Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Witch Daughter by Tanaz Bhathena, which releases on September 22nd 2026.

Rumors of witchcraft follow Princess Tahmineh like a storm cloud, making it impossible for her to secure herself a marriage or any kind of future. With her father, the king’s, health in question, it becomes shockingly clear how desperate her situation will soon become in his absence. If she doesn’t act now, she will quickly find herself destitute and desperate.

Tahmineh seeks out a prophecy, from which she learns she will fall in love with a warrior of great renown named Rostam and bear him a son. However, she is warned this match is a dangerous one for her. Heedless of the warnings, Tahmineh boldly orchestrates a meeting with Rostam and the two develop a close friendship and ultimately fall in love and marry. At the peak of her joy, Tahmineh gives birth to Sohrab, Rostam’s son.

All too soon, Tahmineh learns the tragic second part of the prophecy. Father and son will meet as enemies in battle and one will die at the hand of the other. What follows is a mother’s desperate attempt to undo the threads of fate and try to protect her son at all costs.

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

“Do you like your hair, Your Highness?”

The maid who’d asked the question was a slip of a girl, her body still in that awkward adolescent stage of transitioning from angles to curves, her limbs trembling with uncertainty.

I examined my reflection in the bronze mirror she held up, taking in the loose black curls artfully framing my face, the thick braid woven all the way to my hips. Delicate brass butterflies had been pinned across the length of my hair at regular intervals, metal wings fiery in the lamplight.

“Why, Binaifer.” I raised a hand to my chest in mock astonishment. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight. You’ve made me look beautiful.”

This was not a real surprise. For all her nervous energy, Binaifer was the cleverest among the palace maids when it came to arranging hair, knowing exactly what styles suited my angular face. Garbed in my favorite green silk dress, the corset embroidered with red roses and the sleeves embellished with pearls, tonight I looked more like a forest spirit than the witch I was reputed to be.

“You are beautiful, Your Highness!” Binaifer’s round face beamed.

“Everyone says so!”

“Really? I thought they were calling me an old hag by now.”

Binaifer instantly began protesting this statement, brown eyes widening with alarm.

“Oh, don’t fret,” I said, gently squeezing her shoulder. “I am not fishing for more compliments.”

Certainly, by now, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, I no longer held illusions about who I was nor how I appeared to my father’s court. King Arshak’s only daughter: the princess no man wanted to marry. The princess many called demon- born behind her back.

Under my touch, Binaifer slowly began to relax. She would be easier to soothe if asleep. Then I could slip past the barrier between wakefulness and slumber and walk into her dreams, unseen, assuring her that she was safe with me.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Binaifer’s smile held the slightest hint of a tremor. “I know you are not like the other ladies of the palace. If not for you, I would not be here today.”

“You must not say such things,” I chided gently. “You are loyal and good. Any lady would be lucky to have you attending her.”

Yet there was truth to Binaifer’s words. I had seen the way ladies at court treated their maids— their withering rebukes, their backhanded slaps for the smallest mistakes. Once, years ago, when I’d tried to defend a maid from being unfairly reprimanded by a courtier’s wife, the maid herself had turned me away. “No need for you to step in, Shahdoxt,” she’d said, her voice polite but firm. “My mistress is right. I should have known better.”

The maid did not say it aloud, but I understood what she meant:

She did not wish to be saved by a witch.

With Binaifer, however, things were different. I’d first encountered her over a year ago outside the queen’s quarters: a small, scrawny thing being beaten within an inch of her life by my stepmother’s favorite lady- in- waiting, Banu Azad. Bruises bloomed across the young girl’s face and blood had begun to seep from her nostrils. I did not have to think twice. I stepped into the dimly lit corridor and shoved Banu Azad aside.

“Leave this girl alone,” I told the woman, my voice cold. “If you don’t, I will find out. And there will be consequences.”

