Posts Tagged ‘fantasy’

The Dragon Hunters
Histories of Malweir Book 2
by Christian Warren Freed
Genre: Epic Fantasy
The Mage Wars are a fading memory. The kingdoms of Malweir focus on
rebuilding what was lost and moving beyond the vast amounts of death
and devastation. For some it is easy, others far worse. Some men are
made in battle. Grelic of Thrae is one. A seasoned veteran of
numerous campaigns and raids, Grelic is a warrior without a war. He
languishes under mugs of ale and poor choices that eventually find
him locked in the dungeons of King Rentor. His only chance at
redemption is an offer tantamount to suicide: travel north with a
misfit band of adventurers and learn the truth of what happened in
the village of Gend.
Grelic, suddenly tired of his life, reluctantly agrees and meets the only
survivor of the horrible massacre: Fitch Iane. Broken, mentally and
physically, Fitch babbles about demons stalking through the mists and
a terrible monster prowling the skies, breathing fire and death.
What begins as a simple reconnaissance mission quickly turns into a quest
to stop Sidian, the Silver Mage from accomplishing his goals in the
Deadlands. The last of the dark mages seeks to recover the four
shards of the crystal of Tol Shere and open the gateway to release
the dark gods from their eternal prison.
Grelic and his team are sorely outnumbered and ill prepared to deal with the
combined threats of a dark mage and one of the great dragons from the
west. Not even the might of the Aeldruin, high elf mercenaries, and
Dakeb, the last of the mages, promises to be enough to stop evil and
restore peace to Thrae.

Guest Post

 Inspiration comes in many forms and degrees. The origins of one of my favorite books: Beyond the Edge of Dawn, came from my time in Baghdad, Iraq in 2005. Stationed at Camp Victory- situated beside Baghdad International Airport (BIAP), I used to run around a large lake at night. In the center of the lake was a bombed-out palace that one of Saddam Hussein’s sons once owned. I was in Mosul, Iraq in 2003 when Saddam was captured, and his sons were caught and killed in a gnarly firefight. Much to my chagrin, Saddam himself was being held prisoner in the bombed-out palace. Each night I would run around the lake and try to catch a glimpse of the Hitler-influenced dictator.

 I never did get to see him before he was tried and hung by and Iraqi court, but during those nights a name entered my head. Wheels began to turn. Who was he/she? What did he do? Why should I write a story about him? The answers kept coming and each night when I finished my run I would go to my notebook and write the details down. By the time my third tour of duty in Iraq was finished I had the outline for Dawn. Inspiration can be found everywhere, if only we open our eyes to see it.


