WARNING! ROYAL SPY SPOILER ALERT! 

If you haven't finished Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia 2), you won't want to read this. 

You have been warned :)

Now, enjoy this sneak peek that includes the first THREE chapters of Royal Captive (Fate of Eyrinthia 3)!

Chapter 1
Bennick

“Be still,” Wilf barked.

Agony engulfed Bennick. He sucked in air, his fists digging into the ground, his body on fire. The blade had pierced his back and ripped through his body, coming out somewhere on his lower left side.

The pain was excruciating, but that wasn’t what mattered.

“Go,” he gasped. “Go after her.”

Wilf ignored him. His fearsome expression was marked by old pox scars and deep lines, his jaw locked in a frown as he tore Bennick’s bloody shirt, exposing the injury. His hard mouth became harder, his eyes going flat.

Bennick didn’t have to see the wound to know the stabbing was fatal. His eyes pinched closed for a moment, sweat beading on his forehead. Everything inside him was screaming, but he forced words through his constricted throat. “Wilf, go. Please.”

Wilf didn’t respond, only leaned close. “It’s clean,” he grunted. “The smell, and the color of the blood. Perhaps nothing vital was hit. Hold still.”

Bennick clenched his jaw as Wilf pressed a hand to his abdomen. His other hand slid beneath Bennick’s back to find the entrance wound. He squeezed, attempting to staunch the blood flow with his bare hands. Bennick snarled through gritted teeth, his fingers clawing the ground to keep from tearing at Wilf’s crushing grip.

“Dirk!” Wilf boomed. “We need a fire. Now!”

Sweat and blood drenched Bennick’s shivering body. He knew his skin was flushed, and the shaking grew worse with every fractured breath. “Wilf,” he croaked. “Stop. I’m already—dead.”

Wilf’s eyes didn’t lift from his bloody hands, still pressed against Bennick’s wounds. “You certainly talk a lot for a dead man.”

“Please,” Bennick rasped. “Go. Clare . . .”

“She’d never forgive me if I left you now,” Wilf snapped. The pressure of his hands increased. “You’re going to be fine.”

Time was difficult to judge through the fog of pain. 

Suddenly, Dirk knelt beside him, a few other guards huddled around them. When Dirk passed a heated dagger to Wilf, dread and panic punched through Bennick’s chest. The guards leaned in, holding him down, giving him nowhere to retreat as Wilf pressed the red-hot blade against his skin. 

A shattering scream tore through his throat. His head kicked back. His limbs jerked. Fingers tightened their bruising hold on his wrists and shoulders, keeping him pinned to the ground. He still thrashed against them, an involuntary response, his lungs nearly bursting with his anguished cries.

The blistering heat was unlike anything he had ever felt. Wilf was sealing the wound—the logical part of him knew that. They were giving him his best chance. But this was excruciating torture. The smell of burning flesh—his flesh—charred the air as the blade seared his skin. His stomach rolled—clenched—heaved. Someone turned his head to the side so he wouldn’t choke on his vomit.

“This won’t work,” Dirk said, his voice low and tight.

Wilf’s words were encased in steel. “It will.”

The sizzle of scalding skin finally stopped, but the burning was relentless, even after the knife was lifted.

“Turn him over,” Wilf ordered.

As they did, Bennick felt his awareness slipping. Darkness blotted out his sight, coming to claim him. 

A blessing, considering what Wilf was about to do again.

As his cheek pressed into the dirt, Bennick struggled to gasp out his last request. “Save—her.”

“I will,” Wilf vowed, his voice rough. “Just as soon as I’m done saving you.”

The fiery dagger touched his skin again, and Bennick was gone.

His last thought—the last image in his head—was of Clare.



Chapter 2
Wilf

Bennick’s screams rang in Wilf’s ears, even after unconsciousness had cut them off. A darting look assured him that his captain was still breathing, his chest lifting and falling, his pulse thrumming in his neck. The scent of charred flesh made Wilf’s stomach lurch, and he swallowed down a wave of bile. He did not allow his hands to shake as he continued to press the heated blade to Bennick’s flesh.

“Searing the wounds won’t help if something vital was hit,” Dirk said, his voice low and tense. He was terrified, too.

Wilf gritted his teeth. “He’ll be fine.”

He had to be.


Dirk didn’t argue. He released his hold on Bennick, as it was no longer necessary to restrain him. He pushed to his feet, twisting to look around them.

Wilf knew what he would see.

The carriage, sitting empty on the road, door ajar. Bodies of men and horses strewn over the ground. Arrows stuck in the trees, the carriage—and in the bodies that littered the area. Remnants of an ambush that had taken them all by surprise. Even now, the moans and sobs of the still-dying threaded the air.

“Cardon got away with Serene,” Dirk said, his voice too level. Wilf had served with the man for years—he knew when Dirk was trying to reassure himself. “Imara’s guards got her away as well. They’ll all return to Serai Nadir’s home to regroup.”

“Good.” It was a relief that both princesses were safe, but Clare was in the hands of bloodthirsty Mortisians who thought she was the princess. They hadn’t killed her outright, and Wilf had to believe that was a good sign. They needed her alive. But for how long? And what would happen if they discovered she wasn’t the princess?

“Where is Venn?”

Wilf stiffened at Dirk’s sudden question. “I lost sight of him in the fight.”

The older bodyguard was already striding away, searching the bodies on the ground.

Wilf’s heart hammered in his chest. Fates, he couldn’t lose anyone else . . .

Dirk wandered several paces before he froze. He muttered a curse and fell to his knees as he rolled a body over. “Venn? Venn!”

There was an answering groan, which loosened the knot in Wilf’s throat. He set aside the still-hot dagger and forced himself to focus on Bennick. He’d stopped the bleeding, but that was only part of his captain’s battle. Bennick needed a physician. Now.

“Vera,” Venn slurred, pain riding his voice hard.

