Book Blitz of The Flames of Soulflare by La Kayshal. (#Contests- Enter to win Paperback copy of The Flames of Soulflare (USA, UK, Canada or Australia only) -3x ebook copies of The Flames of Soulflare (INT))

The Flames of Soulflare
La Kayshal
(Hell’s Fire Dragon Series, #2)
Publication date: May 27th 2026

Genres: Fantasy, New Adult, Paranormal, Romance

Fourth Wing meets From Blood and Ash in this Dark Paranormal Romantasy where dragons fear prophecy—and love may be the final weapon.

Everin Haydon was stolen, tortured, and reshaped into the dreaded Hell’s Fire Dragon, bound as a weapon for a Dragon Council that calls itself righteous.

Across the realms, Lord Tynan, the Demon of Darkness and Chaos, has ascended. His arrival heralds the Three Days of Darkness, and he will burn heaven and earth to reclaim what fate bound to him—his power, his vengeance.
But one question if the demon has risen, where is the god meant to stop him?

As the dragon world waits for divine intervention, Everin must decide whether she will remain a weapon—or become the fate of the realms.

 

 

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Apple Books / Kobo

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EXCERPT:

Dark themes including captivity and experimentation

Emotional conflict and intense character struggles
Violence and battle scenes
High-stakes situations involving power and survival

This book is best suited for readers who enjoy emotionally intense, character-driven romantasy.
Read Before You Decide

Before committing, please read the prologue.

This will give you a clear sense of the tone, pacing, and writing style.

Prologue:
Present Day

The moon hung quietly above Helldreth Fort, its pale glow spilling through the tall windows and brushing the chamber with soft silver. A cool breeze drifted in and stirred the white curtains, their edges sweeping lightly across Everin’s skin. She pulled her silk gown closer, grateful for the warmth of the room. It felt comforting, far more so than the terrible, dark place she had left behind.

Her steps carried her to the mirror in the corner. The reflection staring back looked thinner, as if her body had been carved down to something she hardly recognized.

The neckline of her nightie dipped too low to her liking, drawing her eye to the faint scars across her chest. The lamp light traced their uneven lines, pale and unsettling.

She touched them gently. Everin barely remembered how or when she got the scars.

She pulled the outer robe around her until it covered more of her chest. At least the scars were low enough to stay hidden unless she wore something too revealing.

A sound of footsteps behind her made her turn.

Tariel Fenwick, her first love, stood at the doorway.

Everin froze for a moment. He looked different—stronger, more defined, more man than the boy she remembered. His dark hair rested just above his shoulders with two thin braids at the sides of his head, framing a face sharpened by a faint stubble. His amber eyes, once so warm, now carried a deeper, shadowed intensity.

His shirt hung open across his chest, revealing sculpted muscle that rose with each slow breath, and a leather gauntlet, more like an open finger glove, hugged his left hand like a seamless extension of his skin.

Her gaze lingered longer than she meant it to. He saw that. A slow, knowing smirk touched his lips.

She straightened quickly. “We need to talk, Tariel.”

“Yes,” he replied, approaching her, “but not now.”

“There is a lot I want to understand,” she said quietly. “So much I don’t remember.”

“Later.” He reached her, lowering his voice. “I’ve long waited for this moment with you.”

He stepped closer.

She stepped back.

“You waited for me?” she whispered, searching his face.

“I did,” he said. “More than you know.”

He brushed a fingertip along her arm. She stiffened but felt a flicker of the old pull toward him, a warm memory trying to surface. Her eyes drifted briefly to his lips, those that she had kissed in the past, before she forced herself to look away.

His smirk deepened. “Are we shy now, Everin?” he murmured, amusement warm in his voice.

“It has been a while,” she managed. “Things are not the same.”

“We are,” he said, touching her jaw. “You still feel this.”

She backed away again, but he followed, closing in until she had no space left. Her leg hit the edge of the bed. She lost her balance and stumbled, falling backward onto the soft covers. Instantly, she pressed her elbow into the mattress as she tried to push herself upright and pull her short nightie into place, but she barely had a second.

By the time she braced herself, Tariel was already on the bed. One knee pressed into the mattress, and in a swift movement, he trapped her between his legs. His body loomed over hers, leaving her nowhere to go. His hand slid behind her back and pulled her closer. The other moved to her neck, his fingers settling at her pulse, firm enough to hold her from looking away.

His control was precise and deliberate.

“Tariel—” She sucked in a breath, fear slipping into her voice. “What are you doing?”

His lips hovered above hers, so close she could taste the hint of warmth in each breath he released.

“You belong to me,” he whispered, his voice shifting, deepening, curling around her like smoke. His eyes burned brighter, molten gold spilling across the darkness of his gaze. “You always have.”

Everin’s heart thrashed in her chest. Something ancient stared back at her through his eyes—something demanding, something claiming.

She tried to pull away. “You’re frightening me.”

He leaned closer, lips brushing the edge of her jaw. “You love me,” he whispered.

“You always have. And you will give yourself to me again.”

His mouth dragged slowly toward hers, teasing, commanding, his breath warm against her parted lips.

“I want you,” he said, low and certain. “I want all of you.”

“No.” Everin gasped, turning her head away as panic surged. “Stop. You’re not—”

His fingers tightened at her neck.

He didn’t stop. The Tariel she loved would have.

“I am yours,” he murmured.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Then her voice broke in a whisper—

“You’re not him. You’re not Tariel.”

The room fell silent. And everything inside her knew she was right.

Author Bio:

La Kayshal is an Australian writer of romance, YA, and children's fantasy novels. She lives with her husband, daughter, and a playful Malshi puppy in the coastal plains of the Sunny State.

Her debut novel, The Lost Crown, is an adventure romance set in the exotic landscapes of India. She also created the much-loved Sylph Series, a whimsical children’s collection that introduces readers to the amazing world of Sylphs, with each book carrying a gentle moral lesson.

A lifelong fan of wizards, magic, dragons, swords, and elementals, she poured all these passions into her YA fantasy Ariston Baker in the Weird Picture Book, a fast-paced journey filled with realms, riddles, action, and adventure.

Her latest project is the Hell’s Fire Dragon series. Book 1, The Flames of Darkness, is a YA Romantasy full of dragons, and Book 2 is set to be released soon.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram

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The Flames of Soulflare Blitz

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Book Blitz of Sins Of The Fire- Purgatorio by Phoenix Ward.(#Contests)

Sins of the Fire: Purgatorio
Phoenix Ward
(Sins of the Fire, #2)
Publication date: December 18th 2025
Genres: Fantasy, New Adult, Young Adult

The Church of New Haven extends its reach to those in need, however there are some lost souls that require more direct guidance, as their sins must be met with strong redirection. Thus, Jonah was created. Originally a man named M█████ ████, he contains over two-hundred thousand sinners. Until they reconcile with their offense to God, they are to fast and pray for their salvation for as long as it takes them to realize their folly, and call upon us.

The boy will be saved from the Dragon, even if he must waste away to understand their danger.

Kickstarter / Amazon

Sequel to:

Check out the Kickstarter here!!

