The Hollow Crown Martina Boone (The Five Crowns, #2) Publication date: March 9th 2027 Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance
Every night, magic makes him forget her. Every day, she makes him fall for her again.
Flora Domhnall survived the Hunt, claimed the Crown of Moonlight, and woke a magic unseen in Alba Scoria for over four hundred years. But her coronation didn’t end the war. The Highlands are still burning, and the immortal warrior Flora needs at her side is still bound by oaths that see her as a threat. Chyr loves her as fiercely as she loves him—but if he remembers who she is, the oaths carved into his flesh will force him to kill her.
Each morning, he wakes wary, lost to her, and dangerous. Each day, he is drawn back by echoes of a love he cannot name. By evening, tenderness returns, desire returns, and with them come glimpses of the man who chose Flora over a crown, a kingdom, and the oaths that keep him chained.
Then she has to let him go again.
The Raven Queen is still waging her war across Alba Scoria. She turns hunger, grief, and fear into weapons, leaving poisoned wells, starving villages, and broken clans in her wake. To save her people, Flora must become more than a symbol, more than a queen. She must become the healer of a wounded land—even if that means trusting the man whose love may be the most dangerous thing about him.
The war needs them both. But if Flora cannot break the oaths carved into Chyr’s flesh, the love that saves him each day may become the wound neither of them survives.
The Hollow Crown is the second book in The Five Crowns, a sweeping Celtic romantic fantasy series of forbidden magic, impossible oaths, ancient queens, Highland war, and a love story fierce enough to defy the gods. For the full emotional impact, begin with The Crown of Moonlight.
Martina Boone is the award-winning author of romantic fiction set in magical places. Her books blend lush writing, strong heroines, wounded heroes, atmospheric landscapes, history, folklore, family secrets, and magic woven through the ordinary world. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found traveling, reading, studying history and folklore, wrangling wildflower meadows, or playing with Shetland Sheepdogs and tuxedo cats.
The Crown of Moonlight Martina Boone (The Five Crowns, #1) Publication date: November 11th 2025 Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance
She’s the Highlander who saves his life with forbidden magic. He’s the immortal stranger who falls first—one healing touch, one fierce kindness at a time.
A romantic fantasy inspired by Scottish history, where the land itself is magic and chooses a woman as its champion.
Flora Domhnall is the last of her line: a healer, a strategist, her clan’s only defence in a war neither side can win. When she finds a dying immortal warrior in her woods, saving him is a terrible risk. But if he dies on her land, her clan will pay the price.
Her choice binds her fate to his.
Chyr has spent four centuries chained by the oaths carved into his flesh—oaths that read his every thought. Violence and honour are all he knows, and Flora’s brave, impossible mercy breaks him open.
Hunted across the burning Highlands, they can rely only on each other. Their longing grows with every mile they share a saddle, every sacrifice made in silence, and every night they guard each other in the dark.
He’s hopelessly fallen. She’s fighting not to fall.
Then the ancient sovereignty magic of the Cailleach Queens awakens in Flora—and marks her as something the world hasn’t seen in four hundred years.
And Chyr’s oaths may demand he destroy the one person he can’t bear to lose.
For her, he’ll try to break his oaths. Even if it kills him.
From award-winning author Martina Boone, The Crown of Moonlight is a mythic Celtic romantasy perfect for readers who love the haunting historical romance of Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander, the soul-deep yearning of Rebecca Ross, and the dark, aching magic of Rachel Gillig’s One Dark Window. The first book in a sweeping series about ancient crowns, impossible oaths, and a love that must survive betrayal, war, and the gods themselves.
My knees shake as I crouch beside the nearest Ever, and a hot flush of magic ripples across my skin. More magic than I’ve ever felt. But that’s not the only shock. Although the ancient tales talk about the beauty of the Everfolk, seeing it in front of me makes my breath catch.
The Ever is handsome in a way that explains the warnings in the ancient stories—the blinding, dangerous sort of beauty that’s said to make humans lose their will and descend into madness. His features are too eerily perfect, his black hair has the gleam of raven’s wings, and the blue eyes that look unseeingly into the sky catch the light like layers of stained glass, revealing more colours the deeper I look.