Dirk shook his head, the silver hairs among his otherwise dark head catching in the sunlight. “I don’t know where she is.”

“Gone,” Venn said, the word ending on a groan as he struggled to rise. “They took her.” Instead of forcing him back down, Dirk grabbed the young man’s arm and helped him sit—a good sign that Venn wasn’t too badly injured.

A growl vibrated through Wilf’s chest. “They took Clare, too.”

Venn’s head swiveled toward him, blood tracking down the right side of his face from a blow to his temple. The young man’s eyes dipped, and his dark skin visibly paled. “Bennick?”

“He’s alive.” Determination lived in Wilf’s voice.

Dirk’s gaze swept the surrounding area. “Ser Zephan is dead. He escaped his guards, but not the arrows of the attackers.”
Wilf didn’t have the capacity to feel anything about the Mortisian’s death. Ser Zephan had tried to kill Serene more than once, and he had only been their prisoner so they could take him to Serjah Desfan to be tried for his treason. The irony that Zephan had been killed by other Mortisians, however, did not escape Wilf’s notice.

Venn’s shoulders tensed. “The Rose?”

“We have him,” a new voice rang out, and Wilf felt a flash of relief to see a couple of soldiers dragging the infamous assassin—hands still bound—between them. The guard spoke again, his voice rigid. “He was attempting to get away.”

The Rose lifted one shoulder. “You can’t blame me for trying.” His eyes fell on Bennick and his head tipped to the side, brown locks falling over his forehead. “Is he dead?” He didn’t sound concerned, or even excited—merely curious.

“No.” Wilf pushed to his feet. He ignored the fact that, as senior bodyguard, Dirk was technically in charge. “I’m going after them. Dirk, take Bennick and Venn to Serai Nadir’s estate.”

Venn’s head jerked up. “No. I’m going after Vera and Clare.”
“You’re injured,” Wilf argued.

The young bodyguard shoved to his feet, only swaying a little. His bloody face was set in stone. “I’m the best tracker here. I’m going with you.”

Fates blast it . . . “Fine,” Wilf bit out. “But if you fall over, I’m not picking you up. And we move now. If we hurry, we can find them before dark.”

“It’s charming you think so,” the Rose drawled.

Wilf shot him a glare. “Dirk, take him with you.”

“I would be far more useful with you,” the Rose countered. “Those were mercenaries. And not just any mercenaries, but Salim’s men. They’re far more clever than you think.” He nodded to the treeline. “They’ll ride in a large group for a while, but then they’ll split off in the forest, taking a few riders in every direction. You’ll have dozens of trails to follow, and only one will lead to Clare. What are the chances you’ll pick the right one?”

“How do you know this Salim?” Venn demanded.

“I’ve hired him before. He’s cunning, greedy, and sadistic. Since he thinks he’s abducted a princess, he’s going to want to deal with her personally.” The corner of the Rose’s mouth lifted. “And I happen to know exactly which path through the forest he favors, so I can help you bypass the false trails. I could lead you right to him—to her.”

A growl rumbled in Wilf’s chest. “What do you want in return?”

“My freedom. The moment I lead you to Clare, you let me walk away.”

“No,” Wilf said. “The only freedom I’ll ever give you is the kind found in death.”

The Rose shrugged. “Fine. But by the time you manage to find the right trail, you’ll be lucky to find Clare’s corpse.”
Bennick groaned behind him. A quick look assured Wilf that he was still unconscious, but even unaware of the world, deep lines cut into his face, clearly showing his pain. 
They were wasting time.

Dirk cleared his throat. “Clare was on my horse. That will make her easier to track.” All royal horses were marked, which made their hoof prints distinct.

“Salim will check for that,” the Rose said. “He’ll put her on another horse and use the marked one to deliberately steer you away.”

Wilf ignored the assassin. “Venn, gather any soldier able to walk.”

The young man stalked away, every line of his body showing absolute focus on his mission.

Dirk frowned. “There were a great many of them, Wilf. You need more men.”

“There’s no time.” The nearest place to get Devendran reinforcements was in Stills, and that small town wouldn’t have many soldiers. The nearest military outpost was even further. 

They would have to do this on their own.

Wilf dragged a hand over his stiff jaw. “Help me get him into the carriage.”

Dirk and Wilf lifted Bennick as gently as possible, using infinite care as they set him on the carriage floor; it would be the most stable place for him on the journey back to Serai Nadir’s estate.

Bennick flinched, but didn’t wake.

“I’ve saved men like this before,” Wilf said quickly to Dirk. “It’s a battlefield technique. A fever may follow, and if there’s any sign of bloating or discoloration, the physician may need to reopen the wounds—”

“I know.” Dirk laid a hand on Wilf’s shoulder, his grip firm. “I’ll look after him. You focus on saving Clare and Vera.” His dark eyebrows pulled together. “Do you want to take the Rose with you?”

“No,” he said, his voice firm. “I don’t need him.” He turned on his heel and strode away, not bothering to glance at the assassin he knew watched him.

He had done all he could to save Bennick. Now it was time to save Clare.

I’m coming, my little defender.

He would destroy anyone who harmed her.


​
Chapter 3
Serene

Serene stood in Tamar Nadir’s colorful drawing room, facing the large window that viewed the sunny courtyard. She would be able to see the others the moment they arrived.

They would arrive.

She kept repeating the words, a mantra that barely managed to ground her. Scenes of the chaotic ambush flashed through her memory, and her fingernails dug into her palms. Residual adrenaline still spiked through her hours later, making her heart stutter and pound in her chest. Standing in such a highly decorated room with towering bookshelves, overstuffed chairs, and brightly painted walls done in blue and gold, all made the attack on the road seem even more violent. The fists at her sides hadn’t loosened.

Where were they?

The door behind her opened and Cardon entered. She could tell it was him without looking.

She had always been able to tell.

“Serai Nadir thought you might like some tea,” he said, his smooth voice filling the room.

Serene snorted, not turning away from the window. “I don’t think that will help.”

