Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Immortal Rose by Alexandra Bracken, which releases on August 18th 2026.

Members of the ancient Rosebourne family have a strange gift born of a fairy ancestor: the ability to infuse fragrance with magic capable of manipulating mind, body, and emotion.

When a shocking murder leaves the kingdom of Albion vulnerable to a coup, royal spymaster Hugh Thornton seeks the one person who can help: Viola Lockwood, the last living Rosebourne and secret heir to a fraught legacy.

Livid at the silver-eyed aristocrat who had her thrown in jail to force her compliance, Viola nevertheless comes to an agreement with him. In exchange for crafting Immortal Rose, the singular perfume capable of saving Albion, illegitimate Viola can seize the life–and fortune–that should have been hers.

As Hugh and Viola race to find the perfume’s lost fairy ingredient, hidden deep in Albion’s dark underbelly, neither can deny the scorching attraction building between them–especially as the attempts on Viola’s life grow increasingly brazen.

But a terrible truth lurks in the heart notes of their kingdom–and while every bargain has a cost, Immortal Rose may demand more than Hugh and Viola can ever pay.

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Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Guardians of Dawn: Suhwa by S. Jae-Jones, which releases on August 18th 2026.

Shadows fade. Illusions break. The dawn returns.

Min Suhwa has always longed to see the greater world outside the small, cloistered convent in which she was raised. Hidden there for her safety when she was a small child, Suhwa has learned to keep her unusual illusion magic to herself, but when the Bangtan Brothers come to town to perform, she can’t resist the chance to go see them for herself. But the world outside her convent is dangerous—the Morning Realms have fallen to civil war, and Huntsmen prowl the land in search of magicians and the fabled Guardians of Dawn, legendary elemental warriors with incredible powers. When Suhwa’s illusion magic brings her afoul of one of the Huntsmen, she must flee for her life.

Meanwhile, the Guardians of Dawn and their allies are fighting a war on two fronts—against the northern insurrection seeking to claim the Sunburst Throne and destroy all magicians, and against the rising threat of the Mother of Ten Thousand Demons. Zhara, Ami, and Yuli must travel to the Azure Isles to seek the Guardian of Water and save the Morning Realms from annihilation, restoring balance to order and chaos once and for all.

EXCERPT

It had been two long years since the Bangtan Brothers were last in the Azure Isles and Min Suhwa would be damned if she missed their next performance.

Sneaking out of the convent was not an easy task on an ordinary day, but the days had ceased to be ordinary since the start of the civil war. The politics of the mainland did not often touch the everyday lives of the average Azurean, but ever since the Lady of Wild Things declared herself for the Sunburst Throne, not even Suhwa’s small, isolated convent of the Way could escape the war’s encroaching influence. Weekly deliveries of rice and other supplies from the surrounding villages came with news of northern troops occupying the major cities and ports of the Isles, as well as reports of the arrests of magicians by Kestrels in places as remote as Genbu Island. It was the first time the Azure Isles had ever been occupied by an outside force, and its people chafed at the imposition.

But nonetheless, the Bangtan Brothers were scheduled to be in Hwangyeong in ten days’ time, proof that the Azureans liked to laugh in the face of adversity. Word of the performance troupe’s incredible artistry had spread throughout the Morning Realms, to the point that even Suhwa, despite her sheltered existence, was entirely aware and eager to witness it for herself. She had been to Hwangyeong—only a few days’ journey away—once before and was perhaps even more excited to experience the sights and sounds of the bustling port city than she was to see the Brothers themselves. Folk fairs and festivals were fun enough, but Suhwa knew every face and voice in the village at the foot of the mountain, and was hungry for something new, something unfamiliar.

Besides, it would break up the dreadful monotony of convent life.

Duckoo whined as Suhwa rearranged her bedding for the fifth time, his fluffy white tail thumping the floor impatiently.

“Not now,” she said sternly, making sure the pile of dirty laundry beneath the blanket was roughly the same size and shape as her own form. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

The dog grumbled as he lay down, resting his head on his paws and looking up at her with big, imploring brown eyes. The convent was home to several strays, although there were more of the animal variety than human ones these days. Suhwa had been the last human orphan welcomed into these walls six years ago, and Duckoo was the youngest now. He had been babied by everyone since he first arrived as a small, shivering puppy three winters ago, and was now dreadfully spoiled. He whined again, louder this time.

