who am I supposed to find?”
Lunelle leaned closer, her luminous eyes locking onto mine as she pulled her wand free from the waistband of her gown. With a simple touch against the sleeve of my tunic, I watched as my white royal finery was transformed into a simple blue tunic with a leather satchel on my side.
“What is the meaning of this?” I asked, tugging on the simple fabric.
“Remember, Prince Aneurin,” she said, “The face you seek is not the face you see.”
“Speaking in riddles does nothing to aid this situation,” I retorted.
Before I could demand more answers from her, the fairy pulled out her wand. It gleamed in the moonlight as she pointed it toward me.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Lunelle said softly, almost regretfully. “But you will soon understand.”
In an instant, a blinding light erupted from the wand, enveloping me completely. I tried to shield my eyes, but the brightness was overwhelming. The ground vanished beneath me, and I felt weightless, as if flung through the air by an invisible force. The rush of wind roared in my ears, and my heart pounded in a frantic rhythm. When the light finally ebbed away, I gasped for air, disoriented and breathless. My feet landed unsteadily, and I stumbled, blinking rapidly as my surroundings came into focus.
The world around me had changed entirely.
Author Bio:
Chantal Gadoury is a best selling fairytale-retelling and romance author, living in the beautiful countryside of Muncy, Pennsylvania with her mom and family yorkie, Taran.
When Chantal isn't pursuing her next writing endeavor, she enjoys spending time with her loved ones, and taking long walks to the sounds of BTS. She is a TikTok enthusiast, loves all things Disney and loves a good, romantic K-Drama.
Chantal first started writing stories at the age of seven and continues that love of writing today. After graduating from Susquehanna University with a degree in Creative Writing, writing novels has become a dream come true.
