In this stunning sequel to The Crimson Throne, Alyth and Samson must infiltrate the fae court to prepare to face the bloodthirsty army of the High Blade who is intent on destroying both the mortal and fae worlds. From the New York Times bestselling authors of the Witch and Hunter duology, Sara Raasch and Beth Revis, comes the conclusion to this incredible romantasy duology.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Blood Queen by Sara Raasch and Beth Revis, which releases on October 6th 2026.
Alyth and Samson finally know the identity of the High Blade, leader of the bloodthirsty Red Cap army, and it’s someone they never suspected. They’ll use every bit of courage, smarts, and luck they have to escape her grasp and flee to the fae court, where they hope to find aid in the fight against the Red Caps.
But the fae princes have been apathetic since the Faerie Queen disappeared years ago at the hands of the High Blade. They seem unwilling to help. And if they find out Samson’s true identity, he’ll be killed and Alyth banished.
Alyth and Samson can only depend on each other and their love as they navigate fae politics, try to win allies, search for the missing queen, and face down the greatest threat the two worlds have ever known.
EXCERPT
1
SAMSON
December 1566
Scotland
All my life’s been spent manipulating or lying. Playing on sympathies to beg food off the gullible in Southwark while I picked their pockets, running cons on marks my father sent me after to steal fae magic items, even lying to myself. I’m not scared. I’m not lonely. I’m not hungry. I’m not tired. I’m not any of a dozen different weaknesses that’d see me dead in a place like London’s slum.
Eighteen years, I’ve been lying as easy as breathing.
And it’s all been training for right now.
The horse I was given sways in line with the rest, and I rock with it, huddling tight into my cloak against the bitter Scottish wind. Morning’s barely crested, but the rising of the sun did nothing to chase off winter’s determination; icy air pelts us from one angle, then the next, lashing our group of riders like beats from a whip. The people around me curse it and burrow in their own cloaks, but the fabric gets tugged away, snatched out of grasping fingers and twisted around their bodies like the wind itself is raging against them.
Furtively, I twist in my saddle, faking like I’m looking up and down the line of riders.
Two behind me on a horse connected to Cecil’s by a lead, Alyth lies across the saddle like chattel, her body still bound in some awful spell that makes her immobile. Her head’s down, the hood of her cloak hanging over her, hiding her face.
Seeing her like that, restrained and silent, digs into my belly like a thorn. Every memory I’ve got of her, she’s a force stronger than nature.
So seeing her as a prisoner?
It’s taking everything in me not to blow our cover.
I watch her now, waiting for a detail I saw a few hours back. Or rather didn’t see: The wind isn’t whipping at her.
I turn forward again.
That’s a small comfort. One tiny glowing spark in my otherwise dead, cold, and banked soul: We aren’t alone. The fae, they must know what’s happened to Alyth. They’re helping her. This winter gale has got to be Beira, the Winter Queen we met in the goblin market. She’s protecting Alyth but tearing up a good storm around the rest of us.
Around the Red Cap army.
Hail stings my cheeks, and I flinch at the bite, but when the Red Caps riding around me curse louder in complaint, I settle in my saddle, calm washing over me.
Alyth’s a captive of the Red Caps, the vicious, bloodthirsty berserkers exiled from the fae realm.
I’m lying for both of us by pretending to be the proper and obedient Red Cap son my father expects of me.
But we aren’t alone.
I stare down at the balled pieces of hail that gather on my gloves, tiny, crystalline promises. I hope they’re promises at least. Promises that Beira’ll help us. Promises that we’ll have allies to run to.
To run at all, I gotta get Alyth out of Cecil’s clutches.
My hand clenches into a tight fist. I breathe deep of the frigid, cutting air.
And look ahead at the gray horizon bringing us closer and closer to meeting the High Blade.
It takes the rest of the day, riding through increasingly angry winds, stopping twice and listening to Cecil’s brigands moan and grumble about the weather, before we make it to a castle far south. Not back in England but close enough to the border it’s nearly in that disputed no-man’s-land. So when we see a massive group around the castle, I think they might be bands of the roving mercenaries that pick through the area.
The closer we get, the more details congeal. Not mercenaries.
An English army.
Sunset’s wrapping up the whole of the land in ribbons of navy blue and snow-swollen gray by the time Cecil leads us past the army and through the castle’s gate.
Alyth’s upright on her saddle now. Has been since the first break, sitting tall and regal, every bit the barrier guardian she was born to be, though she’s gotta be exhausted. We’ve both been up for two days now, what with the husband of Mary, Queen of Scots, going stark ravin’ and getting his estate blown sky-high. Alyth’s gaze is as frigid as the wind; she’s glowering at any of Cecil’s soldiers who get too close to her, and most keep their distance. She’s still in a binding spell, her arms stiff at her sides, her face pulsing every so often in a repressed grimace.