What those consequences would be, I did not say. I did not need to. Banu Azad had erupted in outraged squeaks of protest, fear mingling with the hatred in her beady eyes. That day, I did not mind the rumors that constantly swirled around me— including the mistaken belief among the palace women that I could transform them into lizards or burn them to ash with the force of my gaze.

Leaving the queen’s lady to sputter unintelligibly, I had turned to a stunned Binaifer. “From now on, you work only for me, understand?” I had said. “I will speak to the king about it.” Neither Banu Azad nor my stepmother would dare kick up a fuss once I had Father’s approval— especially not over an ordinary maid.

“Y- yes. Yes, Your Highness!” the girl had sputtered in response.

No one dared touch Binaifer now. Not while she was under my protection.

Of course, my protection worked only because no one at court really knew what my powers were, their imaginations always conjuring worse things than what my own magic would ever be capable of.

Our world was divided into three realms: the celestial realm ruled by the yazata or angel, the human realm where we lived, and the underworld where the daeva or demons reigned. There were times, of course, when the inhabitants of these realms crossed paths. Most times in war, but a few times in love as well, the way my father and mother had. A human king and a pairika— an immortal witch from the underworld— their love resulting in the birth of a child who could cross over into the realm of human dreams.

My parents’ marriage did not last, my mother leaving the palace shortly after I was born for reasons no one really knew, my father remarrying a few years later. My stepmother hated me on sight, repeatedly trying to send me away. Father, however, protected me, brushing aside her protests about bad omens and my “vile daeva blood.” “I do not abandon my children,” he’d said sternly.

King Arshak was a man of his word and he’d remained steadfast as the years passed, even as the whispers about me grew at court. Even as princes, knights, and noblemen refused my hand in marriage, unwilling to have a witch’s daughter for a wife.

But my father was growing old now. There was no saying how long his protection would last.

“You look perfect for the feast.” Binaifer’s voice distracted me from my thoughts. A wide smile revealed the gap between her front teeth. The sight jarred me for a moment, reminding me of another young face. Another smile.

Noshir.

My ribs tightened. No. I could not grieve my little brother’s death tonight. Tonight, I would need all my wits about me— as was usually the case with family celebrations. I rose to my feet and clipped a small dagger onto my leather belt, its gold sheath pebbled like the feathers of a bird. Father had gifted the dagger to me when I’d come of age at fifteen, and it never failed to comfort me during these gatherings— a reminder that I always had the king’s protection. That I could use it to protect myself, if needed.

Pinching color into my cheeks, I determinedly stepped outside. The corridors were bustling with servants, most of whom ignored my presence. But Binaifer’s ministrations seemed to have an impact, for a few of the queen’s maids stopped to stare as I approached and bowed. I smiled, hoping my nerves did not show.

At least tonight’s feast would not be in the palace’s stuffy banquet hall. It was the eve of Nowruz, the spring festival that marked the end of winter. Several bonfires had been set up in the lawn outside, along with a long wooden pavilion, its pillars festooned with red ribbons and garlands of roses and the gold and ochre saman wildflowers that bloomed fragrant across our pastures, giving our kingdom its name.

Tonight, people would sing songs, make wishes, and pray to Ahura Mazda, hoping to leave behind their illnesses and misfortunes in the previous year. Already, minstrels had begun playing a lively tune on flutes, while a group of children took turns leaping over one of the smaller bonfires.

“Let your redness be mine!” the children chanted. “And my paleness be yours!”

I paused to watch. I, too, had been like these children once. Had joyfully chanted these phrases while leaping over the fire, imagining that my arms were wings. This was in the years before Father had married my stepmother. The years when the court saw me as only the king’s daughter— or so I thought at the time.

As I stood there, a small boy raced past and nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Careful!” I cried out, righting him with a hand. My smile faded when I saw the downward curve of his rosy lips, the stark terror in those big brown eyes as they locked on mine.

“P- please!” he cried out. “Please don’t hurt me!”

The words of reassurance caught in my throat. I stepped back, watching him run back to his friends, who were shooting me horrified glances. Demon, they mouthed to each other. Witch.