“No. Go play with your brother instead.” Satisfied with the now human-shaped pile on her bed, Suhwa turned her focus inward, to the pool of magic she held at the center of her being, drawing it forth to lay a shimmering veil of illusion over the bundle.

Duckoo huffed.

Suhwa frowned as she tried to recall what she looked like. Vanity was not proscribed among the priestesses, but mirrors were expensive, and Suhwa had only the haziest grasp of her own image. Long, shining black hair with a streak of white by her face, fair skin, dark eyes, but the details were only half remembered from childhood. The pile of dirty clothes rippled beneath her hands as she concentrated, struggling to conceptualize herself from the wellspring of ki within her. The vague form of a sleeping girl emerged beneath the blanket, her features obscured by long black hair with a distinctive streak of white. Duckoo sniffed curiously at the bedding.

“Not bad,” Suhwa said, surveying her handiwork. It was harder placing a glamour on something other than herself, easier to mold her own ki than it was to shape another’s. Whether or not the illusion looked like her, it at least looked convincingly like a person.

Duckoo gave the pile another sniff before turning away in disinterest.

“What, you don’t agree?” Suhwa pouted. “Fine, Yongma will fix it.” She glanced around her tiny room, which was scarcely big enough for the pallet on the floor, let alone another dog. “Speaking of, where is your brother?”

As though summoned, another dog poked its head into her room from the outside corridor, black with white spots where Duckoo was white with black spots.

“Oh good, there you are.” Suhwa reached for Yongma and the black dog nosed her hand, closing his eyes as she stroked his ears. Around the convent, he and Duckoo were called the Jun and Yan dogs, ostensibly for their opposite coloring, which mirrored the bisected black-andwhite symbol of the order, but mostly for their contrasting personalities. Suhwa gestured to the sleeping girl. “Do your thing,” she said to the black dog.

Yongma looked at the bundle of robes, then back at her with an aggrieved expression in his blue eyes.

“Come on,” Suhwa wheedled. “Would you do it for a treat?”

Yongma took one glance at her empty hands and sniffed.

“Fine,” Suhwa huffed. “You’re getting chubby anyway.” She rose to her feet and picked up the large empty basket by the door. “I suppose it won’t do any good to ask either of you to stay behind to sell this deception tonight?”

Both dogs gave her an identical grin. “I thought so,” she muttered. “Ungrateful little ingrates. Just don’t ruin my plan.”

The plan was to pretend to get sick after dinner and sneak out during the evening’s free time. Life in the convent had its routines, but it also had its share of leisure hours. Once their assigned duties were completed, a priestess or acolyte of Do had the freedom to pursue whatever they wished—music, dance, painting, martial arts, history, gardening—provided they were always ready to perform at the rituals of birth and death required of their order in the surrounding villages. Although the days had been growing warmer, the nights were still chilly enough that most priestesses stayed inside after sundown leaving the main courtyard empty. Suhwa had been slowly but surely gathering her supplies to leave over the past week—a few handfuls of rice from the kitchens during cooking duty, a small pot and a spoon during washing-up duty, a heavy cloak and some blankets during laundry duty, and a knife and rope dart during martial arts practice. All was in readiness; it was only a matter of planting the seeds of illness during her chores and waiting until twilight now.

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Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Heavensent & Hellbent by Sara Jafari, which releases on August 11th 2026.

Roxana wants to relax for the rest of summer. Moving from England to Colorado was exhausting. Especiallywhen she’s been avoiding her dad, grieving her mom, and failing to conquer sleep paralysis. Life couldn’t possibly get any more complicated.

Then Roxy bumps into a beautiful and familiar boy. Zain. In her nightmares, they’re being burned together at the stake. And in the real world, she watches him kill a man, altering life as she knows it. She quickly learns that not only do jinn—demons—exist, but angels too.

Roxy can’t ignore the undeniable attraction she feels toward Zain, even as he triggers new nightmares for her. Ones that come with a warning: Their relationship could lead to their ruin. But isn’t love worth fighting both heaven and hell for?

