In this darkly romantic companion to The Forest King’s Daughter, a warrior princess finds herself in a strange shadow land where danger and secrets hide around every corner—and a mysterious shadow prince stands between her and the truth.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Cursed Queen’s Daughter by Elly Blake, which is out now.
Fearless Thea has never known life outside of war. As the favorite daughter of the Sylvan King, she’s a relentless fighter who longs to lead his army as First Huntsman, ignoring the pretty clothes and fanciful notions others enjoy. But when a mysterious dress full of dark magic appears on her hearth one evening, Thea doesn’t know how to fight an enemy she can’t see or touch. Still, her curiosity builds as a new gown appears each night—until she gives in to temptation and is whisked to a forgotten land of shadows.
The prince of the shadow realm is a handsome host, and while Thea does all she can to resist his charms, it’s clear he knows something about the long-ago disappearance of Thea’s mother. All he asks in return is for Thea to dance with him, their dangerous attraction growing each time she returns for more information. Meanwhile, shadows are seeping into the living realm, and Thea may have to embrace her own darkness if she has any chance of saving her beloved sisters and home from an otherworldly threat.
From the author of the Frostblood Saga comes the second book in a spellbinding series about the daughters of the powerful forest king, with simmering romance and plot twists that will leave readers desperate to enter the Thirstwood themselves.
Chapter 1
Autumn is a harbinger. Leaves turn red.
The moon bleeds. The wind bites,
carrying a warning that to some,
the coming season will be their last.
—Excharias, Sylvan poet
Thea sat in her copper tub and stared at her knees as they poked out of the soapy water, wondering at the sense of dread that hung over her like a dark cloud. Where was the satisfaction she used to feel after a fight? When her patrol had encountered Skratti raiders earlier this evening, she and her fellow Sylvan Huntsmen had attacked. She’d slain a handful of enemies, sending their spirits to the Netherwhere, from which they would never return to trouble the living. The remaining raiders had fled.
So why did she have this cold sense of danger creeping up the back of her neck? She was at home in her bedchamber in Scarhamm, a fortress protected by archers and guards and mystic wards. There was nowhere safer for a Sylvan to be.
Add to that, it was her name day. Even now, guests were arriving for a revel in her honor.
Thea sank deeper into the water, trying to shake her strange mood. Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t trust the newly formed truce with their greatest enemy.
For a decade, the forest- dwelling Sylvans had been at war with the Dracu of the Cryptlands over what their queen had considered a theft: A Dracu boy had unwittingly given an artifact of great power to a Sylvan girl, and she’d kept it. The girl was Thea’s younger sister, Cassia, the artifact an amber ring called the Solis Gemma, whose gemstone emitted a glowing blast that harmed any creature who couldn’t live in sunlight, like the Dracu. Six months ago, a Dracu named Zeru, the one who’d gifted the ring, had abducted Cassia to get it back.
But retrieving the Solis Gemma hadn’t been so easy, and Zeru had been forced to work with Cassia to discover the ring’s history: that it was created by the Ancients as a tool for growth and restoration. Its gemstone had been misused during the Ancient Wars as a weapon to murder thousands of forest creatures called moss folk—by the Sylvan king, no less. A shameful history that he’d hidden from everyone, including his daughters.
It was too much to absorb, and Thea had not yet accepted all of it. She wondered how Cassia managed to seem . . . well, happier than she ever had before.
Cassia was one year younger than Thea but leagues apart in personality. A gentle soul who hated fighting, Cassia had finally refused to use the Solis Gemma against the Dracu after years of trying to meet her father’s demands. Thea had understood that, and when it became clear her sister had deep feelings for Zeru—a Dracu, of all creatures—she had tried to understand that, too.
Or bit her tongue when she didn’t.
But when Cassia invited her sisters to visit a mysterious cloud region called Welkincaster, Thea had declined. She belonged here in Thirstwood. She had blood trees to protect her and Skratti blood to polish her blade. That was enough to keep her content. Or had been until recently.
The Dracu were keeping to their terms of the truce, but the Skrattis—goblins who dwelled underground in the Cryptlands and were often allied with the Dracu—had started coming above and raiding Sylvan villages. Hence the increased patrols that had kept Thea and the other Huntsmen busy over the summer.