As we dismount and one of the soldiers hauls Alyth down none too gently, she stumbles, hitting the ground on her knees with a hiss of pain.
Laughter rings out.
Every one of these people riding with Cecil is a Red Cap, and I know because I’ve seen copies of that necklace, the one that stifles magic, on them. I wore one to get through the magic barrier that previously kept all Red Caps out of Scotland. But Cecil’s people have it pinned to their belts like trophies, proudly bearing the symbol that shows they outsmarted Alyth’s fae court.
Every one of them could flip into a raging monster at the slightest provocation.
Every one of them could go feral and bloodthirsty in a snap.
Including me.
I lean against my horse, eyes on Alyth, seeing her, but seeing spots of black too. Speckles like the snow that’s falling, only it’s rage dusting across my vision.
My muscles are cramped from holding myself back this whole ride. Every flare of anger and worry and grief has been packed in a neat little box and set deep, deep in my gut, and seeing her on the ground, on her knees in front of these bloody fools, has that box swelling, breaking, straining.
They’re hurting her.
Not days ago, I found out I’m a monster. One of these damned Red Caps bent on invading the fae realm, the type of fae that feasts on havoc. I’m a monster.
But I’m her monster now. The rage, the blackouts, the bloodlust—it’s all hers.
Alyth looks up. Her eyes meet mine across the stable yard, and she’s wearing a mask, like mine. Hiding behind her facade, like I am.
She holds my gaze a beat longer than either of us should, her gaze on me tactile.
It’s command enough.
The rage settles. A simmer, not a boil.
Not yet. Not yet.
Cecil slaps my shoulder, making me bite back a snarl. “Come, Samson.” To the soldiers, “Bring the girl.”
Someone hefts Alyth to her feet. “C’mon, barrier bitch,” he taunts.
I’m walking toward him before I can think it through. Alyth’s eyes briefly widen when I slam both fists into the soldier’s chest and send him toppling onto the cobbled ground.
“Mine,” I bark.
It echoes through the stable yard. The Red Cap soldiers pause around me; even the winter wind calms a bit, listening.
And behind me, Cecil’s watching. Has been watching. Will keep watching.
Not yet.
I grab Alyth’s arm and face my father. “She’s mine to present to the High Blade,” I say through my teeth.
Cecil doesn’t react for a drawn-out beat. Neither do any of his soldiers. The one I knocked to the ground stays there, scowling up at me.
One word, and I’d be in a binding spell just like Alyth. That won’t do a lick of good in helping her escape.
So I hold my father’s eyes and hope he interprets my rage as righteous.
Cecil nods, thoughtful. “Bring her,” he says again, and he walks off into the stone castle.
The Red Cap I shoved scrambles up and catches my shoulder with his as he passes, but I’m braced, expecting the attack.
I don’t even look at him as I pull Alyth after Cecil. None of them matter.
We duck inside a hall, the dark stones swallowing the last of the feeble light outside, the air so cold our breath mists. A wall sconce flickers a ways down, highlighting Cecil as he marches ahead. A few soldiers follow us, but they’re paces back.
Alyth and I are as alone as we’re likely to be.
The stone echoes though. Footsteps ring off the walls, and our harsh breaths rebound like a roar.
I run my thumb in circles on Alyth’s arm, soaking up that contact, trying to reassure her through touch.
“Alyth,” I risk the whisper. I just want—just need something.
She walks alongside me, chin level, silent, not even glancing at me. My chest sinks; she knows this is the game I have to play, doesn’t she? She has to know I’m hers now, even now, especially now—
After a few more steps, she lists toward me like she stumbled, pressing her body against mine in the narrow hall. Her eyes fly to mine, her expression opening like a door flooding a room with sunlight, yearning and comfort flaring deep inside her.
“Partridge,” she whispers.
My brain flounders. What’s she—
I damn near forgot. The bird signals, the ones I used back in Southwark that I taught her.
Partridge means all clear. Everything’s fine.
She’s fine.
That’s a lie, but it’s the most she can do right now.
I pulse my fingers on her arm, telling her I understand. Hoping she understands too—I’ll get her out of this. I’ll keep her safe. I’ll—
Cecil pushes open a heavy wooden door, and the castle’s great hall unfolds around us.
Excerpted from The Blood Queen by Sara Raasch & Beth Revis, Copyright © 2026 by Sara Raasch and Beth Revis. Published by Sourcebooks