A tray clattered lightly as it was set on the low table behind her, near the long settee. The smell of tea drifted to her. It was a familiar blend; Serai Nadir must keep some Devendran teas on hand. When china rattled, Serene twisted around.

Cardon stood over the tray, arranging cups on saucers. His large hands should not be able to handle the delicate items so deftly, but every motion was perfectly controlled.

Everything about him was familiar to her. He was thirty years old, and his brown hair was silvering in a few select places. He was taller than her, though not by much. He had broad shoulders and strong arms—byproducts of years spent on a training field. The thin scar on his right cheek didn’t detract from his features, but somehow enhanced them. Though she couldn’t see them right now, she could easily imagine the intensity in his brown eyes. He dedicated himself completely to every task—even something as simple as pouring tea.

She got a little lost watching him.

When he finished, she straightened sharply. He crossed the bright yellow rug with two filled cups and stopped directly in front of her. The scent of him—leather and spice—triggered a flutter low in her stomach, and her heart skipped at his nearness.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I don’t want tea.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, his eyes knowing. “You always want tea.”

The strong fragrance drifted up, carried on the steam that billowed in twisting, curling tendrils. Ghosting—there, then gone.

She could feel the weight of Cardon’s stare as he waited.

Fates blast it . . .

She reached for the cup and he eased it into her hands. His callused fingertips grazed her fingers, making her breath hitch.

Her voice came out a little too heavy as she said, “I do not always want tea, Sir Brinhurst.”

He raised a brow. “I know I’ve irritated you when you start calling me that.”

“It is your name.”

“I rather hate it.”

“I know.”

His lips twitched.

She cleared her throat. “Is Imara still with Hanna?” Her cousin’s maid had been shot during their retreat.

“Yes,” Cardon said. “The physician Serai Nadir sent for is with her.”

“Good.” Serene blew lightly on her scalding drink as she turned back toward the window. “They should have made it back by now.”

From her periphery, she caught the long scar on Cardon’s cheek jump as his jaw clenched. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon.” The unspoken anxiety that threaded through his words perfectly matched her own. His next words surprised her. “We could return to Iden.”

Serene exhaled shortly. “My father would love that.”

“Your safety is more important than anything. Even the king’s treaty.”

“That edges on treason.”

The skin around Cardon’s eyes tightened. “It’s my job to protect you. There is no treason in that.”

But there was, in a way. Because Serene had been a traitor since she was sixteen years old. She hid the truth from her father by exaggerating a role of petulance and harmless rebellion, knowing he became too frustrated with her to ever look closer. He had never suspected that she was the leader of a rebellion, because all she complained about were dress-fittings and irritable nobles. He never knew that marrying Desfan was a part of her plan, because she complained so strenuously about the betrothal. He didn’t know that she would not rest until she’d destroyed him and her younger brother, Grandeur.

King Newlan was a terrible monarch who took advantage of his people and ruled with fear and threats. He had also murdered his wife—a crime he had never been held accountable for. Grandeur had known about the slow poisoning of the queen, and he had done nothing. That made him just as much to blame, in Serene’s eyes.

Neither of them deserved the throne, and she would take it from them by any means necessary. Even if that meant marrying a stranger. She needed strong allies if she was going to overthrow her father and brother. It was why she couldn’t go back to Iden, no matter how dangerous things became.

“I should thank you,” Serene said suddenly.

“For the tea?” Cardon asked mildly.

She rolled her eyes. “No.” Although she had to admit, just holding the warm cup and smelling the comforting fragrance helped her breathe easier. He knew her too well. “You saved my life yet again. How many times is that?”

He gave her a sidelong look. “It’s not as though I keep track.”

“You sound a little smug.”

“Perhaps I’m simply glad you’re alive.”

“I suppose your employment does depend on my survival.”

His gaze trailed the side of her face. “There are other reasons, Princess.” Her heart clenched in her chest. “You’re right, though,” he continued. “It would end my career. Not even a half-rate merchant would hire me after learning I failed to protect my last charge.”

She arched a brow, and ordered her heart to stop pounding. “I hate to think my death would cause such troubles for you. You might have to take up another occupation altogether.”

Cardon huffed, bringing his cup to his lips. He took a lingering sip, his throat flexing as he swallowed. “I think, Princess,” he finally said, his voice deeper than before. “If I failed to preserve your life, I would become a drunk.”

The image of Cardon hunched over a mug, mourning her death, perhaps being broken by it--

No. No.

She refused to do this. See things that weren’t there. Read too deeply into every word and look. Imposing feelings on him that he had already denied—emphatically.

She steeled her spine. “You would miss me, then?” she said, almost blithely.

His knuckles whitened around his cup. His lips parted, but the door was pushed open, ending the moment.

Imara swept in, tendrils of black hair falling loose from her bun, exhaustion etched on her round face.

Serene faced her cousin, her cheeks feeling too warm. “How is Hanna?”

“She’ll be fine, thank the fates.” Imara rubbed her temple. “The arrow pierced the fleshy part of her arm, so there won’t be any lasting damage. Have the others returned?”

“Not yet.”

Her cousin dropped into a cushioned chair, her shoulders falling. “There were so many of them. What if . . .?”

The unspoken question was one Serene could not bear to think.

A muted thundering spun them all toward the window, where a dozen mounted soldiers surrounded the royal carriage as it rolled into the courtyard.

“Thank the fates,” Serene breathed.

Cardon was already moving for the door, setting his teacup on the tray as he passed. Serene was right behind him, Imara striding alongside her.

They exited the manor’s front door and rushed down the stone steps where the carriage jerked to a stop.

The small door swung open and Dirk climbed out, looking horribly grim. His face was as familiar as any in Serene’s life; he had been her bodyguard since her birth. And he had only ever looked so grave once before.

When he had brought the news that her mother had died.

Serene’s stomach instinctively dropped. When Dirk shifted and she glimpsed Bennick lying on the carriage floor, a hand flew to her mouth.