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EXCERPT:

This morning was a reminder that not only was sleep important, but so was waking up before 10am.

Between the heads of bed hair, scruffy clothes and flip-flops, there were black suits, floral dresses and sweet smelling perfume clouding the entrance of the store. Conversations were held in front of the doorway, carts were being pushed around like they were going out of style, and somehow that wasn’t the thing that made us second guess our trip to getting our travel items here. No, that all paled in comparison to the white van-bus with the words “Destiny Baptist Church”, written in Times New Roman on the side.

It wasn’t the church we had a problem with— it was the fact that it was Destiny, a local mega church that made their way through the doors. The same Destiny that would play on my grandmother’s radio, from preaching almost twelve hours of gospel to choirs capable of going seven octaves without any pause for breath. For whatever reason, they were here. Maybe it was some food-based event, or some donation cause, or maybe someone felt the ‘Holy Spirit’ invade them to help out a few families with groceries— either way, it was crowded. Worse yet, the congregants brought their kids too. One wrong turn with a cart and we’d be anointed with oil and made to play the burning bush. Imani and I both shared wary gazed with one another as the chatting church folk mingled with folks that just wanted to get their groceries.

I was the first one to take the initiative, but Imani was quick to hold me back from going too far.

“Hang on, no plan?” She asked, “We’re just going to go in?”

I shrugged, scooting aside as a family of three slipped past us. “Yeah. We just gotta make it through the doors. We’ll probably just grab baskets and split. When we’re done, we’ll meet right by the self-checkout, next to the gift cards.”

Her eyebrows looked like they’d fly away. She released her gentle hold of my arm. “I guess I shoulda known you’d know how to handle yourself, considering the stuff you dealt with.”

“Is it weird to admit that the cult shenanigans actually wilder compared to this?”

Imani sped ahead of me, playfully pushing me out of the way. “Just pray you don’t get lost in here!”

“Ah, pray! Good one.”

The doors opened, our opportunity for a clear entry inside revealed itself. With clergy folk standing by the door, we said our ‘Good mornings’ and kept it moving. Basket procured, we both split up and went our separate ways. I immediately made a beeline to the deli. Three pre-packaged sandwiches were perfect carry-on for the long trip. From there, I shot for the snacks aisle. Chips, protein bars, and those salty peanut butter cracker packages were all loaded up in the basket with haste. I said my ‘hello’s, and my ‘excuse me’s to any passerby, some people greet me, others regard me with a nod.

I wanted to be away from the churchgoers. They didn’t take up the store, but they were too permeated— too mixed in.

Too indistinguishable.

I wanted to pretend that everything was back to normal. That after all of the conflict, the fears, the crying, the fighting, things were safe again. Two months of nothing should have been enough to convince me, but I knew better. Every aisle I walked down, there was a body dressed in black or white—formal clothing or just plain clothes. Without touching Mysherra, I couldn’t tell which was a Havenite and which wasn’t. Even outside of the store, regular people, clerks, judges, beggars, anyone could be a Remnant out to get me, or one to watch me.

I put my hand in my pocket and stood in front of the line of power-drinks. My fingers grazed over the surface of the pen.

The hairs on my neck stood up. Goosebumps bristled along my arms. Piercing spheres of heat sandwiched both sides of my sides.

I didn’t dare turn my head—Peripherals attuned to the presence of two white-robed Remnants on opposite sides of the aisle.

“Kane.”

“I know.”

Slowly, I inched my arm out of my pocket, pen wedged between my fingers. They wouldn’t be able to fight me, not with eyes watching them from the ceiling. They didn’t want their secret to be discovered just as I didn’t.

“Do not acknowledge their presence,” Mysherra spoke to me, “Walk with me down the aisle.”

My legs walked me sideways. I didn’t want my back turned to either one of these things. The power drinks transitioned to the flavored powders. Flavored powders to sparkling sodas. Neither one of the beings made a move.

“Once you get close, fire me.”

Senses were screaming at me to run or fight the closer I got to the remnant. My heart was thudding against my ribs.

“Just a little closer.”

Light conjured at the tip of the pen. The burning spread along my entire right side.

“Okay, the fires should be quiet enough to—”

“Excuse me.”

Someone bumped against my back, cutting off my focus. “Ah, sorry about th—”

All I did was turn my head. I had seconds, milliseconds, microseconds to process the burgeoning man unlatching his jaw in front of me. Ropes of saliva separated a hollow light at the back of his throat. Flesh, wet, and acrid already surrounded me, sounds of the outside muffled by the remnant’s mouth closing behind me. I must have fired four times— twice to the ribcage roof of the mouth and twice towards the light. Footing vanished, the dark closed in, and the door to the outside slammed shut behind stone teeth.

And I fell.

Author Bio:

Phoenix Ward is an indie black writer, and educator from Philadelphia. He has worked in the field of education for over five years, teaching all grades Mathematics and English. When he’s not writing, he is composing music using Logic Pro X, or tutoring children on subjects they struggle in. Currently, he lives in Philadelphia with his dog and cat.

An avid world-builder, Phoenix has created many stories from youth to adulthood, but none have captivated him as much as his latest work Sins of the Fire, which combines his passion for storytelling with his deep understanding of human nature. He draws inspiration from the vibrant city life of Philadelphia and his own experiences as an educator, infusing his narratives with authenticity and depth.

In addition to his work as a writer and educator, Phoenix is committed to supporting young creatives in their journeys. He actively encourages students and adults alike to seek a way to create their own stories. Everyone has a message to share, and doing so in story is the best way to do so.

Website / Instagram

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Sins of the Fire: Purgatorio Blitz

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Book Blitz of Nocturne by Tricia D. Wagner.(#Contests- Enter to win an Amazon gift card.)

Nocturne
Tricia D. Wagner
Publication date: April 14th 2026
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

In NOCTURNE, sixteen-year-old Livi learns the truth of who she is—a Siren, her people known only to legends. She must learn to master her powers of influence, strength, and destruction to stop a warmongering Admiral from drafting her best friends, capturing and killing her people, and decimating her homeland of Nocturne.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

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EXCERPT:

Livi stood before the tavern’s bleak threshold, its heavy door cobbled of wrecked ships.

She peered through its ragged window, quieting the wiser part of her, an inner voice calling for her to turn back. And truly, she was stunned that she’d mustered the daring to try this.

There were dozens of men here—sailors all brooding over their flagons, many looking to be harboring grudges.

The tavern’s splintery walls were studded with trophies—toothy payaras, dry in their death throes, tacked beneath golden portraits of infamous Korps Mariner ships and their dread captains.

The men frequenting this sand-dusted, fish-pongy tavern—The Orphic, were the sun-beaten sailors and damaged soldiers of Merritaine, mercenaries and relieved fighters who’d reached the shore of old age still breathing.

No one dared step a toe in The Orphic unless he bore epic tales—bloody acts of acclaim on the baleful blue seas.

Many here had killed. Some for honorable causes in noble wars, yes. But they’d killed.

For all their savagery, though, they were brave.