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Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Eyes of Kings by Chloe Gong, which is out now.

War beckons in the kingdom of Talin. On one side sits Calla Tuoleimi and Anton Makusa, and on the other, the recently dethroned August Shenzhi and Calla’s own predecessor Sinoa Tuoleimi. Neither will rest until the opposition is buried.

Calla assumed victory would be easy. She wears the divine crown after a violent coup, wielding the most powerful weapon in the kingdom. Then the provinces start to whisper of the old gods returning to earth, and suddenly the game board is flipped upside-down.

Anton thought he aligned himself with victory. When he swore to serve as Calla’s general, he understood the battle they were waging. But he fears Calla is no longer herself with the crown. Rather, he fears that Calla is returning to who she once was.

August would sacrifice anything for victory. He has waited his entire life for the throne, and surrender is not an option. In the face of age-old immortals challenging his terrain and the possibility of betrayal from his closest and most cherished guard, he must be careful who he trusts.

Because when the war ends, there can only be one king.

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Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from (Mostly) Human Resources by Grace Viall, which releases on August 4th 2026.

Working in human resources was not what Alexys had in mind when she joined Entity, the private company that categorizes and manages the world’s cryptids. But after her dad was killed on the job as a Warden in the Appalachian Mountains, she was filled with noble ideas of carrying on his legacy . . . from the safety of a desk. Alexys dreams of climbing the corporate ladder while managing the Appalachian Wardens and sparring with Nic, the frustrating (and annoyingly attractive) Director of Research and Cataloging.

When one of Alexys’s new Wardens goes missing after inquiring about a mysterious and highly dangerous monster, her chances of promotion disappear along with him. Determined to save her career—and to shield the Warden’s family from the trauma she experienced after losing her father on the job—she marches off into the monster-infested wilderness to find him herself.

Meanwhile, Nic, with ambitions of becoming the youngest Entity employee to discover a new monster, follows Alexys on her hunt. But the work nemeses are about to discover why the Appalachian Mountains are the last place you want to find yourself after dark. Among mountains older than bones, the jackalopes and ghouls are the least of their worries . . .

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Intrigued? Well read on to discover the cover and synopsis from Death Witch Rising by K. M. Schumacher, which releases on January 26th 2027 and is now available for preorder.

Analise is a death witch, able to see and hear the dead. Death witches have been hunted to near extinction, so Analise keeps her head down, focused on her job in a morgue—until a ghost from one of the victims on her slab throws her life sideways.

Meanwhile, Ezra, once the city’s most celebrated witch hunter, now gets by as a prizefighter for a notorious gangster. When he’s asked to track down a death witch for the Church, he uncovers a secret society, the beginning of the end of days . . . and Analise.

In a city drowning in smog and secrets, death is never the end—it’s the beginning of a war for your soul. Analise and Ezra are thrown together to save the world’s souls, and there’s an undeniable heat between them. As the Devil begins calling in his debts, they’ll have to face the wounds of the past and find a way forward, together.

With the magic and mystery of V. E. Schwab’s A Darker Shade of Magic and the eerie Victorian vibes of Vivian Shaw’s Dr. Greta Helsing series, this spicy gaslamp enemies-to-lovers romantasy is poised to become your next obsession.

The post Exclusive Cover Reveal: Death Witch Rising by K. M. Schumacher appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Dragon Has Some Complaints by John Wiswell, which releases on July 14th 2026.

Garrodigh was once a four-headed dragon, among the most powerful in Kardoša. After an unfortunate incident, he now has three heads, one stump, and a daily whirlwind of internal bickering. Centerhead wants to rain death upon all humanity, Bottomhead is like a feral cat, and Upperhead is under the delicate delusion that he is, in fact, human.

When a nearby battle goes awry, Garrodigh sneaks into an elite dragon rider academy, pretending to be tame to get free food and a warm bed. Lucky for him, rider Rania Charvátová is desperate enough for a dragon of her own that she overlooks his eccentricities.

As Garrodigh recovers under Rania’s care, all three heads start to turn, for the first time, in the same direction. Each wants to protect her from the invaders who killed their fourth head—the same invaders who seek to conquer Kardoša. When the academy comes under attack, can this wild dragon and his wilder rider save their homeland together?