His sightless stare unnerves me, and I brush my fingers across his lids to close them. The skin is still warm. I flinch from the contact, and my hand grazes a pale-blue crystal set in a ring on his right hand.
A jolt of pure power jars me as I touch it—so hot and bright that it pulls an answering flare from the ember of magic that burns inside me. Snatching my hand away, I wait for the sensation to ebb. But I miss it when it’s gone. My magic misses it, which makes no sense since my magic isn’t Ever magic. Careful not to touch the ring again, I bend closer to examine the crystal set within it. There’s movement inside, gold threads of magic dancing like lightning behind a thin haze of cloud.
The movement is mesmerising, holding me captive a moment too long after Ari snorts and stomps his foot. By the time the thud and the jingling of his bridle finally register, his muscles are braced as he uses his back to pull harder against the reins that tie him to the tree.
Then a twig snaps somewhere close. Behind me? To the left?
I spin around, searching. But there’s nothing. No one.
Well, I refuse to play this game.
“Who’s there? Come out and show yourself instead of hiding like a coward.”
The Wood falls unnaturally still. Then shadows stir beneath an oak tree to my left.
“I know you’re there,” I say, gripping the dagger tighter.
A voice answers me from the shadows. “Careful, little one. Taunt the things you fear, and you might just prove you were right to be afraid.”
The voice is male—slow and resonant, pitched between a growl and a cat’s deep purr. A predator’s voice, claws barely sheathed.
A shiver of awareness ripples down my spine. I draw on the cool, gritty power of the earth and fuse it with the fire that burns inside me. Needles of magic rake through bone and tissue as I force it outward, pouring it into the dagger. The blade groans, lengthening and thickening until it becomes a perfect replica of my father’s sword and rests cold, heavy, and steadying within my grasp.
An Ever steps forward, his figure cloaked in gloom, footsteps whispering over the frost-crusted moss. He’s larger than the bodies behind me seemed, taller and broader, his features carved in bold strokes beneath gilded hair that’s tied half-up in a warrior’s knot and reveals a widow’s peak. He looks gaunt, worn down, though power and command still radiate from him. He’s every bit as beautiful as the others—and devastatingly male.
He watches me with a faint, treacherous smile. “You can put that illusion away,” he says. “You’re lucky I didn’t mistake it for a threat.”
“The sword is no illusion,” I say, “and the threat is no mistake.”
Author Bio:
Martina Boone is the award-winning author of romantic fiction set in magical places. Her books blend lush writing, strong heroines, wounded heroes, atmospheric landscapes, history, folklore, family secrets, and magic woven through the ordinary world. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found traveling, reading, studying history and folklore, wrangling wildflower meadows, or playing with Shetland Sheepdogs and tuxedo cats.
I didn’t join the force to play dress-up in designer heels and
pretend to be someone’s girlfriend, but apparently life has a twisted
sense of humor. And mine comes with a six-foot-something ego, a movie-star
smile, and a peculiar knack for getting under my skin.
Marco Dal Santo is everything I don’t trust: cocky, charming, reckless,
and way too comfortable in a world built on smoke and mirrors. I’m
supposed to use him to get close to people who hide crimes behind champagne
and expensive suits. He’s supposed to be a means to an end. Convenient.
Temporary. And fake.
But there’s one small problem. It doesn’t really feel fake because
every time he touches me, every time he pushes past my defenses and makes me
feel something real, I forget that we’re supposed to be pretending.
Somewhere between the staged kisses and very real arguments, the lines get
blurred, and I can’t tell what’s part of the job…and what
isn’t.
We’re caught up in a world where one wrong move can get us killed, yet
I’m starting to realize the most dangerous part of this case isn’t
the criminals we’re chasing.
It’s him.
Because if anyone finds out I’m developing genuine feeling for my fake
boyfriend, I’ll lose my badge, my mentor’s trust, and possibly my
heart in the process.
So yeah…I’m in way over my head.
And the worst part?
I’m not sure I want to be rescued.
Trigger warning: Gun violence, trauma victim and grief.