Livi had heard enough stories to understand them as uniformly dauntless and skilled. If anyone could help her skip Merritaine’s coast and reach Nocturne, he’d be drinking here.

Through the brume of pipe smoke, she measured each face for hints of affability. Or at least for traces of good humor—signs that someone might consider her offer. If she could just single out one sailor more approachable than not, perhaps she could move to him unnoticed.

But that wouldn’t happen. Women scarcely set foot here, and sixteen-year-old girls certainly didn’t.

A few of the sailors came across as jovial—but even they harbored an undercurrent of trouble in their looks, their ease striking like a gusty southerly bathing the seaside, forecasting a typhoon’s assault.

The afternoon seemed all at once to grow late, a shaft of misted sunlight sluicing through the windows and casting the place in watery relief.

In fixing on that panorama of ocean, Livi could almost see Nocturne’s peaks in the deep west, its moonstone shores marbled with the shadowy ash given by its volcanic chain.

Those heights, she had to reach. For it was said that Nocturne’s high places were hived with sea caves—chambers shining with waters rumored to have healing properties.

Some believed those springs could stave off even death.

Livi eased from her jacket a small jar of pearls, each perfect, as plump as a blueberry—these a mere sampling of the trove she’d collected. They ought to be more than enough to buy passage to Nocturne from someone here bearing the skill, and the gall, and the ship, and the time to set sail for the Isles, along with some assurance that he could ferry her through storms, over waters where lurked sharks and killer whales and squids that tore up boats, and finally beyond the dread Maelstroms.

Livi had imagined this moment many times—making her bold approach in The Orphic, striking a deal. She’d imagined that arriving at this brink would feel like the onset of her escape.

But in finally standing here, readying to approach men alleged to be the most barbarous in Merritaine, the idea seemed beyond reckless.

Célian, her best friend—maybe more—would be sick at the thought of her here. And truly, in darkening this threshold, she felt she was skimming the rim of the Maelstroms, those great whirlpools unceasing in their churning, twisting what strayed near straight down in a tempest, claiming ships and seafarers alike as a part of themselves.

The bright Merrow Ocean glinting in, though, delivered some steadfastness. For at the sight of its rolling, Livi could gather a sense of what it might feel like, teaming with someone here, cruising on his scabrous ship to the treacherous west.

A man seated at the tavern’s back corner stood out a touch.

He looked a decade younger than the rest, and he had all his limbs, which was saying something. He seemed not resentful, or affable, or angry—just somber. His solemnity made it clear that he wanted to be left to himself.

But it also lent an impression of patience. Maybe he’d listen.

She edged open the tavern’s door and crept in. She eased behind a column in the entryway and held still.

She’d have to get to the somber man quick. If she drew too much attention, the barkeep—a tall man, his eyes sharp to check all the action, his manner busy and swift with his bottles—would cast her out before she could lay down one word of her offer.

Or worse—he’d let the men handle the disruption.

Livi stepped from the shade, into the amber light of the tavern.

Author Bio:

As a young reader, writers were like gods and goddesses to now author Tricia D. Wagner. She never could have imagined weaving tales like her favorite storytellers, until a fateful April dinner conversation with her husband about a lecture he attended got her mind whirling. By the end of that summer, she’d written 400,000 words: a speculative fiction trilogy. Wagner felt as if she’d emerged from a cocoon as some new sort of creature. She was hooked.

It was important to Tricia to sharpen her skills, and she immersed herself in workshops, guides, and writing communities, learning from editors how to hone her craft. She did this for years, and the result is her newly released novella The Strider and the Regulus, two independently published novelettes, four soon-to-be published novellas, and five as yet unpublished novels. She found writing to be a method for becoming the person she felt she was born to be. Wagner finds that writing inspires her to be a better person, truer to herself.

The ideas and substance of Tricia’s writing comes from a very deep place that is strongly stimulated by setting. Often, when she has completed a story, she feels as if she’s been to her story world, whether it’s on the map or not. She likes to believe all the places she writes about exist somewhere, somehow.

In writing her stories, Wagner was surprised and delighted to discover how real the characters become to an author; that for many writers, their characters end up as their most treasured friends. She loves to delve into them to mine their natures, secrets, and desires—to tell their stories with the legitimacy they deserve. In studying her characters, she finds she has the opportunity to shape herself, inching closer to the person she wants to become.

Wagner believes revision is magical in its power to make a good book great, and early drafts are only the beginning of a story’s journey. Any idea can wind up a good story, but with reflection and time and improvement, it can become art. Once Wagner completes a revision project, it feels miraculous how many fresh approaches have manifested and how much truer the story feels.

Wagner hopes her readers feel enchanted when they read her stories; that after completing one, it seems they’re drifting out from under a spell. This is exactly how she feels when she finishes writing a story. She hopes to that her writing might expand their minds, spirits, and worlds a bit, and she hope they fall in love with her characters and are moved by her artistry of language.

When she isn’t writing poignant works of literary fiction, Wagner is a Director of Adult Education – ESL Programs at a community college, a job and staff that she loves. In her spare time she enjoys refining her writing craft to discover new angles and landscapes that might enrich her writing palette. One such example is a recent course she took in learning to read ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, something that’s sure to end up in a story at some point. Wagner lives in Rockford, Illinois, with her husband and three darling cats.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / X

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Nocturne Blitz

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Kickstarter Blitz of Broken Wings by Miloa Scape. (#Contests- Win An Ebook Copy of the Book.)

Broken Wings
Miloa Scape
Publication date: April 7th 2026
Genres: Fantasy, Steampunk

When a city begins to fall, the truth rises.

On her tenth birthday, Marty Oakley expects comfort and celebration, not a city tearing itself apart. As Velarisca trembles and steam-powered defenses spiral out of control, Marty flees through chaos with her father, only to discover he is not who she believed him to be.

With the city collapsing around them, long-buried secrets surface and a hidden legacy awakens. Caught in a conspiracy stretching from the depths below to the skies above, Marty must face truths no child should ever carry, or lose everything she loves.

Broken Wings is a heartfelt steampunk fantasy prequel filled with wonder, danger, and unexpected adventure.

 

 

 

Broken Wings is now on Kickstarter!

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Some truths are inherited. Some are stolen. Others wait quietly, buried so deep that only loss knows how to uncover them.

The world teaches obedience first. Then fear. Then silence. Breaking the pattern was never part of the design.

Get a FREE CHAPTER here!

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Why the kickstarter collector’s edition is special.

This is not just a book. It’s the beginning.

Broken Wings is a 20,000 word prequel novella and the very first story in the Enchanted Skies universe. It introduces Marty at age ten and her father who tried to protect her from a truth that was always going to catch up.

This edition will never be sold through retailers. It is only available through this Kickstarter, and later Miloa’s direct store. No algorithms. No middlemen. Just readers who chose to be here from the start.

Backers of this campaign will have their names printed in the book as founding readers, permanently recorded as the ones who helped this world take its first breath.

Visit the KICKSTARTER HERE!