This cozy fantasy intertwines epic battles with loving friendships, sharing an utterly unique perspective on what it means to be a “monster.”

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Intrigued? We are delighted to be revealing all THREE covers from M. H. Foster’s The Gentle Apocalypse series! This previously self-published cozy fantasy series will publish in print for the first time through Grand Central Publishing with new bonus material and in audiobook format with Neil Hellegers narrating each audiobook!

With all three books releasing over the next several months, read on to discover the synopses, covers, and an excerpt from the first installment, The Demon Overlord’s Retirement Plan by M. H. Foster and be sure to preorder your copy today!

The Demon Overlord’s Retirement Plan by M. H. Foster (25 August 2026)

When destroying the world and killing the hero grows boring, what’s a Demon Overlord to do but quit while he’s ahead?

Galornus Prime was the Scourge of Nations, Ender of Hope, and Master of the Cardinal Sins. He had done everything worth doing. Some of it more than once.

His retirement plan was simple: get a goat, farm quietly, and avoid accidentally conquering anything. The plan didn’t include soul-crushing town halls, after-school combat lessons with children, and a war with perhaps his most worthy nemesis yet: the rose-growing, seventy-three year-old widow next door. 

Even in retirement, evil never sleeps…but it does plant turnips.

When corrupt officials and greedy merchants threaten his infuriatingly loveable neighbors, Galornus faces a new kind of challenge: saving the village without revealing he is the monster parents invoke to make children eat their vegetables.

The Demon Overlord’s Retirement Plan is a cozy fantasy with teeth, where the hardest battle isn’t defeating heroes—it’s staying retired and learning how to live after 444 lifetimes of villainy.

Love, Politics, and Other Acts of War by M. H. Foster (10 October 2026)

An annoying long-lost “cousin,” war, and the prospect of love all threaten the Demon Overlord’s tranquil retirement in the edgy, funny follow-up to The Demon Overlord’s Retirement Plan. Includes an exclusive bonus adventure!

There’s no rest for the wicked, especially when they have family next door.

After centuries of conquering kingdoms and terrifying the cosmos, the Demon Overlord just wants to retire in peace. Unfortunately, peace is hard to find in Lower Middleton, a quiet village full of gossip, feuds, and one dangerously charming succubus—who also happens to be his “cousin.”

Now Willem Porter (definitely not Galornus Prime, Destroyer of Worlds) must navigate enchanted pickles, noble politics, and the delicate art of staying out of trouble, all while pretending he’s just a humble turnip farmer.

A cozy, laugh-out-loud fantasy of infernal bureaucracy, reluctant heroism, and small-town chaos.

Band of Others by M. H. Foster (29 December 2026)

The stakes are higher than ever as the Demon Overlord must once again confront forces that threaten to trample his town and his vegetables in the third installment of this witty, sharp cozy fantasy series. Includes an exclusive bonus adventure!

The Demon Overlord retired. The problem is… not everyone else did.

Galornus Prime, former Demon Overlord and current enthusiast of comfortable seating and tasteful interior décor, has finally achieved the quiet life he always wanted.

No wars. No heroes. No destiny.

Just a small town, a modest farm, and the occasional threat to his pickles. It was working. Then Lucas found him.

Retirement, it turns out, is not a state others recognize.

Some loyalties do not end.
Some problems do not stay solved.
And some things, once set in motion, refuse to stop.

EXCERPT from The Demon Overlord’s Retirement Plan

Magic is bound to one’s core sense of self and purpose. I’d learned that during my thirty-seventh death (or was it the seventy-third?), the one with where a particularly powerful and idealistic hero had tried to redeem me with theology and faith. He’d pursued me across the continent with idealism. It was the first time (but not the last) a hero had chased me with a scroll rather than a sword. Those wars usually ended with my sanity as the major casualty. My conclusion that time was that the human definition of divinity and demonic, of Good and Evil, was a fundamentally flawed construct.

It really didn’t matter what type of magic you wielded. What mattered was your intent.

That’s how I’d finally managed to wield both Demonic energies and Divine power simultaneously. My goal was to create by destroying. I was going to preserve the lives of untold billions by annihilating the role of the Demon Overlord forever. Whether or not this would work remained to be seen, but my purpose aligned with both divine preservation and demonic transformation, and I believed it with every fiber of my being.