Armies of the Silver Mage
Histories of Malweir Book 1
Malweir was once governed by the order of Mages, bringers of peace and light.
Centuries past and the lands prospered. But all was not well. Unknown
to most, one mage desired power above all else. He turned his will to
the banished Dark Gods and brought war to the free lands. Only a
handful of mages survived the betrayal and the Silver Mage was left
free to twist the darker races to his bidding. The only thing he
needs to complete his plan and rule the world forever are the four
shards of the crystal of Tol Shere.
Having spent most of their lives dreaming about leaving their sleepy village
and travelling the world, Delin Kerny and Fennic Attleford never
thought that one day they would be forced to flee their town in order
to save their lives. Everything changes when they discover the fabled
Star Silver sword and learn that there are some who want the weapon
for themselves. Hunted by a ruthless mercenary, the boys run from Fel
Darrins and are forced into the adventure they only dreamed
about.
Ever ashamed of the horrors his kind let loose on the world the last mage,
Dakeb, lives his life in shadows. The only thing keeping him alive is
his quest to stop the Silver Mage from reassembling the crystal. His
chance finally comes through the hearts and wills of Delin and
Fennic. Dakeb bestows upon them the crystal shard, entrusting them
with the one thing capable of restoring peace to Malweir.
Christian W. Freed was born in Buffalo, N.Y. more years ago than he would like
to remember. After spending more than 20 years in the active duty US
Army he has turned his talents to writing. Since retiring, he has
gone on to publish 17 military fantasy and science fiction novels, as
well as his memoirs from his time in Iraq and Afghanistan. His first
published book (Hammers in the Wind) has been the #1 free book on
Kindle 4 times and he holds a fancy certificate from the L Ron
Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest.
Passionate about history, he combines his knowledge of the past with modern
military tactics to create an engaging, quasi-realistic world for the
readers. He graduated from Campbell University with a degree in
history and is pursuing a Masters of Arts degree in Military History
from Norwich University. He currently lives outside of Raleigh, N.C.
and devotes his time to writing, his family, and their two Bernese
Mountain Dogs. If you drive by you might just find him on the porch
with a cigar in one hand and a pen in the other.
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The Sage’s Reign
The Final Lesson Book 2
by Shakyra Dunn
Genre: YA Fantasy
Eternal night looms over Adrylis.
After her Grimoire is lost to the Order of Helix, Leilana is left to
prepare herself in a newfound way before her return to the crown city
of Linmus to help reclaim Prince Remiel’s throne. One by one,
countries lay burning at their feet. Magic is on its last legs, but
the Orb of Concord is within their reach.
From the opposite spectrum, the mastermind awaits, playing puppet-master
as they march to their doom. Time is against them as the final
moonless night looms above. The final test from the Warlords of Old
has finally come into play.
The Final Lesson
The Final Lesson Book 1
“Trust none but yourself.”
Leilana Erovina’s got a bid for power as she takes the final test to become
one of her realm’s Warlords. As such, she sets out to travel the
lands of Adrylis and log magical totems from respectful folk with
only one hitch—no ancestral help. The quest is a pilgrimage to
learn the basics of human nature. Some would call concepts like
gentleness and passion fables of the heart.
In another perspective, war brews in the kingdom of Linmus, throwing
Adrylis into chaos. Prince Remiel Vesarus finds himself in exile,
vengeance on his mind for those who tore his life asunder. His
attendant Solus Brenner at his side, they plan on restoring their
kingdom against all odds.
Fate has drawn these two parties together. Conjoined at the hip, the
traveler, prince and right-hand will learn the old saying of magic:
“It always comes with a price.”
Shakyra Dunn can’t stray away from the impression that there is always an
adventure around every corner! When she isn’t playing the role of the
Creator, she is marching through the worlds of her favorite video
game characters or taking drives around her city to see the sights.
Born in Chicago, Illinois, she currently resides in Cedar Rapids,
Iowa, striving to experience more than the little town.

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Exile of the Seas
Chronicles of Dasnaria #2
by Jeffe Kennedy
Genre: Dark Fantasy
Pub Date: 9/4/18
Around the shifting borders of the Twelve Kingdoms, trade and conflict,
danger and adventure put every traveler on guard . . . but some have
everything to lose.
ESCAPED
Once she was known as Jenna, Imperial Princess of Dasnaria, schooled in
graceful dance and comely submission. Until the man her parents
married her off to almost killed her with his brutality.
Now, all she knows is that the ship she’s boarded is bound away from her
vicious homeland. The warrior woman aboard says Jenna’s skill in
dancing might translate into a more lethal ability. Danu’s fighter
priestesses will take her in, disguise her as one of their own—and
allow her to keep her silence.
But it’s only a matter of time until Jenna’s monster of a husband
hunts her down. Her best chance to stay hidden is to hire out as
bodyguard to a caravan traveling to a far-off land, home to beasts
and people so unfamiliar they seem like part of a fairy tale. But her
supposed prowess in combat is a fraud. And sooner or later, Jenna’s
flight will end in battle—or betrayal . . .

 


Excerpt

I grew up in paradise.

Tropically warm, lushly beautiful, replete with luxury, my childhood world was without flaw. My least whim was met with immediate indulgence, served instantly and with smiles of delight. I swam in crystal clear waters, then napped on silk. I chased gorgeously ornamental fish and birds, and enjoyed dozens of perfectly behaved pets of unusual coloring and pedigrees. My siblings and I spent our days in play, nothing ever asked or expected of us.

Until the day everything was demanded—and taken—from me.

Only then did I finally see our paradise for what it was, how deliberately designed to mold and shape us. A breeding ground for luxurious accessories. To create a work of art, you grow her in an environment of elegance and beauty. To make her soft and lusciously accommodating, you surround her with delicacies and everything delightful. And you don’t educate her in anything but being pleasing.

Education leads to critical thinking, not a desirable trait in a princess of Dasnaria, thus I was protected from anything that might taint the virginity of my mind, as well as my body.

Because I’d understood so little of the world outside, when my time came to be plucked from the garden, when the snip of the shears severed me from all I’d known, the injury came as a shock so devastating that I had no ability to even understand what it meant, much less summon the will to resist and overcome. Which, I’ve also come to realize over time, was also a part of the deliberate design.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me go back to the beginning.