Author Bio:

Miloa Scape is a speculative fiction author writing genre-blending stories that combine fantasy, science fiction, and steampunk with a strong emphasis on found family and character-driven storytelling. With an engineering background and extensive gaming experience, she brings a systems-focused approach to worldbuilding and narrative structure. Her debut project, Broken Wings, introduces a steampunk-inflected world that serves as the foundation for a larger speculative fiction series in development.

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Broken Wings Blitz

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Cover Reveal for The Rat King by Aj Skelly. (#Contests- Win an Early copy of the book.)

The Rat King
Aj Skelly
Publication date: November 3rd 2026
Genres: Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Retelling

Save the Kingdom. Break the Curse. Don’t fall in love.

When Clara Seibert unwittingly humiliates a boy with a limp the first day of her senior year, she doesn’t expect him to become one of her closest friends. But when befriending Jakob Ratowitz leads to things she can’t explain, circumstances spiral into something much more sinister with Jakob at its heart.

As their friendship deepens, Jakob’s bone degeneration condition worsens, and so do the secrets surrounding him. When they’re thrust into the Land of Sweets-a magical realm of ancient danger-they must face a harrowing journey, insurmountable odds, and a growing attraction that could have deadly consequences.

Worst of all is a vengeful queen from Jakob’s past who will stop at nothing to see Jakob and everything he loves destroyed. With time running out and a kingdom at stake, can Jakob and Clara save the endangered realm and each other? Or will the Rat Queen’s curse descend on the Land of Sweets forever?

Add to Goodreads / Pre-order

Author Bio:

Writing books full of murder, mayhem, sometimes magic, and always kissing, AJ (also writing as April J. Skelly) is an author, reader, and lover of all things fantasy, medieval, and fairy-tale-romance. And werewolves. She has a serious soft spot for them. As an avid life-long reader and a former high school English teacher, she’s always been fascinated with the written word. She lives with her husband, children, and many imaginary friends who often find their way into her stories. They all drink copious amounts of tea together and stay up reading far later than they should.

You can read more about her stories, shenanigans, random factoids, and new books at www .ajskelly. com

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The Rat King Blitz

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Book Blitz of Maiden Tomb by Cynthia Sally Haggard. (#Contests- Win a paperback copy of the book- 2 winners.)

Maiden Tomb
Cynthia Sally Haggard
(Twelve Cursed Maidens, #1)
Publication date: February 5th 2025
Genres: Adult, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Historical, Retelling, Romance

 

Follow twelve princesses down a dark tunnel into a grove of jeweled trees to a too-placid lake, where a prince will row you across to a gleaming castle to dance the night away. This historical fantasy—a retelling of the Twelve Dancing Princesses folktale—drifts backwards in time from the Early Middle Ages of Sicily to the Bronze Age of the Trojan War. It is perfect for fans of Circe and Spinning Silver.

Sixteen-year-old Justice wants to release her sisters from the jaws of Father’s imprisonment. But what can she do? The easiest way would be to find suitors for them.

However, that is not so easy, for Justice’s elder sisters are strange. What with All-Gifted’s madness, Protectress’s hair writhing with snakes, Death-Bringer’s grief (not to mention her strange name), Shining’s scandalous doings, Maiden’s tart tongue, Shadow’s crippling shyness, no sensible man would want her sisters as wives. Which leaves Justice, the seventh daughter, the one who possesses a quiet authority.

Maiden Tomb, Book One of the Twelve Cursed Maidens series, is a clean enemies-to-lovers romance.

The original fairytale—about twelve young ladies dancing all night—sounds so jolly doesn’t it? But I don’t think Twelve Dancing Princesses is about dancing at all.

I think it is about death.

Why do I think that? Well there appear to be some elements to the tale that go back, way back, hundreds, no, thousands of years, back into the Ancient World.

First of all, being rowed across a body of water sounds like a thread of Greek Mythology found its way into this tale. It is very reminiscent of Charon the boatman rowing the souls of the newly dead across the River Styx.

Then there are those jeweled trees. Where do they come from? Several scholars believe that element of the story comes from the Tale of Gilgamesh, which may have been originally composed around 1800 BCE. It tells the story of Gilgamesh, a King of Uruk a city-state in Sumeria, who is grieving for the death of his best friend. According to scholars, Gilgamesh ruled the Kingdom of Uruk in around 2700 BCE.

Then there are the princesses themselves. Have you ever wondered why their are twelve princesses? Again, the answer points towards the ancient kingdom of Sumeria, which existed in what is now present day Iraq, beginning in around 6,000 BCE. The Sumerians were renowned astronomers who used a base-12 numerical system, unlike the base-10 or decimal system we use today.

And so, there you have it. When you dig below the surface, a charming story from Europe has roots in the Middle East and seems to be thousands of years old!

And so, when I came to write Maiden Tomb, a piece of women’s fiction that explores the all-too-often captivity of women, I put back all those elements. We have the Gilgamesh epic, and elements of Greek Mythology, complete with snakes, ancient gods, and powerful goddesses. And far from being a jolly novel about young people dancing, as the title suggests, I made it a book about death.

I hope you find this coming-of-age novella as enjoyable to read as I found it fascinating to write.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

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EXCERPT:

In the past week or so since we’ve arrived, life has taken on a predictable rhythm. I spend the mornings entertaining the ladies of the castle, with the lyre, my singing, playing knucklebones, and listening to their gossip. Truth to tell, nothing they say is particularly interesting as high-born ladies spend their time inside. When they are not diverting themselves with such pastimes as I provide, they are spinning, weaving, running the household, and caring for their children. They talk incessantly about their children. They know little of the outside world.

I escape after the midday meal, taking advantage of the ladies ’habit of resting as the sun’s chariot crests at the highest point of the day. While they sleep, I head out into the scorching countryside looking for Father.

We sit together in the shade, while Father does some task, usually repairing something, while I tell him everything I’ve learned the evening before. It is not that hard. Because I am small, and people are now familiar with my face, no one pays me any mind as I take my seat at the bench that runs along the side of the huge table where all the working folk of the castle eat their meals.

Father has told me never to be inquisitive, but I am dying to know more about the twelve mysterious ladies locked up in the castle tower, the ones people whisper about behind their hands when they think no-one is noticing.

As the light of the sun drains from the sky, as the king’s men sink lower onto wooden benches eating dish after dish, quail, pheasant, peacock, duck, eggs, bread, olive oil, wine, and olives, the noise of seven hundred men sharing jokes, laughing, and swilling wine reverberates around the hall.

Finally, I can take it no more.”Is it true what they say about the King’s daughters?”

The grizzled stranger on the bench next to me wipes the grease off his mouth with the back of a hand and spits out an olive pit.

“Where’ve you popped up from? You shouldn’t be here. You’re only a young lad.”

I am used to these remarks. After I left home I took a ship that was blown off course, taking me west to the land of the Italoi. I had to beg for money in the streets and in the taverns and it was not long before I heard news of Father, who was sailing to the west of this land.

And so I made my way across steep mountains before coming down to a lush plain. Playing my lyre to entertain strangers I followed their directions to the sea, to a wide bay within sight of a simmering, high, conical-shaped mountain.

And there, in a tavern, I met Father.