About the Author
Number cruncher by day, raging romance novelist by night;
Jacqueline’s creative inspiration stems from romance and all its
literary and rom-com depictions. Matters of the heart are what fascinates her,
because ultimately, what makes a life out of – what would ordinarily be a
typical existence – is Love
Makerborn Daymon Ashcord (Maladies of Empire, #1) Publication date: June 15th 2026 Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy
The God War is over. An empire built on suffering, slavery, and betrayal remains…
In the fractured lands of the Salvian Empire, the Great Houses rule through blood and fear. For years, Alandra Phoenyka has hunted powerful Sonomancers in the empire’s name, paid in empty promises that her stolen daughter would be returned. Each step forward demands another compromise. Another betrayal. Another piece of herself lost.
When those promises turn to treachery, she is forced to take matters into her own hands and risk everything to reclaim her child.
In the empire’s mining camps, Bez Windstrider has endured years of torture and brutal experimentation. Broken but unyielding, he clings to one purpose: vengeance. The men who murdered his parents will pay, and their deaths will complete the ritual needed to free his parents’ souls from damnation.
But the deeper his grief cuts, the more he becomes something far more dangerous, for himself and for the empire.
As their paths draw closer, the buried truths of the God War begin to surface. What begins as two personal vendettas threatens to unravel something far greater than either of them can control.
Because empires do not fall quietly.
And the gods that shaped them are not as dead as they seem.
Makerborn is the first book in the Maladies of Empire series, a brutal epic dark fantasy of vengeance, sacrifice, and the cost of love.
For readers of dark, character-driven epic fantasy in the vein of Joe Abercrombie, Mark Lawrence, R.F. Kuang, Evan Winter, and Steven Erikson.
Bez woke in darkness, deep in a pit, having failed his parents yet again. The night air was heavy and damp. The acrid stench of feces had lessened, but his nose still burned with the stink of decay. He felt like he would never wash the smell from his body. What does it matter now?
The moist earth offered scant relief from the Southern Waste’s merciless heat. Sweat slicked his body. His skin felt on fire, reminding him of how the Salvians slowly roasted meat on spits. He pinched his right nostril and blew out a thick wad of phlegm.
How long? How squalling long have they left me down here to rot?
He traced fine grooves in the earthy wall of his cage with long, dirty fingernails. Twenty-seven days he’d scratched before he’d given up counting. Then the real fun began. Weeks of wading in his own shit like a rutting hog once the pit guards had stopped retrieving his privy bucket. Weeks more of starvation when the obvious solution to avoid living in a hog pen penetrated his addled mind: no food, no feces. His only companions were self-pity, nightmares, and maggots gorging on his noxious filth.
And the moans of indentured miners, likely years past their freedom date, and Collared All-Tribe—his people—drifting down in his dirt tomb.
“Water,” cried a pit prisoner.
“Bread, just a heel of bread for Seal’s sake,” whined another.
“It was Tuftson,” someone sniveled. “He made me do it. It was him. Please, let me out.”
“Shut your gobs!” bellowed a voice.
The sounds washed over him, had become part of him, familiar as his gnawing hunger or the ever-present worms wriggling against his hot skin. Even without starlight, his people’s blessed vision allowed him to penetrate the mirk. He watched his sunken stomach rise and fall. Each rib pressed against his skin. Sour spit filled his mouth.
He wasn’t surprised that an army of worms assaulted the sides of his stomach and shoulders while he dozed. The slimy little grubs coated him with a sticky sludge, but he was past caring. Hands trembling, he brushed the vanguard away that had reached his chest. His legs were a lost cause. Scores of grubs covered them so only his toes peeked out.
Bez yawned. Heat-induced spans of intermittent sleep kept him drowsy and muddled. Sometimes his parents sat beside him in the dirt, back from the dead, singing and laughing. Other times, he was in the mountains climbing crags, or swimming in crystalline lakes so clear he could see rocks at the bottom. Moments ago, he was a boy again, running barefoot with his cousins through Uncle Darian’s fields, the tall grass whipping at his legs. Then a cry from a prisoner or the damp air clogging his nose had awakened him, shattering the vision. What was real or imagined blurred. Maybe I’m with my uncle still and the pit is only a nightmare.