Had the boy simply run away instead of saying anything, I might have been able to retreat to the palace and lock myself in my room.

But now I had drawn the attention of the adults as well.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Witch Daughter’ by Tanaz Bhathena appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed by S. B. West, which is out now.

Morfran the Beheader is done being the Dark Lord of the kingdom of Ruthven. He’s tired of managing minions, and his wife, Queen Ravana, has officially exceeded his personal comfort level of evil. Yet when he books it for the hills with the hopes to live out his days disguised as a goat farmer, his aspirations are tragically cut short when Morfran’s former soldiers catch up with plans to behead him.

Morfran’s only chance at safety is to seek refuge within a tiny forest dwelling where no one recognizes him. But he quickly learns the village is the base for a brewing rebellion against his rule. And after he reluctantly saves said village from an attack, he’s voted the one to lead the charge. Against himself.

Morfran helps the rebels while planning to desert them at the soonest moment. But as he fights by their side, he discovers that they’re actually quite pleasant—especially the lovely assassin who has been out for his blood for a decade. Too bad Ravana has sent Morfran’s best men to nip the revolt in the bud, and too bad his unlikely allies would burn him alive if they learned he’s no hero, but actually their Dark Lord in disguise. Because even Morfran knows that only a hero would stand up to Ravana and fight for friends, and he’s certainly no hero.

Right?

EXCERPT

Dear Diary,

It is day two-hundred and forty-eight, and I am still not dead. Progress on the lute has been going melodiously well, and Benjamin has finally given birth to two kids. Their adorable bleats woke me up first thing this morning, and I can already tell it’s going to be a splendid day

A noise that sounded like a cat throwing up arose from the yard.

Morfran the Beheader lowered his quill, glanced out at the soft morning sunlight warming the yard of his property, and listened. From the barn, which he’d painted a quaint, pastoral red with the blood of highwaymen who thought him an easy target when he first moved in, he could hear it: the delicate bleeaat of Benjamin’s kids.

It wasn’t a sound he was used to. No, he was used to dying wails on some battlefield and piteous pleads of de-legged men who’d suctioned themselves to his boots as he tried to walk past, and their grunted oofs as he promptly kicked them off. But this—this little noise that was barely a noise as the wispy-furred kids curled up beside their mother’s belly—this was welcome music to his ears.

Content that they were well, he picked up a wedge of rye toast he’d topped off with his delightful raspberry jam recipe and savored the warm, sweet moment.

It’d been two weeks since he’d last seen another human face, and it was glorious. There was no ugly mug coming to tell him that the expected shipment of pikes and halberds was somehow lost in transit near the southeast coast. There’d be no one coming to tell him soldiers were complaining about having to march through the Marshes of Ret and getting soggy socks (though this was a mostly reasonable complaint). There was no one coming to tell him about an argument between his two best generals that “involved jealous feelings and a wench and a shiv and oh, we need to appoint two new generals because the argument is now over and neither of them survived the stab-happy wench.”

Here he could just be. The weather in the southlands was relatively mild, the winters wet and weak, and even during the chilliest of days there was the promise of sun. It provided bounteous opportunity for him to work on his tan, which he’d already indulged in, foil reflector and oils and all.

His farm was perfect as well; a steal of a bargain, it was. It only cost him the lives of the three others vying for the property, and afterwards he buried his sword (again) behind the barn and wiped his hands clean from their blood in the stream at the far end of the yard.

It was in that moment, as he watched the cold water wash the red from his hands, that he officially announced it to Benjamin.

“That’ll be the last of it.” He affirmed as the she-goat gnawed thistle weed by the bank. “For real this time. No more beheadings. It is unseemly and I recognize it can be upsetting for some people.” Then, as an afterthought: “And if I am to be just a goat farmer, such things might be an uncommon hobby and raise suspicions.” He paused, shuffled in spot, and amended. “I should probably stop killing people.”