Which was why I was currently walking along a dusty road like a common biped, developing what I could only describe as ouches on my feet.

Could I have used my power to teleport? Certainly. Could I have sprouted wings and flown? Without question. Could I have summoned a chariot pulled by hellhounds wreathed in flames? Yes. I’d done it thousands of times before. And stylishly.

But all magic is bound to one’s core sense of self and purpose. I was powerful because I never lied, not even to myself. Because when I committed to something, I committed.

I had committed to being Willem the porter. Willem walked. Therefore, I walked.

Simple. Logical. Agonizing.

My journey to Lower Middleton—yes, Lower Middleton, the armpit of the back end of nowhere—stretched three hundred and fifty miles. An eternity by foot. By my fourth hour of walking, I’d begun to understand why humans had invented so many words for suffering. My human form was still tender from my transformation, and it was making its complaints known.

“Ow,” I said aloud, testing the word as my left boot found another sharp rock. It felt insufficient. “Ow ow ow ow ow.”

Better, but still lacking nuance. Perhaps I should invent new pain descriptors. Flizzark for the sharp shock of stepping on stones. Grumph for the dull ache spreading through my calves. Whispendale for whatever was happening to my lower back.

A merchant’s cart rumbled past, the driver giving me the universal nod of acknowledgment between travelers. I nodded back, then had to consciously stop myself from incinerating him when road dust billowed into my face.

Willem’s muscle memory wanted to wave. My muscle memory wanted to eviscerate. We compromised on a violent sneeze.

“Bless you!” the merchant called back cheerfully.

Bless me? Bless me?! I was a Demon Overlord. The Demon Overlord.

Former Demon Overlord, I corrected myself. I could bless myself, thank you very much. Although technically, given my current divine-demonic hybrid nature, any blessing I gave myself might create a theological paradox that could—

No. Stop. Willem wouldn’t think about theological paradoxes. Willem would think about… What did aspiring farmers think about? Turnips?

I spotted the shadow of a succubus flying overhead. Rajani. She was definitely looking for me. Not all my former followers would believe that I was really dead. Being the Archbishop of Deception had its downsides. Every act I took could be interpreted as a devious plan of some sort.

I ducked into the trees to hide from her. Eviscerating the merchant was not worth discovery. I needed to be careful in retirement. One slip and either the Divine Order or the Armies of Hell would discover I was still alive.

Blending in would be critical. I couldn’t just be retired. I needed to think more…mortal…common. Hide blatantly in plain sight.

I tried imagining turnips as I walked. Root vegetables. Purple-white. Grew in dirt. Could be mashed, roasted, or fermented into surprisingly potent alcohol. I knew everything about alcohol. It was one of the few commonalities shared by the forces of Good and Evil.

If Rajani happened to look down at my pitiful human form and scan my surface thoughts, she would get a mind-full of turnips and dismiss me as irrelevant. I doubted she could conceive of Galornus Prime as a human turnip farmer in her wildest nightmare.

My feet hurt. This was novel. In my demonic form, I’d once tap-danced on molten lava for three days straight to mock a particularly pompous fire elemental. Now, simple leather boots on a dirt road produced sensations I could only describe as aggressive discomfort.

The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly. Sweat—actual mortal sweat—trickled down my back. In past lives I’d bathed in solar flares. Now, ordinary sunlight was making me feel like a slowly roasting turnip.

I’d retained my power, of course. My body had been reinforced to demonic standards. I could shatter mountains with a sneeze, part seas with a whistle, or rewrite local reality if I felt particularly motivated. But I’d deliberately kept human sensory input and basic anatomical responses.

If I wanted to blend in, I needed to react like them. The last thing I wanted was some busybody priest noticing that I didn’t blink, sweat, or use the bushes for necessary biological functions.

Those damned priests of the Divine Order. They’d been thorns in my side for centuries, meticulously recording every detail about my incarnations. No matter how thoroughly I’d tried to stomp them out during my periods of dominion, they always managed to preserve crucial information.