“Is he dead?” Imara asked, trembling beside her.

“No.” Dirk’s throat flexed as he swallowed. “But he needs immediate assistance. He was stabbed.”

Cardon rushed forward and Imara murmured about getting the physician as she darted back inside the manor.

“Wilf seared the wounds,” Dirk told Cardon as the two of them carefully lifted Bennick out. “He hasn’t awoken, and he’s feverish. He may not survive.”

“He will,” Cardon said firmly.

Serene’s heart clenched. She looked around, noticing for the first time that Clare wasn’t in the yard. Or Vera. She froze. “Where are Clare and Vera?”

“They’re not dead,” Dirk said quickly. “They were taken by the mercenaries who attacked us. Venn and Wilf took six men and are tracking them now into the forest.”

“They won’t find them,” sang out a horribly cheerful voice.

Serene faced the Rose—Zilas, as she preferred to call him. Using his real name stole some of his threat and mystery, and she was sure it would irritate him as well. He was still shackled, a guard on each arm pulling him toward the manor.

Strange, how seeing an enemy could help her focus. Her superior mask slipped into place and she regarded him with an edge of haughtiness. “You seem quite sure of that, Zilas.”

The assassin smiled, his eyes dancing. As if he knew why she had used his name, and he found it amusing. “Oh, I’m dead certain of it, Princess.”

Serene dismissed him by turning on her heel and following Cardon and Dirk inside. Bennick was carried between them. The blood on his uniform alone had her fighting a gag, but as they climbed the stairs, the folds of his shirt fell aside and she saw the wound. It was low on the left side of his abdomen, the skin terribly burned and blistered. Serene swallowed quickly to keep acidic bile from rising up her throat.

Bennick was pale, his skin slick with sweat. Even his breathing was pained.

They reached the first available room and Serene dodged around them to open the door. As they lowered him onto the bed, Bennick’s agonized groan scraped her ears, clawing at her heart.

Then Cardon swore. “He was run through?”

Dirk straightened stiffly. “Yes.”

A tremble shook through Serene. With an injury like that, it was a fates-blasted miracle Bennick was still breathing.

The physician ran in, Imara right behind him. The Mortisian man was older, but his eyes were clear and sharp as he took in his newest patient. “The two soldiers can stay,” he said. “I’ll need you to hold him down if he wakes. The rest of you—out.”

Serene’s feet were stuck to the floor. It was Imara’s hand slipping around hers, tugging her toward the door, that finally made her move.

They remained in the corridor just outside, listening to the indistinct murmur of voices. Time passed. Servants ducked in and out, bringing water, towels, and other supplies. Horrible, gut-wrenching screams pierced through the closed door, and Serene had to tell herself it was a good sign—it meant Bennick was still alive.

Serene paced the hall, chewing the edge of her thumbnail, aware of Imara’s sharp eyes on her. They hadn’t spoken much, just waited together with bated breath for news.

Finally, the door eased open and Dirk ducked out. He looked exhausted, but his eyes found Serene easily enough. “He’s sleeping now,” he said, pulling the door closed until it clicked shut. “Cardon and the physician will remain with him.”

“Will he survive?” Serene asked.

“The physician has done what he can, but the fever is a concern.” Dirk gripped the back of his neck, his expression grim. “Time will tell.”

Bennick had to live. And Clare and Vera had to be found.

Serene could not bear any other alternative.

Royal Captive releases on March 18th!

Grab your copy in your preferred format here: https://linktr.ee/h.frost

Pre-order and get an EXCLUSIVE short story! 
Sign up for the gift here: https://forms.gle/nDubVYVaB7EPYRfh8


Which character are you most excited to catch up with? Tell me in the comments!

I'm so excited to have teamed up with so many amazing book reviewers, bloggers, authors, and bookstagrammers to bring this awesome tour to you and celebrate the launch of Royal Captive! 

Keep scrolling to find all the tour details and links, as well as buy links for the books and the pre-order gift sign-up!

A huge thank you to all the bloggers and reviewers 
who participated and made this virtual tour possible!

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Haven't read the beginning of this YA fantasy romance series? 
Learn about Royal Decoy here: https://www.heatherfrost.com/fate-of-eyrinthia-series 

MONDAY, March 14th

Cassidy Clarke - Book Review: https://www.instagram.com/cclarkewriting/ 
@cclarkewriting on Instagram

Crystal Frost - Character Interview (Imara) https://www.frostcrystal.com/post/fate-of-eyrinthia-imara-interview 

Heather Frost - Read the First Three Chapters of Royal Captive: https://www.heatherfrost.com/post/royal-captive-sneak-peek 


TUESDAY, March 15th

Book Briefs - Book Review: https://bookbriefs.net/2022/03/15/review-royal-captive-by-heather-frost/ 
@Bookbriefs on Instagram

Sarah Hill - Book Review + Character Interview (Mia)
https://sarahrylie.wixsite.com/author/post/royal-captive-the-fate-of-erynthia-book-3 
https://sarahrylie.wixsite.com/author (Scroll down and click on the tour banner image to download the interview!)
@authorsarahhill on Instagram

The Reading Pantry - Book Review: www.instagram.com/the_reading_pantry
@the_reading_pantry on Instagram

Thind Books - Book Review + Author Interview: https://thindbooks.wordpress.com/2022/03/15/royal-captive-by-heather-frost-review-get-book-one-for-free-link-in-post/ 
@thindbooks on Instagram


WEDNESDAY, March 16th

A Bella Fairytale - Book Review: https://abellafairytale.wordpress.com/2022/03/16/blog-tour-royal-captive-by-heather-frost/?preview=true 

Darkest Sins - Author Guest Post: https://darkestsinsblog.com/explore-the-kingdoms-of-eyrinthia-royal-captive-blog-tour/ 

Jack- Book Review + Podcast Author Interview: https://anchor.fm/createandcall/episodes/Interview-with-Author-Heather-Frost-e1fplc7 