Now we are traveling home together. But Father is not here on the bench beside me, as he should be, but outside at a nearby farm pretending to be a stable hand.

This is one of Father’s clever strategies. He is a master at extracting information. He calls his strategy “divide and conquer” and it means that I have to use my lyre to find a berth for the night in some local chieftain’s house. This is not usually difficult, especially if there are ladies around because for some reason they always want to pet me.

Meanwhile, Father finds work on the outside as a shepherd, farmhand, or stable boy. By concealing his origins and pretending to be dumb, drunk, or both, Father is able to overhear a great many things. We have a plan to meet every day at noon, I escaping the blandishments of the ladies to visit the local farm for milk, cheese, eggs where I could happen upon the new stable boy, farmhand, or shepherd.

The only fly in the ointment is my age. I am only twelve years old and to my great annoyance, I look it. So Father made me memorize some phrases to offer when this issue arises.

“Father is here with me, but is suffering with an ache to his belly.”

One sentence is usually enough for most people. Father has instructed me never to offer explanations that are not asked for as it only makes people more curious.

But the fellow is staring at me, waiting for more.

I turn my eyes down. “Father told me to eat supper and then berth with him in the stable yard.”

“He’s the new stable hand, is he?”

I nod.

“Much good he’ll be with a bellyache.”

I look up. “Do you have a remedy for that good sir?”

Father always stresses the importance of asking for advice when a conversation turns sour, as it flatters the vanity.

The fellow hawks and spits, rising from his seat. “You’ll have to go to the kitchens for that, son.” He ambles off.

Author Bio:

Cynthia Sally Haggard was born and reared in Surrey, England. About 40 years ago, she surfaced in the United States, inhabiting the Mid-Atlantic region as she wound her way through four careers: violinist, cognitive scientist, medical writer, and novelist.

Her first novel, Thwarted Queen, a saga set in 1400s England with a Game of Thrones vibe, won the 2021 Gold Medal IPPY Award for Audiobook. Her second novel, Farewell My Life, a dark historical about a hidden murderer, won the 2021 Independent Press Award for Women’s Fiction and was the 2019 Distinguished Favorite for the New York City Big Book Award.

Cynthia graduated with an MFA in Creative Writing from Lesley University, Cambridge MA, in June 2015.

When she’s not annoying everyone by insisting her fictional characters are more real than they are, Cynthia likes to go for long walks, knit something glamorous, cook in her wonderful kitchen, and play the piano.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram

GIVEAWAY!

Maiden Tomb Blitz

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Book Blitz Of Arcanum Books 1 and 2 by Kelly O'Hearn.(#Contests- Enter to win a 30 Munute Tarot Reading by the Author.)

Arcanum: In the Temple Shadows
Kelly O’Hearn
(Arcanum, #1)
Publication date: May 20th 2024
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance

Arcanum: In the Temple Shadows is Book One in a series of novels channeled through the tarot cards by noted intuitive Kelly O’Hearn—the first of its kind!

In this sexy past life romance, sometimes happily ever after takes more than one lifetime. Meet Sarah Fuller. It’s her 40th birthday and things are starting to get weird. Is it deja vu? A midlife crisis? Nervous breakdown? Who is this dark, handsome stranger she feels like she’s met before? Not on Fifth Avenue or through her luxury fragrance company but, like, many lifetimes ago?

Her husband, her best friend, her shrink: everyone seems to think they know what’s best for her these days. Sarah’s always been a skeptic, but when she meets this intriguing psychic who tells her she might have been a Pharaoh’s lover and powerful mystic in ancient Egypt, thousands of years ago, it feels so right that she’s determined to find out more.

“I was given early access to the manuscript of Arcanum, and I was immediately immersed in this unique and sassy book! It’s like Carrie Bradshaw meets Cleopatra. The tension and drama between the characters was enthralling, both in their current lives and their past lives. I can’t wait for the second book in the series!” K. Lewis

Arcanum: Whispers In The Forest
Kelly O’Hearn
(Arcanum, #2)
Publication date: May 13th 2025
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance

From noted intuitive channeler Kelly O’Hearn comes the spellbinding second installment in the critically acclaimed Arcanum series—a mesmerizing blend of romance, reincarnation, and sensual awakening that spans across centuries.

When Manhattan parfumier Sarah Fuller abandons her picture-perfect life to pursue an obsession with an ancient rose in the South of France, she never expects to unearth secrets buried for centuries. What begins as a professional quest quickly transforms into a soul-stirring journey, cosmically interwoven with that of a medieval maiden with mysterious powers.

As her marriage crumbles and her closest friendship fractures, Sarah’s carefully constructed reality begins to unravel. Between the gleaming penthouses of New York and the sun-drenched fields of Provence, she discovers that the fragrance she seeks may be the key to unlocking a past life—and a love that has endured across time itself.

But some secrets are meant to stay buried, and as Sarah delves deeper into her past, she must decide: Will she heed the whispers that call to her from the forest, or will she lose herself to them completely?

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

All of a sudden she felt an invisible ripple along her spine, a jolt of something. Her eyes flew open, and she saw a man standing about five feet in front of her.

“Holy shit,” she blurted. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

“Other than the two hundred people hobnobbing in the Temple of Dendur?”

“Yeah, other than those jerks.”

His smile was a knockout. If she weren’t happily married…scratch that. Tall, dark, probably of Middle Eastern descent? Gorgeous tux. Crooked smile. She’d have to be dead not to find him…attractive.

That was one word for it. Hot-as-fuck might be another.

“Harry Aiken.” He held out his hand.

Was her mouth agape? Sarah settled herself. “Of course you are…”

She took his hand in hers, and the two of them stood there for way too long. Maybe it was only a second or two, but she felt—well, she felt everything. The power of his grip, the warmth of his skin, the clean smell of him, the slight bristle of the hairs on the back of his hand, his eyes—but beyond all of those sensory, well, pleasures, really, she felt like he was definitely part of whatever gut-roiling recalibration or transformation was going on inside her today. He was somehow in on it.

She released his hand and backed away a step, as if he had burned her.

Or could.

And then she started breathing again.

“Weird day.” She shook her head and started walking slowly around the atrium.

“Do you want to be alone?” he asked.

“Not necessarily. I just didn’t want to be in a room with hundreds of people.”

Harry put his hands in his pockets and walked alongside her. “Same. I left right before the guest of honor arrived. Just all a bit too much for me, you know.”

Sarah realized his clean, buttoned-up smell was just a top note. Sandalwood, tobacco, myrrh: this man was into expensive fragrance of some sort or another, and their heat had brought it to life. A deep, masculine scent. Her mortal weakness.

“You’ve never met her?”

“No. I’m not really even sure why I’m here. I met this hilarious guy named Max—”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, I know him.”