The worst incident was during my two hundred and third incarnation, when they’d encoded my allergy to blessed silver into a drinking song. Within a generation, every tavern from here to the Ice Wastes was bellowing:

When the Demon Lord comes knocking,

Don’t let him in!

Throw silver spoons and forks at him,

He’ll howl and hop and hiss and spin—

That’s how the holy wars begin!

So polish your grandmother’s candlesticks,

And keep your silver close at hand,

For the Demon Lord hates table tricks

More than any divine command!

Idiotic doggerel, but effective. By my two hundred and fourth resurrection, every peasant hovel had strategic silver cutlery placed by the doors. Silver was harmful to lower-level demons.

To me it was more like a minor allergy. Gave me a runny nose as I butchered, executed or otherwise dismembered my enemies.

My ruminations were interrupted by another cart passing, this one loaded with cabbages. The smell hit me like a physical force. When had I become able to differentiate between fresh cabbage and slightly wilted cabbage? This level of olfactory detail was both fascinating and mildly disturbing.

“Evening, traveler!” the cabbage merchant called. “Need a ride? You look about done in!”

I was about to respond with something cutting about his presumption when I realized he was right. I was done in. My legs shook. My back screamed. My feet had developed what I believed humans called hot spots, the precursors to blisters.

Blisters. Me. The being who’d once arm-wrestled the concept of Entropy itself to a draw.

“Thank you,” I heard myself croak, “but I’ll manage.”

Foolish pride. But I’d committed to walking, and my word was my power. Even if it killed me. Again.

By sunset, I’d covered perhaps twenty miles. Twenty miles that felt like twenty thousand. Each step had become a philosophical exercise in suffering. Not the grand agony of divine judgment or the exquisite torment of hellfire, just the small, persistent misery of a body pushed beyond its comfortable limits.

I, who was born as the Apex of All Existence, whose destiny had been nothing less than surpassing divinity itself, found myself genuinely struggling to move one foot in front of the other.

When the roadside inn finally appeared through the gathering dusk, I nearly wept. The sign read “The Pickled Herring,” a name that promised absolutely nothing good about the quality of food or lodging, but I didn’t care. It had walls. A roof. A bed.

I pushed through the door with all the grace of a demon lord who’d been walking for twelve hours straight, which is to say, none at all. I may have stumbled. There might have been whimpering.

The common room did not go silent when I entered. At least, not the awed silence that usually greeted my entrances, complete with dramatic lightning and ominous chanting in dead languages. Just the brief pause of regulars evaluating whether the newcomer was going to be entertaining, problematic, or ignorable.

Dusty. Exhausted. Carrying a porter’s pack. They categorized me as ignorable and returned to their conversations.

Perfect.

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Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from A Treason of Magic by Melissa Marr, which releases on June 23rd 2026.

Two young women. Heirs to altogether different hereditary burdens. Yet bound by a monstrous threat to their village.

Gabrielle is the first woman in Alveus to carry the mantle of Hunter, which comes with an obligation to kill the faery beasts murdering travelers in Brimmond Wood. Wary of the power she wields as guardian of her people, Gabrielle is summoned by her first love, a seductress who shattered her heart into pieces a decade ago.

Isabeau is the rarest of nobility―a lady duke. She is also afflicted by a curse that leaves her in a deep sleep between the gloaming and daylight. How can she begin her tenure as protector when she can’t keep her village safe from whatever stalks its darkest hours? For that, she needs the help of the Hunter.

Against her will, Gabrielle is falling in love all over again. But what new threats will arise when Gabrielle and Isabeau’s star-crossed destinies collide with the beast of Brimmond Wood?

EXCERPT

Her raven-wing-dark hair is cut short enough that the unruly curls threaten to rebel; one seems to be wrapping around the curve of her ear, not unlike the feathers of the raven that comes to mind every time I see her.

Her beauty is the only excuse I have for sounding so cutting as I say, “No, Isabeau, most people find your future title and your proximity to the queen charming.” I pull off my sodden-wet hat. My two thick braids drop like serpents, heavy and twisting down my back. “I am not impressed by either title or lineage, unlike most of your paramours.”

At first, I fear she’s changed too much as she simply stares at me. Then the quick temper I remember fills her charcoal-dark eyes, and she drawls, “Most of my paramours?”