After that he felt like a new man. He burnt his cloak and blood-stained gloves in the kitchen hearth that night, and the next day at market bought a set of peasant clothes complete with his own set of ugly peasant hose. Then he ditched the scissors and grew his hair out and even kept a trimmed beard, which he’d never had permission to do before, because Ravana despised facial hair. “It’s like kissing the rear end of a sweaty ox,” she’d complain. (How she knew such a thing, Morfran had always been too afraid to ask).

He had to look the part of a goat farmer: property, goats, and appearance. And when he gazed in the stream one morning after the makeover to study the man peering back at him—a lean, dark-haired rustic with green eyes—he hardly recognized himself.

Good. It meant his men wouldn’t either. As for Ravana…she’d recognize him. She had that uncanny ability of stripping down the truth within moments. She’d recognize him for sure. He’d just have to stay out of her sights, if she ever did leave Castle Atrago clear in the northlands.

He finished the last of his raspberry toast and went to check on Benjamin, whose delicate head lay in her bed of straw, her tongue hanging limply out of her agape mouth like a fat pink worm plucked fresh from the garden.

Poor thing is exhausted, he thought with affection, kneeling before her and her two kids who’d fallen asleep while nursing. They’d be the first in a pedigreed lineage of goats he intended to establish here. In just a few years from now, roaming the green valley of his farm, there’d be hundreds of goats, an army of goats, and sheltered among them he’d build an empire on the finest damn raspberry jam the southlands had ever seen.

He’d already envisioned it. His jam would win first-place blue ribbon in the county fair, and it would continue to win for eleven years strong until a rival jam maker—he imagined it to be a stout woman with massive jowls whose fifteen-year-long title he usurped—would come back with a vengeance. She’d set his farm on fire and steal Benjamin’s kid (kids, he corrected, he hadn’t been expecting two) and everyone would be gutted when he became too distraught to make his jam. Then he’d find his second wind and go on a rampage searching for Benjamin’s kids and find them stashed away in an old butchery the woman sold them to. After rescuing them in the nick of time, he’d then unearth his buried sword and go find that jowly woman to deliver quick judgement. And as he’d raise his sword above her bedside where she slept he’d maybe shed a tear or two about how desperation had driven him back to a life he tried so hard to leave, but this was Benjamin’s kids, and he promised to protect them, and—

“Are you Bernard?”

The voice tore him out of his daydream so unexpectedly he leapt to his feet, growling and slashing out with an imaginary sword at the barn’s entrance where a man stood.

The man didn’t flinch. Instead his eyes rolled up towards the hayloft, and he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “drawing the short straw.” In his hands was a letter.

Morfran narrowed his eyes at him. “Did you stay off my lawn?”

“Yes.” The courier glowered. “It was hard to not notice the thirteen signs you posted that read ‘stay off my lawn.’”

Morfran nodded briskly, still distrustful. “Good.” He thrust his hand out towards the courier. “Now give it to me.” Peasant, he wanted to add, but he did have a disguise to maintain, so he kept his tongue begrudgingly still.

The courier stretched out his hand as if he were reaching towards a particularly slimy slug. Morfran raised his eyebrow and snatched it, glancing over the envelope. It was off-white, made of fine parchment, and when he turned it over, he saw something that raised the hairs on the back of his neck: a wine-red wax seal of a magpie eating a marigold.

“Get out.” He muttered, eyes fastened and unblinking on the seal. “I said get out! And don’t walk on my lawn!”

No reply. He looked up. The man was already gone.

He pressed his lips together, looking down at Benjamin. She’d woken from his outburst, blinking sleepy, incurious eyes at him. You doing all right there, Morfran?

I don’t know yet, Beni.

He slid his fingers into the envelope’s slit, breaking the seal. It could be a coincidence. It could be someone other than her, someone who used the same seal. Marigolds and magpies were common enough emblems. Originality was dead, anyways, wasn’t that the saying?

Then he saw the lone words, written in scrawled, feminine handwriting, and all hopeful doubts vanished away.