Kait Plus Books - Excerpt: https://www.kaitgoodwin.com/books/blog-tour-royal-captive-by-heather-frost-excerpt-free-book/ 
@kaitplusbooks on Instagram

Literary Time Out - Book Review: https://literarytimeout.blogspot.com/2022/03/blog-tour-royal-captive-by-heather-frost.html 
@Literarytimeout on Facebook and Instagram


THURSDAY, March 17th

Batty and Anjali - Rook Review + Character Interview (Desfan) https://battysmammareads.blogspot.com/2022/03/heather-frosts-royal-captive-book-tour.html 
@cherumanalil on Instagram

Books Less Travelled - Book Review + Excerpt: 
https://bookslesstravelledreviews.wordpress.com/2022/03/17/blog-tour-royal-captive-fate-of-eyrinthia-3-by-heather-frost-bookreview-excerpt/ 
@BooksLessTravelled on Instagram

Bookworm Lisa - Book Review + Excerpt: https://lisaisabookworm.blogspot.com/2022/02/royal-captive-by-heather-frost-vligtour.html 

Caylin Nash - Excerpt:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/19Y9szxqClF6udT-OJZOwfcaQ4XgxWLQoV8UIDYI_Nr8/edit 
@mother.binge.reader on Instagram

Min Reads and Reviews - Book Review: https://minreadsandreviews.blogspot.com/2022/03/royal-captive-by-heather-frost-blog-tour.html
@minreads on Instagram

Pursuing The Happy - Excerpt: https://pursuingthehappy.wordpress.com/2022/03/17/blog-tour-royal-captive-by-heather-frost-exclusive-excerpt-gifts/ 


FRIDAY, March 18th

Captivated Reading - Book Review + Author Guest Post: https://www.captivatedreading.com/royal-captive-blog-tour-short-review-guest-post/ 
@captivated_reading on Instagram

Getting Your Read On - Book Review: http://gettingyourreadonaimeebrown.blogspot.com/2022/03/royal-captive-fate-of-eyrinthia-3-by.html 
@gettingyourreadon on Instagram

Purple Shadow Hunter - Book Review + Excerpt: https://purpleshadowhunter.blogspot.com/2022/03/royal-captive-virtual-tour.html 
@purpleshadowhunter on Instagram

Singing Librarian Books - Book Review + Excerpt: https://www.singinglibrarianbooks.com/teens/royal-captive-fate-of-eyrnthia-3-by-heather-frost-blog-tour-review-excerpt 
@singinglibrarianbooks on Instagram

Stars Books and Tea - Book Review + Excerpt: https://starsbooksandtea.com/2022/03/16/royal-captive-blog-tour/ 
@starsbooksandtea on Instagram

Why Not Because I Said So - Book Review + Excerpt: https://whynotbecauseisaidso.blogspot.com/2022/03/royal-captive-fate-of-eyrinthia-book-3.html 

RETURN TO EYRINTHIA ON MARCH 18th!

Grab your copy in your preferred format here: https://linktr.ee/h.frost
Pre-order and get an EXCLUSIVE short story! 
Sign up for the gift here: https://forms.gle/nDubVYVaB7EPYRfh8

------------------------

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60134000-royal-captive

Add on Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/royal-captive-fate-of-eyrinthia-book-3-by-heather-frost

A DECOY trapped in a dangerous lie
A SERJAH searching for the truth
A PRINCE caught in a deadly game
A WORLD choked by secrets

Abducted during a devastating ambush, Clare is now the captive of ruthless mercenaries. Dragged through the wilderness while grieving heart-rending loss, she must maintain the illusion that she is the princess. Because if she lets the mask slip, even for a moment, the Mortisians will have no reason to keep her alive.

After arresting traitors close to the crown, Desfan fights to rebuild his court, knowing that the imminent arrival of the Devendran princess will further upset the precarious balance in Mortise. But Desfan’s world is rocked when he discovers a rumor that rewrites the most devastating event in his life. He will stop at nothing to find the truth–no matter where it leads.

As Grayson struggles to find his footing in Mortise, he discovers new friends and enemies. His life is further complicated by the tenuous alliance with his spymaster brother. With secrets deepening around him, Grayson must decide where his loyalties truly lie. Through it all, his heart remains in Ryden with Mia. Unfortunately, his love for her is no secret, and the Black Hand is a coveted weapon . . .

Eyrinthia holds its breath as allies and enemies collide. Secrets. Lies. Betrayals. Nothing will be the same.

While the reading order for the main novels is clearly labeled, I decided to include a specific Fate of Eyrinthia reading order with notes here. I will keep updating as needed!

*Indicates a novella

Recommended Reading Order:

Royal Decoy (Fate of Eyrinthia #1)
https://mybook.to/lvabZJ

*Fire & Ash (Fate of Eyrinthia #0.5 - Desfan's origin story) 
https://mybook.to/cJ59xOp
(NOTE: This prequel novella can be read at any time, though I placed it here due to overwhelming fan requests (thank you for letting me know where you feel it fit best!) Chronologically, the events in Fire & Ash happen before the events of Royal Decoy, but this novella was published after Royal Spy. Whenever you decide to read it is great, though I do recommend reading it before you begin Royal Captive.)

Royal Spy (Fate of Eyrinthia 2)
https://mybook.to/mg1n

Royal Captive (Fate of Eyrinthia 3)
https://mybook.to/3RqyAr

*Shield & Blade (Fate of Eyrinthia 3.5 - Venn and Vera's story)
https://mybook.to/BRJt
(NOTE: This novella is important to read AFTER Royal Captive (due to spoilers). Events in this novella are happening concurrently with the main series, so you definitely don't want to miss this one (especially if you love Venn and Vera!). For the best reading experience, I highly recommend reading this right after you finish Royal Captive, and before you start Royal Rebel, because things do connect closely with the main storyline.)