“Right? I met him last week. Turns out he’s best friends with the CEO of this company I do business with whom I’ve been trying to meet for years. She’s got a firewall of assistants around her. Max is a great guy and all, but he was like, ‘You should totally come meet Sarah and learn more about her new foundation, yadda yadda…’ and I was like, ‘Great, I’d really appreciate the introduction. ’and then he’s like, ‘I got you on the list to her surprise party Saturday night ’and I’m like, ‘Well, that’s a little weird to show up at someone’s fortieth birthday party uninvited, if I’ve never even met them, don’t you think? ’But he’s kind of persuasive and funny, and it all seemed like a good idea last week. But now I’m just like a fish out of water…and now I’m babbling—”

When he turned to face her, their eyes caught again, and held, like they had when they’d shaken hands. “I’m not usually nervous, but you’ve caught me off guard,” he said.

Sarah just gave herself permission to stare at him. Why not? It was her birthday, wasn’t it? And maybe he was her gift. Her lip must have lifted slightly on one side when she thought that, because his glance darted to her mouth and his pupils dilated.

Then, as if realizing that what he was doing could be construed as creepy, his eyes flew back up to hers.

Her smile widened.

You can look at my mouth anytime you like, she almost said—but caught herself before she did something…regrettable.

“So, is this going to be like some Cinderella story?” he asked, his voice deeper, stronger, if that was even possible. “Are you going to introduce yourself, or am I going to have to enlist the cavalry and ride my steed throughout the kingdom tomorrow to find out your true identity?”

Harry Aiken on horseback, commanding an army. Wheeling his horse around with perfect control. Mastery. Smoke and leather and the clang of ancient weapons and still, always, his eyes on her, always on her. Tracking her, minding her, loving her.

“I could see that,” she whispered, then turned to walk back toward the party. “I guess it is a bit of a Cinderella story,” she continued, forcing her voice to take on a more carefree tone. “Because I’ll definitely turn into a pumpkin if I don’t get back to hobnobbing.”

Author Bio:

When Kelly O’Hearn first stepped off the train in the city of Florence, Italy, as a 20-year-old, she had the overwhelming instinct that she had been there before. In a place famous for its maze of medieval streets, O’Hearn navigated the city as if she had lived there for a lifetime. Born in New York City, O’Hearn first put her intuitive skills to work as a professional wine taster, instructor, and sommelier in the elite institutions of New York, Portugal, and Aspen. After raising her two children and enduring a personal health crisis, in 2012, she was drawn to begin reading the tarot cards, an ancient practice which does not presume to “predict the future” but offers a collection of stories, perspectives, and self-reflections that can guide one to become one’s most authentic self. O’Hearn is in high demand for her readings, with clients on every continent but Antartica. While most people were baking sourdough or riding their Pelotons during the Covid pandemic, O’Hearn used the tarot cards to channel her own past lives. Weeks of readings, all captured on video, yielded six storylines of herself as several powerful women over the millennia and around the globe: the same one soul, over time, persevering against all odds in the quest for happiness and the love of a soul mate. This time-bending saga inspired O’Hearn to conceive of a series of novels titled Arcanum. Book One: In the Temple Shadows is available now. Book Two: Whispers in the Forest will be released Spring of 2025.

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GIVEAWAY!

Arcanum Books 1 & 2 Blitz

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Cover Reveal of Undying by Christy Healy

Undying
Christy Healy
Publication date: June 9th 2026
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance

Rory Ó Conchúir has always known that she was destined for war. Her deadly gifts, the unwanted inheritance of her ancestor, the Mórrígan, can only be wielded as a weapon of destruction and doom. For years, she would not allow herself to be used as such, instead choosing to live far across the sea, refusing to regret what she has left behind in order to do so…until the fateful day that she learns of the price she has paid for her peace.

Niall Ó Flannagáin, the young king of Connacht, was never meant for war — that has always been his half-sister, Rory’s, role. But now he finds himself threatened with a foreign invasion and the ruination of the realm, without her aid. In desperation, he turns to a powerful enemy as an ally, his only hope to unite the provinces against the foreign armies gathering even now to destroy the land he has sworn to protect.

Locke MacMurchada, the son of the most hated traitor in all of Éire, owes a debt that he knows he can never pay. But when the opportunity to propose a political marriage with the murderous Rory Ó Conchúir arises, he seizes the chance to protect what is left of both his people, as well as the legacy which his father ripped to shreds…so long as she doesn’t kill him first.

When the fateful day of doom at last arrives, the fates of all three royals – the cursed princess, the young king, and the traitor prince – become inextricably woven together, forcing them to face new threats and old enemies, hoping to forge a stronger Éire from the ashes of the old.

Content Warnings:
Frequent depictions of war & battle scenes
Graphic descriptions of torture & death
Loss of a family member
Discussions of grief & self-hatred
On-page death of major character

Add to Goodreads / Pre-order

Author Bio:

Christy Healy has been a book nerd ever since she was a little girl hiding under the covers with a flashlight and a dog-eared copy of Anne of Green Gables. She started writing soon after, and the obsession only grew. Now Christy weaves stories of her own into the myths and tales of the Celtic, Indo-European, and Greco-Roman worlds that she has loved for so long. When not lost in her fantasy worlds, she lives in North Carolina with her children, her dog, and her husband.

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / TikTok / Newsletter

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Book Blitz of Skeleton Faerie by A.P. Mobley. (#contests-Win A Ebook Copy of the Book.)

The Skeleton Faerie
A.P. Mobley
(Children of the Death Gods, #1)
Publication date: November 8th 2025
Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Mythology

Faerie folklore meets a nuclear postapocalypse in this dark mythological fantasy woven with secrets, treachery, and star-crossed love.

Ninety-nine years after the Nuclear War of 1989, twenty-one-year-old Gus Brandon should only be interested in the survival of humanity and the expansion of his compound. But he’s obsessed with legends from the distant past, superstitions of an expired people.

While searching forbidden ruins for the scraps of stories lost to time, he stumbles upon a mysterious young woman covered in scars. Her name is Saoirse, and their meeting sets off a bloody chain of events—one in which Gus discovers that the folklore he loves just might be real, and that it’s tied to mankind in ways he could have never imagined.

Soon the lines between myth and reality blur, as do the lines between realms.

Gus will have to rely on his knowledge—and Saoirse—to survive the horrors awaiting him… in this world and the next.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

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EXCERPT:

When Gus and his teammates were a mere mile from the compound, the sun had almost finished setting, and the temperature had dropped significantly. A breeze grazed the back of his bare neck and arms, sending chills through his body. In every direction, all that was visible were trees, the only noises those of his and his companions ’boots and their animals ’hooves crunching against shriveled grass and fallen leaves. Occasionally, crows—some of them genetically altered, their feathers stained a pinkish color—flapped from branch to branch, their harsh caws piercing the quiet.

Maybe it was because of the extensive amount of folklore he’d been reading, but these days, the dark played tricks on Gus’s eyes, making him see monsters when nothing was there.

Nothing could be there, after all, as the stories he so loved weren’t real.

And even if there was a chance that they were real (and he knew there wasn’t), his compound was on the western side of a mountain range called the Black Hills, located within the fallen United States of America—far, far away from the places those magical tales took place.

Yet he still found himself imagining all manner of malevolent faeries prowling the woods at night. He saw them skulking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

In masses of collapsed cottonwoods, he imagined there were redcaps hiding, plotting to slaughter any stray travelers passing by.