Hesitantly, he stretched his hands to either side, fingertips brushing the cool, root-tangled walls. Feet firmly pressed against damp earth. Not a nightmare. He moaned like a wounded animal.
“Guardian spirits above,” he wheezed, not wiping the hot tears streaking down his cheek. “There’s no way out.”
But that was a lie. There was a way. His fingers searched for the gouge in the wall, finding the sharp-edged shard of obsidian he’d hidden there. My final escape.
He pried it free, hand shaking, and pressed the jagged edge against the soft flesh of his right wrist. A bead of blood sprang from the tip.
“I’ll do it this time,” he said to the crude face carved into the wall. A pause. “I know that’s what I said last time. By the All-Spirit, I can’t—” His throat tightened. “I can’t take it anymore.”
“Enjoying your new home, demon-blood?” asked an unwelcome voice from the pit’s metal cage above.
“Dorota,” he rasped, tongue clumsy from disuse. “What a pleasure.”
He hated Yan’s henchwoman, but at that moment, his life in the balance, he clung to her words like a drowning man to driftwood.
Her chuckles echoed in the earthy tomb. “Liar. Play it friendly as you like, slit-eyes, but we both know what you are.” She crouched, damp hair plastered to her face, mouth hooked in a grin that never reached her eyes. “I saw the demon in you when we caught you on that ridge. Thought you were clever, didn’t you? Thought the aqueduct workers wouldn’t notice you and your two friends? What is the count? Your third?”
It was his fourth failed attempt to escape the Makersmetal mining camp, but he didn’t bother correcting the murdering bitch. I failed them just like my parents. Tala dead. Marcel beaten or worse. Anelia missing. And Bez… well, he would die in darkness, dooming his parents’ souls to wander the Shadowlands forever, never to reunite with their ancestors. He choked down a sob, not wanting to give her any satisfaction seeing him broken.
Author Bio:
Daymon Ashcord writes dark fantasy shaped by suffering, resilience, and the brutal edges of love pushed too far.
Born in Gdańsk, Poland, and raised in New York, he grew up on science fiction, fantasy, and the stories that linger long after the final page. After studying accounting and public policy, he left a conventional path to travel the world and create a documentary, turning storytelling into something essential.
His debut novel, Makerborn (2026), reflects years of persistence, personal setbacks, and a fascination with the darker truths people endure to survive.
He lives in North Carolina, hiking mountains by day and writing by night. He is considering adopting a dog, a cat, or both, and suspects they would judge him harshly.
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
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.
In 1940, Leo Butlion, a young Jew studying to be a medical doctor in
Koblenz, Germany, has his future plans disrupted when Nazi forces destroy his
family and their business. His heroic escape and commitment to survive drive
him to overcome the greatest test man could ever encounter. Ivy Jacobson, a
deformed yet highly talented fashion designer, works in a textile factory in
Liege, Belgium that is ransacked by Nazi invaders. She escapes their brutality
and meets Leo. Leo explains the Hebrew word IYSH which means “champion” and
together they agree to persevere and champion the cause no matter how
difficult it becomes. Their heroism and tenacity unfold in dramatic fashion as
they are captured, separated and sent to concentration camps where their
future survival is unclear. The story develops from WWII until the Yom Kippur
War in 1973 which takes place in Israel.
About the Author
Greg Price is a writer, human resource expert and an ordained minister. He has
traveled extensively throughout the world and shares his experiences by
translating them into literary characters who inspire and motivate the reader.
Greg immigrated to the United States from south Africa and currently lives
with his wife in Mississippi.
The Ice Queen’s Shoes R.S. Kellogg (Breadcove Bay) Publication date: August 7th 2021 Genres: Adult, Fantasy
When missing your train could change everything…
Freshly graduated from Borealis University and reeling from a failed apprenticeship, Della only wants to get home. But a minor injury changes her route in magical ways and opens unexpected possibilities.
If you love atmospheric fantasy, subtle magic, and stories where a single moment can change a life, discover The Ice Queen’s Shoes today.