Royal Rebel (Fate of Eyrinthia 4)
https://mybook.to/A9INRBX  

*Crown & Serpent (Fate of Eyrinthia 0.25 - Iris and Henri's story)
https://mybook.to/EWKdD6 ​
(NOTE: This prequel novella can be read at any time. Chronologically, it comes before the events of Royal Decoy (and before Fire & Ash!) but it was published after Royal Rebel). This villain origin story is super unique, and I promise if you dare to venture into it, you're going to love seeing how Grayson's parents met, and what Ryden was like before their reign.

Royal Traitor (Fate of Eyrinthia 5) COMING 2026

It's been a while since I've done a blog post, but I'm here to answer some frequently asked questions! (There will be minor spoilers for the story so far, so make sure you've read Royal Decoy and Royal Spy before continuing!)

I'm really excited for you all to read this book! Who are you most excited to catch up with? Do you have another question? Let me know in the comments!

I'm excited to give you a sneak peek of Fire & Ash: A Fate of Eyrinthia Novella! It comes out October 28th, and you can pre-order the Kindle version here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B098SJYHW2?ref

The novella will also be available in paperback!

Here is the official summary:

First the flames . . .

When Desfan Cassian, the future ruler of Mortise, skips his fifteenth birthday celebration so he can gamble in the slums, he knows his father won't be pleased. Then again, the serjan hasn’t been happy with him in years. And while Desfan anticipates a reprimand for his latest transgression, he doesn’t expect to be thrown out of the palace and exiled onto a patrol ship for the next year.

Then from the ashes . . .

Furious to be trapped on the same sea that stole his family four years ago, Desfan is fully prepared to hate his new life. After all, the Phoenix is run by a strict captain, and Desfan's annoying new bodyguard, Karim, is his constant shadow. But when Desfan learns that a group of dangerous pirates may have been behind the deaths of his mother and sisters, he's suddenly committed to hunting down the truth—no matter the risk.

He will rise.

​And here is your sneak peek!

Chapter 1

Desfan tapped his finger against the cards in his hands, his face a practiced mask as he eyed the man across the table. “Well?”

He was several years older than Desfan’s fifteen years, but his face was already weathered. A sailor, Desfan assumed. His expression was carefully neutral as he reclined in his chair, looking perfectly at ease. But Desfan could see the tension gathering at the corners of his mouth.

The man’s friends huddled around the table, rapt spectators. The Red Cobra was loud tonight with rapidly trilling pipe music in the corner, booming laughter from other tables, and the rush of many voices locked in conversation. The tavern was one of Desfan’s favorites to visit, because it was a favorite among docked sailors and he needed fresh people to play with. The regulars had stopped playing with him a long time ago; not just because they accused him of cheating—though he sometimes did—or because he was young and people often thought he wasn’t serious with his bets—which he always was. No, people avoided him after they learned who he was.

Serjah Desfan Saernon Cassian, heir to the throne of Mortise.

Desfan never shared his title, but, unfortunately, the palace guards sometimes managed to find him, and they were never covert in their extraction.

The chaotic sounds of the tavern felt a bit dull to his ears, coming in swells that rolled over him with a strange, almost dull roar. Rather like the sea, actually. Coming, then going. A rush, and then a pull. Something that buried him and took everything, leaving him with nothing.

Or perhaps he was simply feeling the effects of the olcain he’d sniffed earlier. It was stronger than the old drugs he used to take—more expensive, too, which was why he looked forward to winning tonight.

The man across the table straightened, dropping five tarnished coins on the table. “Raise.” He smirked. “I call your bluff, boy.”

All eyes darted to Desfan, who watched the rattling coins settle against the small but still impressive pile.

“You’re out of coins,” his opponent said smugly.

He was.

The man’s eyes dipped to the obsidian ring on Desfan’s thumb. “Perhaps you’ll wager that?”

Desfan’s finger brushed the cool obsidian band and his little sister’s smile flashed in his mind. 

His hand tightened into a fist. “No. I have something better.” One hand dipped into his pocket, and then he flicked the small pouch onto the pile of coins.

The man’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that . . .?”

“Olcain,” Desfan confirmed. “Pure.”

Muttering rippled through the gathered crowd, and a few on the edge exchanged anxious looks before making themselves scarce.

“Highly illegal, that,” the man across from him said, his voice low. But his gaze hadn’t left the pouch, the gleam of greed in his eye captured by the light cast from the grimy lanterns.

Desfan cracked a smile. “And certainly worth more than five coins. Consider the bet raised again. Will you match?”

The man’s mouth pressed into a line, but the unfiltered hunger in his eyes told Desfan everything he needed to know.

The man was all in. 

He dumped the rest of his coins on the table, as well as the shiny rings on his fingers.

Desfan’s heartbeat quickened. The rush of adrenaline sparked over his skin, igniting every nerve. He pulled in a deep breath, letting his lungs expand as he relished the feeling. The moment. It was in these seconds he actually felt alive.

The crowd sensed the tension and crept a little closer to the small table.

The man across from Desfan smirked, but the sweat beading at his upper lip wasn’t something he could hide. “Let’s see your hand, then.”

Desfan spread his cards against the table, his pulse kicking fast. “A full guild,” he said.

The man across the table froze.

  Desfan grinned. “No hard feelings, I hope. I’m very good.”

  The man’s nostrils flared and his eyes lifted to meet Desfan’s gaze. “You cheated.”

  “Not tonight.” He stood and reached for his winnings, but the man snared one of his wrists.

Fury burned in his eyes. “You’re only a child.”

  “Yes, and I beat you. Embarrassing, isn’t it?”

  The bones in Desfan’s wrist ground together as the man tightened his hold. With his other hand, he drew a knife from his belt and brandished it between them, the tip aimed at Desfan’s face. “How about we pretend I was the one with the full guild, and you get to keep your pretty face?”

Desfan’s heart pounded against his ribs. The rush of fear was followed by a hot wave of excitement. He grinned. “Who’s the cheater now?”