Found you.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed’ by S. B. West appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Etched In Ink by Corinne Price, which releases on

Everything Sybil Wyntres believed is a lie. The rune etched into her body, the magic she can’t control, even the order she once trusted. None of it is what it seems. Forced back into the Bastion she barely escaped, Sybil is sent across the fractured lands of Crae Vost with an ancient enchanter whose motives are as obscured as the truth she seeks. As whispers of the Void spread and their horrors grow less containable, Sybil begins to uncover a terrifying possibility: the enemy may not be what she was taught to fear.

Far beneath the world above, Raekin has lost everything. Dragged back into the Alpstraum by the noose he thought he had loosened, he is once again bound to the wire that broke him. All because he chose her. Now, marked by failure and forced into obedience, Raekin is sent to hunt the one person who may be able to unleash the nightmare of the Void onto the continent.

As their paths pull them toward the same unraveling mystery, Sybil and Raekin race against each other and the forces that control them to uncover the truth behind the tome that tore them apart. But Etched in Ink is a world built on control and cruelty: knowledge is dangerous. And choosing the wrong side may cost them not just their lives, but the lives of those living on the surface.

EXCERPT

Everything hurt. The slightest twinge in his muscles, in his skin, and he felt his stomach twist, seizing against sharp pains. They had carved him all over again. He’d felt every blade, every flame, every claw. He wouldn’t know how ruinous the damage was until he got out of the Alpstraum.

If.

            The pulse through his veins throbbed in tandem with his bound wrists. Wrapped behind the post, the wire tight, still singing with the acrid tang of the magic wrought into the iron. The scars the wire had bitten into his skin so many years ago no doubt re-opened and raw. The smell of blood was more overpowering than the decay. It surrounded him like a thick miasma, invading every sense of his body.

Taunting him.

Because it was right there. Encompassing everything around him, covering him. And he couldn’t grab it. He could use it to break the wire. Could use it to tear apart the post. With it and the earth below him, he could crumble this cave down on his body, snuff out the breath from his lungs, and leave the pain behind. An easy out that had always lingered in the background, but one he chose to ignore, focusing instead on making those that hurt him pay.

If only he could get the barest grasp of his magic. Not with the runes engraved on the walls, not with the wire tight against his wrists, cutting all ties to his magic like a severed limb.

When the Void came to him, weapons and claws sharp and ready to cleave through his flesh, Raekin almost felt relief. A break in the monotony that endless isolation had created, his own mind trying to turn against him. Delusion and reality becoming one and the same.

Those whispered taunts and shadowed demons no longer fed on Raekin, their reach fading with time. No longer keeping him in a constant state of terror. They couldn’t remind him of the bloodshed derived from his own hands, nor needling him with the mistakes he had made. Because he already knew. Even their threats of became redundant and expected, falling on him like the drips of water from the ceiling. The nightmares tried so hard to haunt him, but everything in him felt too numb to raise a voice in return.

When all you have for company is the never-ending darkness, eventually the nothingness fades and nightmares start to parade through the empty chasm you are left with.

Regardless of his detachment, his body still shook. Still trembled under the waterlogged wrap around his eyes. The cold. The pain. The waiting. It built up over time. A separate voice that now screamed into the void, one that sounded terrifyingly like his own, but did not come from his throat.

The hard, cracked ground beneath him curved from years of Etched scrambling away from their tormentors. Remnants from the last visitor to his darkened cell amalgamating into a fetid puddle within the crevasse. The memory of it soaked into his brain much the same as the water slowly rotting his skin. A heavy, woolen rag had been draped over his face, head yanked back with such a force his neck cracked, water poured over the fabric while he choked. Drowning, but unable to die. Over and over and over and over—

            Stop. Please stop.