The Ice Queen’s Shoes is a FREE prequel story setting up the novel the Sea Queen’s Key, which will be releasing on Kickstarter soon. Follow the campaign at the link below to be notified when it goes live!
“It is my holiday,” the man sitting across from Della on the train said. “A short one. Two days. So, I suppose it’s going a little bit differently than how I’d envisioned.”
Della watched him carefully. Who had a holiday that lasted only two days? And, for that matter, what kind of a person had a holiday now? Her university had reached the end of its term, but most of the city wouldn’t go on holiday for another three weeks, and then the whole city basically would take a month off.
The old man must have read something in her questioning expression. “I’ve been working on a project,” he said. He looked a bit stressed as he said it, but there was also something a bit impish about him—Della liked him despite her natural distrust of strangers. He seemed avuncular, and she could tell by the unique worn smooth brown cloth of his clothing that he was one of the North Men, rarely sighted in the city of Breadcove Bay.
She was a little flattered by the focus of his attention.
It was going to take some time to get to where she was going, so she may as well spend the time in interesting conversation.
“Tell me about your project,” she said.
He grinned. It was all the encouragement he needed.
“Me and my men have been tracking something across the northern plains,” he said, with the flair of a natural storyteller. “And a week ago, it just got a little bit more interesting. But three days ago, the trail went cold, fast. So, me and the men, we decided a break was in order. We’d each take a two-day vacation, and start at it fresh again.”
“If you’re tracking something,” Della interjected, “Wouldn’t taking a break mean you’d risk the trail going cold?”
The man shook his head.
He looked smug, Della thought. Smug with the air of a man who has supreme confidence in his craft.
“It’s not a beast I’m tracking,” he said. “Not that kind of a being at all. The way tracking of this nature goes, first the trail goes cold, then, we take a break, and if we’re lucky, as we soften our approach to it, the perfect information will naturally show up.”
Curiosity piqued, Della tilted her head. “Naturally show up when you are nowhere near the trail of your prey? I ask you, what on earth are you tracking?”
She’d heard, of course, the legends: that North Men tracked animals, found lost humans, located lost camps and lost objects, and sometimes . . . rumor had it . . . tracked supernatural beings.
She wondered whether she’d happened upon a North Man in the middle of a fairy tale, feeling a bit like an explorer who has stumbled into a strange new environment, where the people might do something completely unexpected at any moment.
Staring at him as though she were watching a polar bear in the governor’s private animal enclosure, where she had been a guest at the winter party one year, she waited as he seemed to debate within himself whether to share with her any part of his tracking tale—and if so, how much.
“I’m tracking a lady,” he finally said, and Della roared with laughter.
The man jolted, clearly knocked off kilter by Della’s hearty response.
She didn’t have a delicate laugh. It was more like the way a man would laugh when he had bested everyone at a game of cards. And it would come out of nowhere.
She cocked an eyebrow at him, folding her arms. She didn’t care a twig how people responded to her laugh. They could take her or leave her.
Just as she could take or leave anyone who came across her path.
And at the moment, this was a person who was entertaining her.
“You’re tracking a woman?” she asked him. “Did she wander out into the north and get lost? Or are you trying to find a romance?”
She snorted and shook her head.
He looked wounded but still doggedly eager to pursue the conversation.
“I’m tracking a Sky Woman,” he said, and Della leaned forward intently, her smile instantly gone.
A Sky Woman.
That would be more akin to a goddess.
“Why are you tracking a Sky Woman?” she asked him.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s complicated,” he said. “But it’s part of the job of my family, and my men, to keep the balance between the Sky people of the north and the boundaries of the city. We have to make sure that neither side encroaches on the side of the other.”
She sighed. “That sounds like a big project.”
He nodded.
“How do you even begin to do something like that?” Della asked.
Author Bio:
R.S. Kellogg writes the Everyday Goddess Stories, the Mermaid Magic Tales, and fiction in the story realms of Breadcove Bay and Agratica, among other places.