In murders of crows, he imagined there were sluagh flying, scouring the forest floor for the next unlucky fellow whose soul they might devour.

In fast-moving streams, he imagined there were kelpies biding their time, anticipating the moment a person came close enough to drown and eat.

Thankfully, the logical side of his brain knew he had nothing to worry about—even as far as nonfictional threats went. The worst anyone on scavenge-duty had encountered in the last year was a couple of mountain lions and some rattlesnakes, and although he and his teammates had never run into anything like that, they knew how to take care of it as easily as the other people of the compound had: with bullets.

No one left the compound without a loaded gun and extra ammo.

Gus and his team were safe.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and if it weren’t for the smog blanketing the sky (a lingering effect of the Nuclear War, which the elders said should clear up any decade now), the moon and stars might have lit up the night. The temperature fell even further, clouds of breath filling the air in front of Gus’s face and fogging up his glasses.

“Guess we should have packed our coats,” Nancy remarked as she walked in front of Gus, guiding her pig along. She began to shiver. “I hate when the weather gets like this. Hot during the day, cold at night.”

Twigs cracked to the left. Hand flying to his holster, Gus looked that way, his goat bleating, Nancy’s pig squealing.

A flash of movement in the trees, there and gone in an instant.

“What the . . . ?” Oliver tossed his bundle of birds over his shoulder and retrieved his flashlight, his teeth chattering. He and Adam stood several feet to Gus’s right. “Did you guys see that?”

Adam drew his handgun. “Probably a mountain lion. We’re almost home, so just keep your eyes peeled and your weapons ready.”

“Maybe speed it up a little too,” Gus added, and he and Nancy pulled out their handguns. The team continued toward the compound.

Not five minutes had passed before more branches snapped behind them. Again, the goat bleated, and the pig squealed.

Everyone swung around, preparing to shoot. Oliver shined his flashlight into the trees.

The glow revealed a creature that made Gus’s skin prickle with goose bumps.

Author Bio:

A. P. Mobley is the Halloween-loving, rock-music-obsessed author of dark fantasy inspired by mythology. She doesn’t only write about her favorite myths, folktales, and fairy tales in books, though; she discusses them on her podcast, Myths (& Folktales & Fairy tales), as well as on her blog and newsletter. She grew up in Wyoming and Nebraska and currently lives in South Dakota, and when she’s not up to her elbows in research for her next project, she can be found consuming dangerous amounts of coffee, reading speculative fiction, or rewatching The Good Place.

Never miss an update from A. P. by signing up for her newsletter. Full list of books and Content Warnings on her website.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / TikTok / Newsletter

GIVEAWAY!

The Skeleton Faerie Blitz

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Cover Reveal of Miss Fortune by Ashley Bustamante

Miss Fortune
Ashley Bustamante
Publication date: March 31st 2026
Genres: Fantasy, Romance, Young Adult

The moonlight gave her luck…love might take it away.

Since childhood, eighteen-year-old Nia has relied on the fortune stone—a gift from a boy who once saved her from drowning. Its magic, tied to the phases of the moon, brings her extraordinary luck… at the cost of a life spent in hiding from those who would exploit her.

But on the night of the dark moon, Nia is attacked by a nightmare creature and left for dead—only to awaken in an enchanted castle ruled by the enigmatic Neilos. He offers her a bargain: he’ll heal her damaged lungs, but only if she remains within the castle’s walls until the next dark moon.

There, Nia discovers the boy from her past, Enitan, now serves as Neilos’s guard. In stolen moments with Enitan, Nia uncovers a devastating truth: whenever he is near, her fortune stone falls silent. She can have her luck or Enitan… never both.

As Nia uncovers the castle’s twisted secrets, she realizes the cost of staying may be more than she’s willing to pay. Nia must choose: keep the magic that has protected her, or risk everything for love.

Add to Goodreads / Pre-order

Author Bio:

Ashley Bustamante has created stories from the moment she could scribble and staple sheets of paper together. She simply cannot recall a time when writing was not a force in her life. When not running through lines of dialogue in her mind, she enjoys taking photographs and spending time with her husband, three children, and any furry, feathered, or scaly creature she can find.

 

 

 

 

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / Newsletter

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Guest Post by Briana Chen Author of The Thieves Carousel (Adult Fantasy Novel- #contests- Enter to win a signed copy of the book and some swag.)

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I want to welcome Briana Chen to Books R Us. She is touring the blogosphere with I read Book Tours. The author has written a guest post for my readers. She is giving away a signed copy of the book and some swag. Enter below.
 

Book Details:

Book Title:  THE THIEVES' CAROUSEL by Briana Chen
Category:  Adult Fiction (18+),  300 pages
Genre: Fantasy
Publisher: Z-Choice International
Release date:  August 2025
Content Rating: PG-13 +M: Some bad language, violence, and dark themes (implied abuse, self-harm)

 

Book Description:

What price would you pay to undo a death?

In the shadowed streets of Aspizia, two thieves—Lyo Morandi andJasper Bray—risk everything to rewrite the past. Haunted by the death of their friend Milo, they set their sights on a forbidden prize: a ring reputed to alter time.

To steal it, they must infiltrate the Thieves’ Carousel, a ruthless exhibition where the city’s most dangerous criminals flaunt their treasures—and fight to keep them. But as Lyo and Jasper descend deeper into the catacombs beneath Aspizia, they uncover a truth far more dangerous than they imagined: the ring’s power comes at a devastating cost.

Loyalties splinter. Betrayal lurks around every corner. Loyalties splinter. As the game turns deadly, they must ask themselves: How far will they go to rescue the past and save the future—and how much of themselves are they willing to lose?

The Thieves’ Carousel is a gripping tale of ambition, sacrifice, and the haunting price of second chances.

BUY THE BOOK:
Amazon ~ B&N

 GUEST POST:

 

How to Write While the World is on Fire

When I started The Thieves’ Carousel, I thought I was writing about power, smoke, masks, and the machinery of control. Halfway through, I realized I was writing about collapse. About what happens when beauty curdles into decadence, and faith rots into ritual. It became less a fantasy and more a mirror, a city devouring itself while pretending to celebrate.

Aspizia—the heart of the novel—is a city built on guilt and gold. Its canals shimmer by candlelight, but they also carry the dead. The air smells like incense and iron. Gambling halls gleam beside orphanages, and masked aristocrats sip wine as the streets flood. I wanted readers to feel seduced by it, then unsettled by how familiar it all felt, a world that dazzles while quietly unraveling.

That’s what writing during chaos does to you. You start to see the poetry in the fracture lines.

I wrote most of Carousel while the world itself seemed to be falling apart—politically, environmentally, existentially. There were days when art felt absurd, like I was painting roses while the ceiling burned. But it was in that absurdity that I found clarity. The story became a way to confront decay without surrendering to it.