  The man’s glare sharpened. “You’re dead, urchin.”

  “Funny. I didn’t know the dead could do this.” Desfan rammed his knee into the table and the lamp fell against the man’s bare arm. The heat was not enough to truly burn him, but it was enough to jerk him back. He recoiled with a bellow, dropping Desfan and his knife so he could clutch his arm.

Desfan grabbed the olcain along with a fistful of coins and darted for the door.

  The sailor growled behind him. “Don’t just stand there—get him!”

Desfan ducked to avoid a grasping hand and then leapt, his boot landing hard on the seat of an empty chair so he could vault over a table.

It was amazing what olcain helped him do. He was focused. Unstoppable. He knew exactly where the door was, even through the crowd. He knew exactly how much force to put in each jump, the best way to spin around the next obstacle. He was in perfect control of his body.

In this moment, he was in control of his fate. And that was a rare and fleeting thing.

He landed hard, the impact jarring up his legs. He kept moving, the coins biting into his palm as he ran. He heard the scramble behind him, the shouts of protest as people were shoved aside.

The door was right there.

Desfan grabbed the handle and shoved it open, swinging into the dark street. He bolted, but hadn’t gone far when a hand snagged the back of his shirt. He was jerked to a halt, and then spun until he smashed face-first into the brick front of the Red Cobra.

The olcain dulled the worst of the pain, but it still hurt.

“Ouch,” he complained, his cheek stinging.

Rough hands turned him and shoved him back against the wall, holding him there. He counted four shadows. The one right in front of him was none other than the sore loser.

Hmm. Maybe the olcain just made him feel faster.

The sailor’s knife was once again in front of his face. “I’m going to shove every last coin down your throat,” he growled, his weathered face twisted in rage.

Desfan snorted. “If you really don’t want the coins, I can think of easier ways to be rid of them.”

The sailor used his free hand to grab Desfan’s throat and he squeezed, cutting off most of his air.

The first spark of panic flared throughout his body, tightening his muscles.

The man leaned in, his foul breath clouding the air between them. “Once you’ve died from choking on them, I’ll cut them out of you.”

“A bit excessive,” Desfan choked. “But I admire your creativity.”

The man’s forehead knotted, and his grip flexed. “The fates have addled your brain, boy. Don’t you understand? I’m going to kill you.”

Desfan eyed the man, his crushed throat burning. “I don’t fear death,” he rasped.

“Then you’re a fool.”

No. He’d simply lost his reason for living. But even if he had enough air to say the words, he wouldn’t have said them. He had never uttered them, no matter how often he thought them. He wasn’t really sure why.

Maybe it was because whenever he thought them, he could see his mother’s face. The way her long brown hair curled against her rounded cheeks. Her compassionate smile. Her soft, beautiful brown eyes. He knew the words would make her cry, so he didn’t give them air. 

It was the same reason he would always fight to stay alive, even if he didn’t always want to.

Desfan’s fingers found the knife at his belt. He gripped it, but before he could draw it, a voice boomed out.

“Unhand him at once, on pain of death!”

The sailor’s head cranked toward the squadron of soldiers, and his fist loosened almost reflexively, allowing a thin trail of air to burn down Desfan’s raw throat. The man’s knife remained poised before Desfan’s face, though. “Good, you’re here. This boy is a thief and a cheat—”

“I already said I didn’t cheat tonight,” Desfan muttered.

The kiv leading the squadron stepped forward, his expression murderous as he glared at the sailor. “Release the serjah now, or die.”

The sailor’s jaw dropped, his mouth dangling open.

Desfan had seen the same expression a thousand times, and he knew exactly what would happen next. After the shock, a double-take. Then dawning realization. Horror filling the eyes. And--

The sailor dropped Desfan like he was poison. Desfan slumped against the wall and rubbed his throat. He eyed the kiv, paying no heed as the sailor and his friends fell to their knees. “You were moderately quick tonight. I’m impressed.”

The kiv did not look impressed. He was a middle-aged man, and one Desfan recognized, though he didn’t know his name.

Truth be told, he recognized most of the city guard by now. Just as they knew him on sight. Even if he was bloody, bruised, and puking his guts out in the gutter.

The kiv turned to the sailor and his friends. “Forget you saw the serjah here tonight, and you may go free.”

The man might be a horrible loser and have bad hygiene, but he wasn’t an idiot. He muttered his promises and backed away quickly, his friends with him.

Alone in front of the Red Cobra, the kiv faced Desfan and extended a hand.

Desfan sighed. “I don’t have any.”

“Excuse my disagreement, Serjah, but it is in your hand.”

Fates blast it. He thought he’d tucked the olcain up his sleeve, but there it was, staring up at him among a bed of tarnished coins. Perhaps the effects of the drug were wearing off. It would explain how he’d managed to get caught—not once, but twice. First the sailor, then the guard.

He expelled a heavy breath and surrendered the drug.

What happened next was rote.

“Any more of it?” the kiv asked.

“No.”

“You don’t mind if I search?”

He was already turning to face the wall, his palms resting on the cool brick.

Sometimes, he fought them. Yelled at them. Tonight, he simply didn’t care.

After the quick search, they trooped back to the palace. No one said anything.

Also not new.

At the palace doors, the city guard turned him over to his bodyguard, a hulking man named Borahk. 

The annoyance between them was mutual.

Borahk hated that Desfan always managed to sneak off and make him look bad.

Desfan hated that the man existed.

Well, to be perfectly fair, he just hated that Borahk was the newest replacement for Darkol, his old guard; the one who had watched over him and his sisters since their births. Darkol had died on the ship with his mother and sisters.

Just another person fate had ripped from him.

The olcain really must be wearing off. He was becoming morose.

Borahk glared, his jaw rigid as he watched Desfan climb the stairs. His massive arms were folded over his wide chest, and every tensed muscle in his square face screamed fury.