But battle was part of life. Thea had grown up during a war. A few Skratti raids could not explain her growing unease.
She pulled herself from the water, dabbing the moisture from her long limbs with linen cloths left on the stool next to the tub, and stood in front of the crackling fire to dry. Gooseflesh broke out over her arms as a cold draft of air came from the chimney.
And suddenly, resting on the hearth at her feet, was a neatly folded pile of cloth.
Tension whipped up her back as her pulse slammed. Had that been there a moment ago? Was she so distracted lately that she would miss something right in front of her?
She snatched up the top garment and shook it out: a short sleeved blue gown with seed pearls on the bodice and a belt of bright green silk cinching the waist. Underneath lay a pair of thin stockings and green slippers embroidered with white thread.
A name day present from one of her sisters? It would be the type of thoughtful gift Enora might choose. But it was so unlike anything Thea had ever worn. Most of her gowns were simple and dark, and this was bright and fanciful. Thea frowned at the idea of what Enora could be trying to convey. That she should try new things? That her dresses were too plain?
As Thea held the gown closer for inspection, she inhaled. A shock ran through her as she detected the unmistakable stink of magic, and the scent brought back a memory she’d tried unsuccessfully to bury.
One night, when Thea was eleven years old, a sound from the hallway had woken her from sleep. She’d opened her bedchamber door to see her mother descending the stairs. Worried, she’d followed, surprised at how quickly her mother was moving. After all, her mother had been ill for the past three years, from the start of the war with the Dracu. Some said the war had been too hard on her gentle nature. Others guessed that a Dracu witch had put a curse on Queen Coventina. Mages and Seers had been brought in from surrounding villages, but no one had been able to cure her, and the queen had grown listless.
But her mother showed no sign of weakness now. Thea could hardly keep pace as a back door that led outside closed behind her mother.
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Half- curious, half-scared, Thea traversed the courtyard and left the safety of the gates, keeping her mother in sight. Where was she going? Sylvans could go to their birth tree to recover if they were ill or injured badly enough. But the Sylvan queen shouldn’t go out at night, much less alone, not when they were at war with the Dracu. And did she really mean to leave without saying goodbye?
Thea almost called out, but the king was so secretive about the location of their family’s birth trees, Thea thought perhaps her mother would turn around and go home if she knew she was being followed. Then Thea might never know where the tree was. She decided to be a silent guard until her mother reached her tree, then she would step out and confront her.
The paths of Thirstwood brought them to an area of elms and willows and walnuts. Her mother put her hand to the trunk of a gnarled walnut, a surprisingly large and old tree, not what Thea would have imagined as the birth tree for her elegant mother. Thea remembered when she was younger, a tree that looked just like this one that had been covered in brambles. Drawn to it for some inexplicable reason, she’d cleared away the thorns and climbed the tree, something about its menacing branches challenging her.
Thea was about to call out when her mother’s voice broke the silence. “Come, then,” said the queen, “and claim me!”
Thea’s gasp was muffled by a gust of wind. A man stepped from the shadows at the roots of the tree. She saw that he was handsome and wore bright gold rings on his fingers. He’d smiled at her mother and took her hand, drawing her forward.
Then he’d kissed her.
Thea froze in shock until a sudden, blinding light forced her to shield her eyes. The next moment, her mother and the man were gone.
After frantically calling her mother’s name, she’d recovered her senses. She was alone in the forest at night during a war. There was a stink in the air that reminded her of the Seer’s workroom. Magic. She could not battle magic. She’d rushed home to find help.
In the end, she’d found no help at all.
Thea came back to the present to find she’d crumpled a slipper in one hand.
“Show yourself !” she commanded. Her voice echoed more than it should in her modest bedchamber. In answer, another frigid breeze caressed her bare skin.
Unsettled by the scent of magic and the horrible memories it stirred up, Thea threw the gown into the flames, followed by the stockings and slippers. A huge gust of air came from the fireplace, forcing her to step back to escape the cloud of ashes. As the wind died, she dusted her hands to rid her skin of the feel of that fabric.
With determination, she donned an old gown, taking refuge in the practical. As she turned back once more to glance at her fireplace, she could almost believe she’d imagined the strange dress.
But for two blackened seed pearls nestled among the ashes like staring eyes.
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