I swallow several replies. I was not intending to imply that I was still in their number, and according to court gossip, her sheets are never cold. Once, I thought she was mine. Now, I have been replaced by countless lovers.

Isabeau’s eyes are fixed on me as she lowers her voice and asks, “So you agree to be my paramour again, then? I would certainly be willing to resume kissing you.”

“That is your reply to me?” I force a scoffing noise to hide the laugh that threatens to escape. Verbally sparring with her does good things for my mood.

I bet exchanging sword strikes would be better, temptation whispers.

Isabeau steps closer than I am prepared to accept, and I stumble away hastily, awkwardly, embarrassingly all but falling until she grips my wrists to steady me.

In a low voice she demands, “Is that blood?”

“Probably.” I look down, hoping upon hope that it’s not faery blood. I could swear there was none. The dead man was mostly drained of his own blood. There was a little, though, in the pool on the ground.

I spot the wet mark; thankfully it’s human blood.

I hike up my skirt’s hem and pull out a dagger. Without a word, I sever the fabric above the blood. Trying to not seem as incredibly bizarre as I’m sure I must, I scour it with my eyes, trying to assure that no faery blood is there.

Contaminants!

I fumble around in a pocket for salt, fill my hand with it, and turn my back to her as if I’m embarrassed. Quickly, I toss salt on the marble floor, but not so quickly that she doesn’t notice.

“Did you salt my floor?”

“Never too careful,” I say, as if that answer is anywhere near truth.

She looks at me again, but this time her gaze rakes over me as if I’m vulnerable and precious to her. “Are you injured?”

“No,” I whisper. I forgot how much I liked her protective side, perhaps because it was coupled with a possessive streak that was sometimes less alluring.

“Not your blood?” she presses.

“Not mine.” Carefully, I fold the blood into the fabric and transfer it to the hand still coated with coarse salt. “Would you escort me to a fireplace?”

Isabeau offers her arm to me as if we are at a ball or something, as if I am not dressed in attire that will be sentenced to a fire when I return home, as if she did not shatter my heart into pieces a decade ago. A lump that might be my heart chokes me, and I sound like a weathered old woman as I manage to scratch out, “I’d rather not ruin your hem if there are other . . . fluids on my dress.”

Isabeau removes her houppelande, tosses the extravagant garment onto a table, and again offers her arm. I try not to stare at the shape of her revealed without the massive houppelande. I fail instantly. Debauched and drunk are the rumors I hear, but what I see is strength and beauty. If she were intoxicated as often as society swears, her face would not be so bright and beautiful. Alcohol poisons health, and Isabeau looks healthy.

The pause has stretched too long. Seeing no other option, I rest my hand on her elbow, tentatively, as if she might sear me.

From A TREASON OF MAGIC by Melissa Marr, Text copyright © 2026 by Melissa Marr, Published by 47 North

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Every promise has its price…

Annethe Tavery fell in love with a god. Now, he hunts her in a twisted game of cat and mouse. If she so much as thinks of him, her past, or even her real name, it will call him like a beacon to her. So she runs—straight to a port town, where a failed pickpocketing attempt leaves her with a nasty curse. 

There’s only one way to free herself: do the bidding of the nobleman she tried to rob. Annethe soon finds herself embroiled in a murder plot amongst the dangerous world of godbound—nobles whose pacts with gods have twisted them in horrifying ways. If Annethe doesn’t complete the nobleman’s task, the curse will rot her from the inside out. But the longer she stays, the more chance there is that her god will find her—and he isn’t the only one looking. 

Before him, before all the death and pain and running, there was a woman Annethe loved—and who her god killed. Now, the scraps of Calika Korska’s body are held together by her own pact with an unstable god. And both of them are broken, angry, and hell-bent on revenge.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rowan Skye is a debut adult fantasy author who was born and raised in the chilly part of California. She graduated from the University of California, Berkeley with an English degree, a love for the middle ages, and too many bear-themed sweatshirts. Since then, she’s balanced a corporate job during the day and writing the rest of the time She loves unreliable narrators, complex romance, and heroines who create their own problems. When she’s not writing, she’s playing with her cats or relaxing in the desert.

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