Book Title: The Queen’s Sister uthor Name: Carol McGrath Publication Date: 4th June 2026 Publisher: Headline Accent Pages: 300 Genre: Historical Fiction
A mother, a wife, a woman of substance…
At nineteen, Elizabeth Seymour is already a mother, has been recently widowed, and seen her Queen, Anne Boleyn, lose her life. Against the wishes of her father, she heads North, away from Wulf Hall and the court in London to Yorkshire, determined to establish a new beginning as a landowner and business woman. As her family in Wiltshire curry favour with King Henry, aided by Thomas Cromwell, Elizabeth makes Kexby Manor her home, finding loyalty among her people there.
Soon, news comes to Elizabeth of the King’s desires for her sister, Jane and while her brother, Edward, encourages her own betrothal to Gregory Cromwell, son of Thomas. It is a happy second marriage for Elizabeth, but it brings unwanted involvement in the dark plots and secrecy of the court, while in the wider country, changes in religious practice threaten to alter the traditions and values of all she has known…
THE QUEEN’S SISTER vividly imagines the story of the woman possibly portrayed in Hans Holbein’s beautiful painting ‘Portrait of a Lady,’ and is a colourful, meticulously researched novel of Tudor life behind the scenes.
What readers say about Carol McGrath’s novels:
‘Another beautifully crafted, well-researched work of historical fiction from Carol McGrath’
‘Brimming with intrigue, tension and adventure, The Lost Queen is a powerful Medieval tale full of atmosphere, danger and emotion and transports the reader to another world’
I am Elizabeth Seymour, sister to the Queen. My second marriage to Gregory Cromwell is barely a month old, yet to my surprise, my portrait has already been commissioned by my father-in-law. As Lord Privy Seal, Thomas Cromwell has both affluence and influence; it is the celebrated Master Hans Holbein who is to paint me. He enjoys King Henry’s patronage and has recently completed a likeness of my sister.
‘Master Holbein,’ I say, after he arrives at Mort Lake, and I am looking at a selection of drawings he has displayed on a table in the great parlour.
‘I do believe you truly capture the humanity of your subject.’ I look up at his eager round face and thoughtful brown eyes. ‘This is all I ask for, since I wish to appear human and not merely portrayed as a stiff poppet in her best gown.’
One by one, I lift sketches he had drawn of my sister Queen Jane before painting her. These are fine drawings and capture her serenity. I consider them for some minutes. ‘They look like Jane but there is something intangible and sad too. She looks as if she will never reveal her true feelings.’
‘Her mystery,’ the painter says. ‘Everyone has secrets, and their public face can guard that which is unknown. I hope my work permits a glimpse of the sitter’s soul.’
I hold the sketches at arm’s length to study them closely again and tilt my head enquiringly. ‘My sister, does she have secrets, for I think her guileless?’
I smile, but my gaze is steady. Holbein returns my smile. ‘My lady, your sister is the perfect Queen. Besides she is with child and very happy,’ he says. ‘Her secret is her awareness of her responsibility as Queen, and she was hopeful for the future when I painted her. Women are by nature lovely and mysterious creatures. The Queen was confident that she would conceive the King’s child. And now, the good Lord has granted her wish.’
I nod, my face composed and serious. ‘Yes, Master Holbein, and I am to be aunt to a future prince or princess of England. That is a responsibility too. So, Master painter, I give you carte blanche. You have my trust.’ I replace the drawings of Jane on top of the polished walnut table.
‘These drawings have truth. I see a sister who is dignified, human, guarded and calm.’
Yet also, I cannot forget the shy, timid young woman Jane was before she won the King’s heart.
‘Queen Jane remains reserved rather than diffident and I see that you are too, my lady. You seem serious minded and educated, noble and patient, practical, yet creative and you are already a mother. You are a clever handsome woman and, in your portrait, I hope to capture the keen intelligence behind your bright eyes.’
I’m flattered by Master Holbein’s recognition of me as an intelligent woman and I warm to him. ‘Come next week, Master Painter, and you can begin your sketches,’ I say. ‘But mind, my sister will go into seclusion by the calends of September so I cannot sit for you after that.’
‘We can at least make a beginning, my lady,’ he says, bows and gathers up his drawings.