Writing while the world is on fire means learning to create inside the smoke. It’s not about ignoring the chaos, but transmuting it. Every flicker of fear becomes world-building; every grief becomes dialogue. The setting isn’t separate from you—it’s an emotional translation. Aspizia’s fog is just my own uncertainty given form. Its collapsing cathedrals are my sense of helplessness, turned tangible.

Sometimes the act of storytelling itself feels like rebellion. When you write, you insist that something still matters, that a story is still worth telling, that people are still worth saving, even in fiction. I think that’s why I poured so much of that ache into Lyo and Jasper, the story’s central bond: two thieves bound by loyalty and loss, trying to repair a world already rigged to break them. Their story is equal parts devotion and defiance, a testament to the idea that even in ruin, love can still be a kind of protest.

And maybe that’s the point. Writing in dark times doesn’t mean pretending the darkness isn’t there. It means looking directly at it and lighting a single match.

Carousel’s heartbeat is that quiet persistence. Beneath the blood and smoke and impossible choices, it’s a story about endurance and the belief that even when the cycle repeats, someone will choose to try again.

The truth is, the world is always on fire somewhere. It always has been. But the miracle is that we keep rebuilding—

Brick by brick, word by word.

 

Meet the Author:

 

 BRIANA CHEN is an award-winning fantasy author and repeat offender when it comes to falling headfirst into fandoms. She loves morally gray characters, unpredictable plot twists, and books that make her stare at a wall for hours afterward.

She is also a digital artist, gamer, and graduate of Carnegie Mellon University. She currently spends her time battling artist’s and writer’s block—sometimes simultaneously—and pursuing more adventures to add to her hoard of treasure.
Connect with the author: website ~ instagram ~ goodreads

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Enter the Giveaway:

THE THIEVES' CAROUSEL Book Tour Giveaway

Book Blitz of The Mist and the Flame by Coral-Li St. Helen (#contests Enter to win an Amazon gift card.)

The Mist and the Flame
Coral-Li St. Helen
(The New Bardiverse, #1)
Publication date: September 15th 2025
Genres: Fantasy, Historical, Young Adult

What’s really behind the story of star-crossed lovers Romeo and Juliet?

Let’s start with the truth about Rosaline—Romeo’s actual first love. Rosaline scorns romance and instead craves magic. To free herself from Romeo’s amorous attention as well as her dull life in Verona, she uses her limited sorcery skills to bring him and Juliet together. Renaming herself Foschia Luminosa, she then gleefully runs off to join a school of magic.

Just when Lumi’s dreams are about to come true, disaster Syra, the intimidating witch who runs the school, denies her entry and demands she return to Verona. She must repair the damage done by her spell or the young couple is doomed and Lumi will be outcast forever.

As tragedy looms ever nearer, Lumi reluctantly teams up with a mysterious, sullen girl calling herself Fiamma Fredda, an orphan of unknown parentage. Freddi is an astonishingly skilled fighter, but who is she, and does she really want to help—or is she using Lumi for her own purposes?

Join Lumi and Freddi in their thrilling quest to save Romeo and Juliet, learn of Freddi’s origins, and grapple with Syra’s own dark past. They—and you—are in for a great many surprises along the way…

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Apple Books / Kobo

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EXCERPT:

On the particular day that started it all, our tutor, Grigio, gave me something to translate which turned out to be an old recipe for a potion to be used for suppressing painful memories. It called for various common herbs which I knew Friar Lawrence grew in his garden, so I ran to him the first chance I got to ask for the ingredients. That, I found out later, was how the school at La Fortezza became interested in me. Friar Lawrence and, incredibly, my tutor both looked out for potential candidates to recruit for this secret school. Most of the tutor’s pupils, my cousin Juliet included, merely did the translation (perfectly, in her case). The very few with the curiosity to see if it would work, those were the ones that interested them.

But I knew none of that at the time; I was only interested in making the potion work. Initially, it didn’t, and I figured out there had been an ingredient omitted—possibly deliberately, so Grigio’s students wouldn’t have the complete formula. That was laughable—and insulting. I immediately began experimenting on my own, trying to figure out the missing item. (This extra step, apparently, made La Fortezza very interested in me.) My creations, placed discretely in various rooms, made me sneeze (not magical), made the cook giggle (possibly magical, since she generally had a dour disposition), and made my parents look at each other in a way I hadn’t seen in years (which was uncomfortable to witness but also possibly magical). I noted these combinations of ingredients down and, not satisfied, kept trying.

When I couldn’t quite come up with the perfect formula on my own, I sought the friar again. If Grigio was a young man who seemed like an old one, Friar Lawrence was, if not old, then middle-aged at least, but cheerful, jovial, and youthful in every aspect of his demeanor. To put it another way, he was possibly the only priest that people my age actually liked, someone who talked to you like a person and not just a sinner. In his little garden behind the church he welcomed me with delight, a dirt-crusted trowel in one hand and some mysterious wrinkled root in the other, immediately asking how my potion had gone.

“Not well, thank you. It didn’t work, but I think I know how I can fix it—with your help, if you would.”

“I would be most delighted to help,” he said, eager curiosity shining in his eyes. He put down the trowel and root, dusted his cassock off (though his hands were dirty too and he really only ended up shifting the soiling of the garment to different sections), and gestured me toward a bench where we both sat. “Now, how did you know it didn’t work?”

“I tried. A lot. The closest I got was when I tried it on Bruno, but even then it still wasn’t right.”

“Bruno?”

“The old dog I found wandering around outside our gate. I named him Bruno. Poor thing. He had been treated very badly, we think by a man or several of them—he is afraid of men. I wanted to see if I could help him forget his suffering. He seemed to be calmer when I sprinkled one particular herbal powder mix around him, but he still growls and shrinks away when a man goes by, so he hasn’t completely forgotten.”

The friar smiled. “That was kind of you to try, though a human subject might have been more able to communicate what they were experiencing.”

I shrugged. I wanted to try it on the dog because I wanted to alleviate his suffering. His big brown eyes were deep with sorrow. How could I do otherwise? I went on impatiently, “I know why it didn’t work—there’s an ingredient missing, isn’t there?”

Friar Lawrence tilted his head. “Yes and no. Well, yes and yes, I suppose. The recipe as you received it is in fact missing an ingredient, but that ingredient alone—stridolo petals, I believe—will not make this work. The real missing ingredient is you. Bruno calmed down because you were calm. Bruno cannot forget whatever suffering he went through, no matter what herbs you use, because you can’t forget it—because you never remembered it in the first place.”

“Of course not. I wasn’t there.” Now I frowned. Did I, too, have to be beaten and starved by cruel men for both of us to forget? Wasn’t there an easier way to help my poor sad-eyed friend? There was a limit to what even I wished to experience. “How can I make these things work without, well, going through terrible things?”

“It is a long and difficult journey to take, Rosaline. But I can try to show you the first steps.” He shifted a little on the bench so that he was facing me. “Think of a happy memory from your childhood, but don’t tell me about it.”

His simple request startled me. Was he going to read my mind?

Author Bio:

Coral-Li St. Helen is the pen name of a writer who lived all over the United States before settling down roughly in the middle. She loves reading and writing, hiking and napping, coffee, noodles, her spouse and her dog.

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