I grew up in paradise.

And it was all you’d imagine paradise to be. A soft palace of lagoons and lush gardens, of silk bowers and laughter. With little else to do, our mothers and the other ladies played with us, games both simple and extravagantly layered. When we tired, we napped on the velvet soft grass of the banks of the pools, or on the silk pillows scattered everywhere. We’d sleep until we awoke, eat the tidbits served us by watchful servant girls, then play more.

Hestar and I had our own secret games and language. All the ladies called us the royal pair, as we were the emperor’s firstborns and we’d been born less than a month apart.

My mother, first wife, the Empress Hulda, and the most highly ranked woman in the empire, spent much of her day at court. When she was home in the seraglio, she preferred to relax without noisy children to bother her. Hestar’s mother, Jilliya, was second wife and kept getting pregnant, forever having and sometimes losing the babies. So, by unspoken agreement, we kept clear of her apartments, too. Something else I understood much later, that the miasma of misery has its own brand of contagion—and that those who fear contracting the deadly disease stay far away.

Saira, on the other hand, third wife and mother of our half-sister Inga, had a kindness and sweetness to her, so we kids often played in her apartments when we grew bored of games like climbing the palm trees to see who could pluck the most dates while a servant counted the time. Inga, along with my full brother, Kral, were the second oldest pair—the

second-borns, also arriving in the same month, to my mother and Saira. Less than a year younger than Hestar and me, they completed our set of four. Our six other brothers and sisters played with us, too, but they were babies still, needing to be watched all the time. Whenever we could, the four of us ditched the babies, exploring the far corners of our world, then making hideouts where no one could find us.

Though, of course, when the least desire took our fancy, someone always appeared instantaneously to satisfy us. Another of the many illusions of my childhood.

Hestar and I, we had a cave we’d made under a clump of ferns. He’d stocked it with a box of sweetmeats and I’d stolen one of my mother’s silk throws for a carpet. Embroidered with fabulous animals, it told tales of a world beyond our corner of paradise. We loved it best of all our purloined treasures, and made up stories about the scenes and creatures, giving them names and convoluted histories.

One day—the kind that stands out with crystalline clarity, each detail incised in my memory—we played as usual. Hestar had been mysteriously gone for a while the day before, or perhaps several days before or for several days in a row. That part fogs in with the timelessness of those days that never ended, but blended one into the next. What I remember is the elephant.

“And the miskagiggle flapped its face tail, saying nooo—”

“It’s called an elephant,” Hestar interrupted me.

“What is?”

“It’s not a miskagiggle. It’s an elephant, and the face tail is a trunk.”

Hestar beamed with pride at knowing something I didn’t.

“You’re making that up.”

“No, I’m not! My tutor told me.”

“What’s that?”

“A teacher. My tutor is named Ser Llornsby.”

“Is that where you went?” Hestar and Kral had been whisked off by servants, and no one would tell me or Inga where they were, just that we’d see them again soon.

Hestar’s blue eyes went wide and he looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Want to know a secret?”

Oh, did I. Even then I understood that secrets were the carefully hoarded and counted currency of the seraglio. “Yes!”

We pulled the silk throw over our heads to make a tent. It was the usual grass beneath, so we didn’t really need the carpet. Having it just made our hideaway more special—and the throw became a blanket, excellent for exchanging secrets.

“We went through the doors!” Hestar told me, whispering but much too loudly.

I hushed him. I didn’t question how I knew, but this secret held power. Most of our secrets had been silly, frivolous things, like how Inga kept candied dates under her pillow. Or ones everyone already knew, like that Jilliya was pregnant again. With the unabashed enthusiasm of children, we absorbed all the murmured gossip and repeated it with equal relish. This, though—I recognized immediately how important it was.

No wonder no one would tell us where they’d gone. Children didn’t go through the doors. Only my mother and some of the women. The rekjabrel and other servants, they went in and out all the time. But a lot of times they came back crying or hurt, so we understood the doors led to a terrible place. And yet Hestar had gone and returned, beaming.

“Was it terrible? Were you scared? Did Kral go, too?”

Hestar nodded, solemnly. “We were brave boys though. And it’s not like here. There aren’t the lagoons and it’s not as warm. They took us to a library and we met Ser Llornsby. We looked at pictures and learned animal names.”

I couldn’t bring myself to ask what a library might be. I wanted to look at pictures and learn animal names. Though I didn’t know the emotion to name it at the time, a jab of envy lanced through my heart. Hestar and I always had everything the same, only I had the better mother, because she was first wife. It wasn’t fair that Hestar got to go through the doors and learn things without me. An elephant. I whispered the exotic word to myself.