About the Author:
Following a first degree in English and History at QUB, Carol McGrath completed an MA in Creative Writing from The Seamus Heaney Centre, Queens University Belfast, followed by an MPhil in English from University of London. She is published by Headline.
The Handfasted Wife, first in a trilogy about the royal women of 1066 was shortlisted for the RoNAs in 2014. The Swan-Daughter and The Betrothed Sister complete this highly acclaimed trilogy. Mistress Cromwell, a best-selling historical novel about Elizabeth Cromwell, wife of Henry VIII’s statesman, Thomas Cromwell, was republished by Headline in 2020. The Silken Rose, first in a Medieval She-Wolf Queens Trilogy, featuring Ailenor of Provence, saw publication in April 2020. This was followed by The Damask Rose. The Stone Rose was published April 2022. The Stolen Crown 2023 and July 2024 The Lost Queen about Berengaria of Navarre and The Third Crusade. The Queen’s Sister, sequel to Mistress Cromwell sees publication in June 2026.
Carol writes historical non-fiction as well as fiction. Sex and Sexuality in Tudor England was published in February 2022 by Pen & Sword. She speaks at Conferences and gives interviews.
A brand-new Anglo-Saxon time-slip full of mystery and romance.
Echoes of the past resonate across the centuries as Dr Anna Petersen, a medievalist and runologist, is struggling with past trauma and allowing herself to trust again. When archaeologist (and Anna’s old adversary) Professor Matt Beacham unearths a 6th century seax with a mysterious runic inscription, and reluctantly approaches Anna for help, a chain of events brings the past firmly back into her present. And why does the burial site also contain two sets of bones, one 6th century and the other modern?
As the past and present intermingle alarmingly, Anna and Matt need to work together to solve the mystery of the seax runes and the seemingly impossible burial, and to discover the truth about the past. Tensions rise and sparks fly between Anna and Matt. But how is 6th century Lady Mildryth of Mercia connected to Anna? Can they both be the Daughter of Mercia?
For fans of Barbara Erskine, Elena Collins, Pamela Hartshorne, Susanna Kearsley and Christina Courtenay.
Praise for Daughter of Mercia:
“Ibbotson’s prose immerses you in the vivid world of the Anglo-Saxon era, richly layered with sensory detail that brings both the past and present timelines to life. I could feel the atmosphere—the cold stone and the wind on the hills. Her writing weaves the two eras seamlessly, connecting people across time and creating a mysterious, slow-building tension that keeps you turning the pages.” ~ Alis Page, Reviewer, 5*
“… an atmospheric, and wonderfully immersive, novel that has it all: characters with their own conflicts, both in the past and the present; a mystery that links the eras; the intrigue of Mildryth’s fate and Anna’s secrets; and all within the fascinating setting of archaeology.” ~ Ruins & Reading, 5* Review
This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.
Julia Ibbotson
Julia Ibbotson is fascinated by the medieval world and the concept of time. She is the author of historical mysteries with a frisson of romance. Her books are evocative of time and place, well-researched and uplifting page-turners. Her current series focuses on early medieval time-slip / dual-time mysteries.
Julia read English at Keele University, England, specialising in medieval language / literature / history, and has a PhD in socio-linguistics. After a turbulent time in Ghana, West Africa, she became a school teacher, then a university academic and researcher. Her break as an author came soon after she joined the RNA’s New Writers’ Scheme in 2015, with a three-book deal from Lume Books for a trilogy (Drumbeats) set in Ghana in the 1960s.
She has published five other books, including A Shape on the Air, an Anglo-Saxon timeslip mystery, and its two sequels The Dragon Tree and The Rune Stone. Her latest novel is the first of a new series of Anglo-Saxon dual-time mysteries, Daughter of Mercia, where echoes of the past resonate across the centuries.
Her books will appeal to fans of Barbara Erskine, Pamela Hartshorne, Susanna Kearsley, and Christina Courtenay. Her readers say: ‘Julia’s books captured my imagination’, ‘beautiful story-telling’, ‘evocative and well-paced storylines’, ‘brilliant and fascinating’ and ‘I just couldn’t put it down’.
