He has one last chance to be a fairy tale hero.
But she didn’t agree to be the damsel in distress.
When her longtime boyfriend unexpectedly slides a ring on her finger, Hannah is whisked from her everyday bedroom to a medieval ball. Hannah knew that Dylan would do anything to prove to her parents that he’s husband material, including going into the Fae world—but she never agreed to go through the Veil herself.
Now one of three princess sisters, Hannah is paired with now-Prince Dylan. But, homesick and blindsided, she pretends the Veil has wiped him from her memory.
As her prince scrambles in vain to be the right kind of hero, Hannah ignores her instincts and follows her new sisters onto a mysterious boat—which promptly sails them into a land of giants, magical traps, and enchanted pianos…and away from Dylan.
Read now to journey back to medieval Ireland, complete with the Fae and mythological monsters, in this fairy tale adventure and sweet “it was always you” romance.
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Conversation with Morálta:
But Morálta just shakes her head. “How should I know? I told you, I just work here.”
“What has happened to Mór and Nuala?” The words burst out of me.
She shrugs again. “I’m not in contact with the giants, so I don’t really have details. Last I saw, Red-beard was hoisting Nuala onto his pillion, and Mór was in Black-beard’s cart.”
“Are they safe?”
She gives me a strange look. “Safety is an illusion, Hannah.”
“But”—I wave my hands around this room—“any more danger than we are in, here?” Which might be considerable.
Morálta rolls her eyes. “It’s not like they are man-eating giants or anything. Black-beard really doesn’t care for those who don’t do their fair share of the work, so I dare say that Mór is going to be doing some scrubbing, and from what I’ve seen of her she’s not going to enjoy it. But hopefully you all have some true loves signed up to come and fetch you home again, right?”
“Maybe…”
Morálta does a double take. “Three princes, three princesses, et cetera, and you couldn’t even fall in love?”
“We didn’t have enough time,” I protest. “They just arrived last night.” Except me.
Morálta sighs, sounding put-upon. “And you couldn’t manage it in one evening? Young people these days. I don’t know why the Seven-Inch-Man didn’t give you three days, which would have fit better anyhow. I’ll put it in my Exit Survey when I finish up here. Now, did you want tea or did you not?”
We both murmur politely that we would like tea, thank you, and Morálta whisks away again.
That was possibly the strangest conversation I’ve ever had. Exit Survey?
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Thank you so much for hosting Christy Matheson, with an excerpt from her beautiful new novel, The Boat on the Lake of Regret.
Take care,
Cathie xx
The Coffee Pot Book Club