“Elephants are huge and people ride on their backs, and the elephants carry things for them in their trunks.” Hestar continued, full of smug pride. “Ser Llornsby is going to teach me everything I need to know to be emperor someday.”

“Why do you get to be emperor? My mother is first wife. Yours is only second wife. Besides, I’m older.”

Hestar wrinkled his nose at me. “Because you’re a girl. Girls can’t be emperor. Only empress.”

That was true. It was the way of things. “Well then you can be emperor and I can be empress like Mother.”

“All right!” Hestar grinned. “We’ll rule the whole empire and have lots of elephants. Kral and Inga can be our servants.”

For the rest of the day we played emperor and empress. Kral and Inga got mad and decided they would be emperor and empress, too, not listening when we said there could only be one of each and we were firstborn so they had to be our servants. They went off to play their own game, but we got Helva to be in our court, and also her little brothers, Leo and Loke. The boys were identical twins and liked any game they could play together. Baby Harlan could barely toddle, so he stayed with his nurse. Ban went off with Inga, of course, as he followed her everywhere, but her full brother, Mykal came to our side.

We didn’t care, because our court was the biggest. Besides, everyone knew the emperor gets to pick his own empress, and Hestar already promised me I’d be first wife and I could pick his other wives, just like Mother did. Which meant Inga wouldn’t get to be one. Maybe not Helva, either, though I told her she would be.

Mother didn’t much care for Saira and Jilliya, so maybe I wouldn’t have other wives at all. I didn’t need them to be empress.

Playing emperor and empress turned out to be terribly fun. Hestar made me a crown of orchids and we took over one of the small eating salons, getting the servants to clear out the table and pillows, instead setting up two big chairs to be our thrones. His Imperial Majesty Emperor Einarr Konyngrr, our father, had a throne. So we’d heard. And we badgered one of the rekjabrel who’d served in the court to tell us what it looked like.

“Huge, Your Imperial Highnesses,” she said, keeping her eyes averted.

“It towers above, all platinum and crystal, so bright you can’t look upon it. I can’t say more.”

“What about the Empress’s throne?” I persisted.

“Just the one throne, Your Imperial Highness Princess Jenna.”

“That can’t be right,” I told Hestar, when we let the rekjabrel go. “She must not have seen properly.”

“We don’t have platinum anyway,” he replied.

So we decorated the two big chairs, which ended up taking a long time. They needed to be sparkling, which meant we needed jewels. Leo and Loke were good at persuading bangles off the ladies, but then didn’t like to give them up. By the time we chased them down and got everything decorated, we had only a little time to have actual court. When my nurse, Kaia, came to get me for my bath, we made all the servants promise to leave everything as it was.

“Kaia?” I asked, splashing at the warmed milk water as she poured the jasmine rinse through my hair.

“Yes, Princess?”

“Have you seen an elephant?”

She laughed. “No, Princess. I’ve never heard of such a thing. Is this one of your games?”

“No—they’re real. Their face-tails are called trunks.”

“If you say so, Princess.”

I fumed a little. How could I find out more about elephants when no one even believed they were real? “When do I get to go through the doors and look at pictures of animals and learn their names?”

Kaia dropped the pitcher of jasmine water, breaking it on the tiles. I would have scolded her for clumsiness, but she had such an odd look on her face that I stopped mid-word.

“Where have you heard of such a thing, Princess?” She had her head bowed, but with her scalp shorn, she couldn’t hide her face. She’d gone white, her eyes squinched up like she hurt. Just like that time Mother accused her of drinking from her special teapot, and had Kaia lashed until she confessed. Kaia had cried and cried, not wanting to play with me for days afterward. But this time she didn’t have any blood, so I didn’t understand why she went all pale like that.

“Hestar got to go. And Kral, too, and he’s younger. I want to go. I command you to take me tomorrow.”

“Your Imperial Highness, I cannot.”

“You will or I’ll tell Mother.”

“Up and out, Princess,” she replied, dumping the shards into a waste bin, then holding out a towel. “We must address this with Her Imperial Majesty. You can ask her in person.”

She dried me off, too briskly, and I almost reprimanded her, but she still looked so scared and I didn’t want her to not play with me for days again. “I already said goodnight to Mother.” Mother didn’t like to be disturbed after goodnights, and the prospect began to make me a little afraid, too.