He shifted his body. He had to. The movement of his pain from one extremity to the next was the only thing to signify that time was still passing. There was no world to him anymore, just the darkness of the fabric around his eyes. He knew there were torches that surrounded him, just out of reach. He saw them when the fabric was torn from his face, the light burning his eyes when Naz’Tak returned to goad, or gloat. He never asked questions. His underlings did that when they—

Drowning drowning drowning drowning drowning

            —brought their bulky reptilian hide down this far. Always about Kreb. Always about her whereabouts. He stayed strong. He lied. Said he didn’t know. Didn’t know what had happened. Though his underlings were moronic, Naz’Tak certainly wasn’t. He’d seen what had happened. Seen the way Raekin had looked at Sybil. Raekin tried to shield her with his fury, mask it all behind a veil of anger and vengeance. But it hadn’t been enough. Naz’Tak had seen through it like a shoddy curtain.

Naz’Tak wouldn’t let that go so easily. But through all the torment, all the torture, Raekin was strong, defiant. Letting it wash over him as he held his tongue.

Until they cut it.

This excerpt is from Corinne Price’s new book “Etched In Ink.” Reprinted with permission from Corinne Price

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Intrigued? Well we are delighted to be sharing an excerpt from The Wretched Divine by Adalyn Grace, which releases on September 22nd 2026 and is available for preorder through Hachette UK. For further purchase links, including for other countries, exclusive editions, and more, please visit Adalyn’s website here.

Now, read on to discover the synopsis and the excerpt!

Aurelie Chantelune was born to serve. Raised as a knight in a kingdom ravaged by demons, she’s spent her life honing her blade, driven by the memory of the monsters who tore her family apart and by the knowledge that she’s one of the few who can stop them.

If Aurelie can claim her first kill, she’ll inherit a legacy passed down through the Chantelune bloodline: a soulbond with Yuriel, an angel whose power is vital to her kingdom’s survival. But when those she loves begin turning into the very monsters she’s sworn to destroy, Aurelie is forced to seek help from the last place she ever imagined. Desperate, she forges a second and far more dangerous bond with Severin, a demon she can hardly trust, but who claims to know how to end the war for good.

With their lives and fates entwined, Aurelie, Yuriel, and Severin must team up to hunt down a cure capable of turning demons back into humans. But the more they learn about one another and the deeper their relationships grow, the more Aurelie begins to question the war and her place in it. With both of her bonded on opposing sides, she’ll have to make a choice: continue to stand with the angels, or risk everything by trusting a demon.

The post Exclusive: Read An Excerpt From ‘The Wretched Divine’ by Adalyn Grace appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Hellbound by Stephanie Binx, which releases on August 25th 2026.

Hell is empty, and all the devils are here, but nobody knows why—not even the devils themselves. Now sadistic demons roam the earth, offering small fortunes to any mortal sucker dumb or desperate enough to die on their behalf as they retrieve artifacts from a Hell they can’t recall. Washed-up journalist Marian Meyer is one of those mortal suckers dying for a living as she fetches clues for a demonic puzzle that she doesn’t care to solve.

Riddled with debt she’ll never be able to pay off and guilt over her mother’s death, Marian made her first lucrative deal with a demon and never looked back. Never mind that being a Hell-diver means that she must voluntarily drown herself or that the human body wasn’t meant to die more than once—and she’s definitely feeling it.

Unfortunately, the last time Marian went to Hell, she came back wrong. Memories of that night are missing, and she’ll do anything she can to find them, including teaming up with one of her mysterious (and oddly alluring) demonic patrons, Mr. Vale. But when their tenuous alliance thrusts Marian even deeper into a world of betrayal, humans with strange powers, and demonic politics, she’ll have to decide if allying with Mr. Vale is her ticket to freedom or damnation in disguise.

One part slow-burn romance and one part acerbic wit, Hellbound is a dark contemporary fantasy romance perfect for readers who prefer their casts morally gray and the stakes sky-high.

The following excerpt takes place after the Prologue

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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.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Guardians of Dawn: Suhwa’ by S. Jae-Jones appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

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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The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Heavensent & Hellbent’ by Sara Jafari appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

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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The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Eyes of Kings’ by Chloe Gong appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

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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