A Jewel of a Crime: A Venus Bixby Mystery Valerie Taylor (Venus Bixby Mystery, #3) Publication date: June 2nd 2026 Genres: Adult, Cozy Mystery
Venus Bixby is ready for a fresh start. With green streaks in her hair and “Rock the Shamrock” polish on her nails, she’s sold her dance studio and set her sights on a glamorous second act: traveling the world to recover stolen art. But before she can book her first flight, she stumbles over the new studio owner’s dead body behind a drawn curtain.
In a town like Chatham Crossing, secrets don’t stay buried and gossip travels faster than the morning coffee line. Suddenly Venus is a suspect in a very public investigation. As she scrambles to clear her name, she uncovers a troubling secret from her late husband’s past: he purchased an emerald ring she’s never seen—and now it’s missing.
When a string of burglaries rattles the town, Venus begins to suspect the murder and the stolen emerald are connected. With rumors swirling, neighbors whispering, and her passport dreams slipping, she’ll need sharp instincts—and a dash of Irish luck—to catch the real culprit.
A Jewel of a Crime is a sparkling cozy mystery filled with small-town charm, amateur sleuthing, loyal cats, and twists that keep the pages turning. Includes cookie recipes and a nostalgic oldies playlist.
Rather than barge uninvited into the classroom looking for her, Gabby and I bided our time and hung out in the lobby. I shifted from one foot to the other while Gabby perused the business cards pinned to a brand-new combination whiteboard and corkboard.
“When I come back with that vase, I’ll bring a few business cards to tack up here.”
“Great idea!” I rifled through my purse until I found a couple of cards promoting Oldies & Goodies and Cats & Their Cradle. I affixed them to the cork and smiled. Part of me wondered whether Sam would take them down before anyone ever saw them.
Still no Margo. Did she not hear the bell when we entered a few minutes ago? Maybe not over Ol’ Blue Eyes. I considered writing a message on the whiteboard. I picked through the pens in the Tremont Regency Hotel mug on the desk, but there didn’t appear to be any of those dry-erase markers.
“Where could she be?” Gabby asked.
“Probably in the back. Should we check?”
I gently opened the glass door to the main classroom. A rush of crisp air reminded me how we’d kept the temperature in the low sixties so the students wouldn’t get overheated. The smell of fresh-cut grass suddenly wafted over me. My nose recognized dance floor wax, forcing me to stifle a sneeze.
The same song we heard when we walked into the lobby still played. Must be on a continuous loop. I listened closely. Ah, Frank was singing “Witchcraft.” An appropriate theme for the day.
The walls were painted a creamy shade of white. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined one wall and a row of barres ran parallel to the floor. The mirrors reflected framed images on the opposite wall. I turned to examine them up close. I walked along the wall, studying and touching each gently. Definitely Sam and Margo in their younger years.
This egotistical display was so unlike the studio Paul, and then I, owned. Our walls were proudly adorned with photographs of the young dancers who graced our ballroom.
Where are those pictures? Why didn’t they ask if I wanted them? What else did they keep from me?
“Margo?” I called.
Silence.
At the far end of the room, there was a royal purple floor-to-ceiling drape pulled closed across the width of the ballroom. As I walked toward it, I waved toward Gabby. “I’m gonna check back here.”
I noticed a universal restroom to my right. I motioned to Gabby. “You check in there.”
Then I drew back the curtain. “Never mind. Found her!” I cried out.
Author Bio:
Valerie Taylor lives in Connecticut and considers herself a typical “average Jane.” She might remind you of the reclusive neighbor who fancies herself a novelist. Unlike many of her peers whom she admires, she does NOT have a degree in literature. But she is the award-winning author of the romantic comedy trilogy: WHAT’S NOT SAID, WHAT’S NOT TRUE, and WHAT’S NOT LOST. The roots of those three novels, as well as the books in the Venus Bixby Mystery series—A WHALE OF A MURDER and SWITCHED AT DEATH and A JEWEL OF A CRIME—most likely took hold during her early years watching Carol Burnett, Jack Benny, Red Skelton, and The Twilight Zone. Her love of oldies music stems from hours listening and dancing to Elvis Presley and The Beatles, and being in the Bobby Darin fan club.