Kaia wrapped my hair in a towel, then rubbed me all over with jasmine scented unguent. She worked as thoroughly as always, but wouldn’t answer any more questions, simply saying that I could ask my mother momentarily.

She pulled my nightgown over my head and had me put on a robe, too, which wasn’t usual. And we went with my hair still damp, not carefully combed dry before the fire while she told me stories.

I didn’t want to miss my stories and I began to be afraid I’d said something terribly wrong. I’d known this was an important secret. How could I have been so careless? It was the elephant. “Let’s not go see Mother,” I said.

Kaia shook her head, pressing her lips together. “I apologize, Princess, but I’m afraid we must.”

“I don’t want to. Tell me my stories. My hair is still wet.”

But she didn’t bend, which scared me even more. Kaia always did what I told her. Almost always. She took my hand in a grip so firm it nearly hurt and practically dragged me to Mother’s private salon. I resisted, and would have thrown a fit, but Mother wouldn’t like that. An imperial princess gives commands in a firm and gentle voice, never shrill, and

tears are unacceptable.

Still, when Kaia called out through the closed yellow silk curtains, and my mother snapped out a reply, I nearly did cry. And Kaia didn’t relent in her grip, which made me think she was angry with me and Kaia was never angry, even when I refused to eat my supper and demanded dessert instead. She parted the curtains and slipped me inside, kneeling beside me and bowing her head to the plush tapestried carpet. I lowered my eyes, too, though I didn’t have to kneel.

“Well?” the empress demanded in a cold tone. “What is the meaning of this, child?”

“My humble apologies, Your Imperial Majesty,” Kaia said, though Mother had clearly asked me. Her voice shook and her hand had gone all cold and sweaty. I yanked mine away and she let me. “Her Imperial Highness Princess Jenna has asked me questions I cannot answer. I thought it best to bring her to you immediately.”

“It’s not your responsibility to think,” Mother replied. A hissing sound as she breathed in her relaxing smoke. “You are to keep the princess well groomed, as she most certainly is not at the moment. Your hair is wet, Jenna.”

A tear slipped down my cheek, making me glad that I was to keep my eyes averted unless given permission. Maybe she wouldn’t see. “I’m sorry,

Mother,” I whispered.

“As well you should be. Interrupting my quiet time. Going about like a rekjabrel with wild hair. Are you a princess of Dasnaria?”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”

She hmphed in derision. “You don’t look like one. What question did you ask to upset your nurse so?”

Kaia had gone silent, quaking on the carpet beside me. No help at all. I considered lying, saying Kaia had made it up. But Mother wouldn’t believe that. Kaia would never so recklessly attract punishment. I happened to know she hadn’t snuck the tea—one of the rekjabrel had taken it for her sister, but Kaia had never said.

“Jenna,” Mother said, voice like ice. “Look at me.”

I did, feeling defiant, for no good reason. Mother reclined on her pillows, her embroidered silk gown a river of blues over their ruby reds. Her unbound hair flowed over it all, a pale blond almost ivory, like mine. In contrast, her eyes looked black as ebony, darker even than the artful shadows outlining them. She’d removed most of her jewelry, wearing only the wedding bracelets that never came off. She held her glass pipe in her jeweled nails. The scarlet of her lip paint left a waxy mark on the end of it, scented smoke coiling from the bowl.

“Tears?” Her voice dripped contempt and disbelief. “What could you possibly have said to have your nurse in a puddle and an imperial princess in tears, simply in anticipation?”

“I didn’t say anything!” I answered.

“Your nurse is lying then,” the empress cooed. “I shall have to punish her.”

Kaia let out this noise, like the one Inga’s kitten had made when Ban kicked it. The ladies had taken it to a better home and Inga had cried for days until they gave her five new kittens just like it.

“I only asked about the elephants,” I said, very quietly.

“Excuse me?” The arch of her darkened brows perfectly echoed her tone.

“Elephants!” I yelled at her, and burst into full-fledged sobbing. If you’d asked me then, what made me break all those rules, raising my voice, defying my mother, losing the composure expected of an imperial princess, firstborn daughter of Emperor Einarr, I likely could only have explained that I wanted to know about elephants so badly that it felt like a

physical ache. Something extraordinary for a girl who’d rarely experienced pain of any sort.

Once I’d had a pet, an emerald lizard with bright yellow eyes. Its scales felt like cool water against my skin, and it would wrap its tail tightly around my wrist. I’d only had it a day when it bit me. Astonished by the bright pain,

the blood flowing from my finger, I’d barely registered that I’d been hurt before the servants descended, wrapping the wound in bandages soaked in sweet smelling salve that took sensation away.

They also took the lizard away and wouldn’t give it back, despite my demands and pleas. When the salve wore off, my finger throbbed. And when they took the bandages off, the skin around the bite had turned a fascinating purple and gray. They tried to keep me from looking, but I caught glimpses before they made it numb again, then wrapped it up and I couldn’t see it anymore. I’d tap my finger against things, trying to feel it again. My finger and the lizard, both gone.

I felt like that, full of purple bruising and soft pain, as if I’d been bitten inside, and somehow numb on the outside. I wondered what might disappear this time.

“Elephants,” my mother pronounced the word softly, almost in wonder.

Then she laughed, not at all nicely. “Leave us,” she snapped, making Kaia scurry backwards. “It’s apparently time for me to have a conversation about life with my daughter.”

 


Prisoner of the Crown
Chronicles of Dasnaria #1
She was raised to be beautiful, nothing more. And then the rules changed . . .
In icy Dasnaria, rival realm to the Twelve Kingdoms, a woman’s role is
to give pleasure, produce heirs, and question nothing. But a plot to
overthrow the emperor depends on the fate of his eldest daughter. And
the treachery at its heart will change more than one carefully
limited life . . .
The Gilded Cage
Princess Jenna has been raised in supreme luxury—and ignorance. Within the
sweet-scented, golden confines of the palace seraglio, she’s never
seen the sun, or a man, or even learned her numbers. But she’s been
schooled enough in the paths to a woman’s power. When her betrothal
is announced, she’s ready to begin the machinations that her mother
promises will take Jenna from ornament to queen.
But the man named as Jenna’s husband is no innocent to be cozened or
prince to charm. He’s a monster in human form, and the horrors of
life under his thumb are clear within moments of her wedding vows. If
Jenna is to live, she must somehow break free—and for one born to a
soft prison, the way to cold, hard freedom will be a dangerous path
indeed…

 


Guest Post

Writing PRISONER OF THE CROWN was an interesting foray into history for me. See, this book is the first in a trilogy that’s a spinoff from the world established in my Twelve Kingdoms and Uncharted Realms series. The Empire of Dasnaria, where PRISONER takes place, is a foreign – and aggressive – realm encountered by the people of the Twelve Kingdoms. And Dasnaria is a very different culture where women do not have the same rights and freedoms that they do in the twelve.

Part of that came from wanting a foil to my assertive and powerful High Queen of the Twelve Kingdoms, and the other part came from me being aware of the political and cultural situation in our modern world. I wanted to better understand how women can be happy raised in a culture where they’re kept “under wraps” in one way or another, where men decide their lives and provide escorts everywhere. Dasnaria became that place in my fictional world.

With PRISONER, I got to write that story from the inside, through the character of Imperial Princess Jenna, born in the seraglio of the Imperial Palace of Dasnaria. She’s spent her entire life there, surrounded by women and given a carefully crafted education. So, while I knew the societal rules of Dasnaria from my people of the Twelve Kingdoms learning about them, Jenna was my first opportunity to be in the head of a woman who grew up inside that culture, who knows those rules as immutable.

This proved to be a challenge, because the cloistered world of the seraglio is all Jenna knows to begin with. It’s not until she leaves the seraglio to be married that she begins to seriously question whether she could have another life. At first, she utterly believes that men are smarter and stronger, that only through her husband and sons – and manipulating her daughters the same way she’s been groomed – can she gain any power. She takes at face value that women must learn to pleasure men, and she’ll offer her body with complete obedience and submissive grace to her husband, no matter what he demands of her. She even nurtures a romantic ideal that if she’s beautiful and perfect, then she will have a happy marriage.

We all know how that kind of thinking works out.

This story is not a romance. The beastly husband doesn’t turn out to be a wonderful man beneath. This is entirely Jenna’s story, and how she discovers that how she’s been raised and what she’s been taught is only one lens on the world.

And that there’s more out there beyond the Empire of Dasnaria.


Jeffe Kennedy is an award-winning author with a writing career that spans
decades. She lives in Santa Fe, with two Maine Coon cats, a border
collie, plentiful free-range lizards and a Doctor of Oriental
Medicine. Jeffe can be found online at JeffeKennedy.com, or every
Sunday at the popular Word Whores blog.
Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!