“Nice evening, isn’t it?” Desfan drawled.

Borahk grabbed Desfan’s elbow and jerked him into the castle.

“Easy,” Desfan griped. “I am the fates-blasted heir to the throne, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” the large man growled. “Do you?”

He scoffed. “You have no right to lecture me.”

“Do you even know what night it is?” Borahk demanded.

Of course he did. That’s why he’d sniffed half his olcain supply.

It was his birthday. He was fifteen years old. And every year he aged and his sisters did not, well . . . each one cut him deeper than the last.

Borahk shook his head. “The palace is full of nobles who traveled from across the country to celebrate you, and you can’t be bothered to be there. Your father had to make excuses for you—again.”

Desfan’s jaw tightened. He tugged at his arm, but Borahk’s hold was like iron and he soon gave up. “As much as I treasure our time together,” he drawled, “this escort isn’t necessary. I do remember the way to my chambers.”

Borahk didn’t so much as look at him. “We’re not going to your room.”

One of his eyebrows ticked up. “It’s the middle of the night. Where else would we go?”

“The serjan demands your presence.”

That penetrated the fog of olcain shrouding Desfan’s brain.  He straightened. “My father wants to see me?”

Borahk grunted. “I think he wants to do a fair bit more than that.”

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Fire & Ash! Don't forget, the novella comes out October 28th! 
​
You can pre-order your Kindle copy here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B098SJYHW2?ref

You can also add it here!
Goodreads
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58709977-fire-ash

Bookbub
https://www.bookbub.com/books/fire-and-ash-a-fate-of-eyrinthia-novella-by-heather-frost

​
What was your favorite part of chapter one? Let me know in the comments!

This scene takes place shortly before the events of Royal Decoy. There are no spoilers, but you'll probably enjoy it more if you've read Royal Decoy, because you'll know the characters.

*Note: This was first shared in my newsletter; sign up if you'd like to be the first to see content like this in the future! http://eepurl.com/gQh_aD

​             Mia set down the pencil, her fingers curling around the edges of her sketchbook. “All right. I’m ready.” She looked up from the open page that bore one word, her gaze colliding with Grayson’s.
            She was instantly captured by his intense gray eyes. They were cool in color, and she had seen them grow even colder when others were with them. Papa. Mama. Fletcher, her guard. But when Grayson looked at her, there was a warmth in those gray eyes that touched every part of her.
            He sat at the foot of her bed while she perched at the head. In the bright glow of the lanterns, she could see that the tension he’d carried when he’d entered the room was gone. After a day of enforcing King Henri’s merciless laws, Grayson was always tense. But they’d eaten dinner together, and then she had pulled out her sketchbook so she could distract him with a game.
            Grayson was winning. And judging by the half smile that pulled at his mouth, he was enjoying that fact.
            “Is it alive?” he asked. 
            “Yes.”
            “Is it a person?”
            She shook her head, brown curls brushing her shoulders. “No.”
            “Is it an animal?” he asked. 
            “Yes.”
           “Hmm . . .” He drew up a leg and draped an arm over his knee, his black gloved hand dangling. He made her bed feel small with the way he was sprawled along the base of it. One shoulder propped against the wall as he angled toward her, one leg hanging off the side of the bed.
            His black hair, a little too long, curled over his ears and brow. His skin was several shades lighter than hers, even though she was the one who hadn’t seen sunlight in years. Light scars nicked across his visible skin; his forehead, cheeks, jaw, throat. A testament to all he had survived in his seventeen years.
            She always got a little lost when she stared at him. His long nose, slightly crooked from being broken too many times, his strong and angular jaw. His cheekbones were high and prominent, his eyebrows dark and thick. And there was a small, barely-there freckle at the lower corner of his mouth that always managed to snag her attention.
            Broad shoulders bracketed a chest hard with muscle. She had never seen him without a shirt, but when they trained or she hugged him, she could feel the strength in his carefully toned body. His waist was trim, his hips narrow, and his legs so long he towered above her. Just being near him made her feel safe. He always had, even when he was a small, haunted boy. His presence calmed her. Steadied her. She could close her eyes and inhale his scent, and she immediately felt safe; leather, sunlight, and a slight spice that came from his soap.
            His sleeves were pushed up, baring strong forearms. Muscles and tendons flexed under his skin as he shifted to a more comfortable position. More scars traced faint lines over his arms. Sometimes, when they sat side by side, she would brush those marks with her fingertips. Each one hurt her.
            Staring at him right now, though, hurt was the furthest thing from her mind. Her stomach fluttered and heat filled her chest. The fates had stolen so much from her, but Grayson was a gift.
            “Mia?”
            Her eyes darted up, warmth flooding her cheeks. “Sorry, what?”
            The corner of his mouth hiked, his eyes intent on her. “Does it fly?”
            Oh. Yes. The game. Mia cleared her throat. “Yes.”
            Grayson’s throat flexed as he swallowed. “Hmm . . . Is it a falcon?”
            She blinked, and her jaw loosened. “How . . . How did you know?”
            He lifted one shoulder, and his widening smile showed a glimpse of a dimple. “Just a guess.”
            Mia stared. 
            She had known Grayson for years, but it had not taken that long to fall in love with him. It had only taken a moment. A second of meeting those cautious gray eyes. A pebble, tossed between them. A kindness she had not experienced in so long. A slow, crooked smile. She had been seven. He’d been eight. She’d fallen in love with him then, and she had been falling deeper in love with him every moment since.
            Not that she had told him. She couldn’t. 
            They were friends. Best friends. He was her light. Her strength. He taught her to fight, and she taught him to hope. She would do nothing to destroy what they had.
            Grayson was still grinning at her. "I have a confession," he said.
            Mia peeked up at him, her heart thumping hard in her chest. "What?" Fates, had he read her mind? Did he feel the same? Was he—?
            "I saw you drawing a falcon the other day. I made a guess that it might still be on your mind."
            Relief and disappointment swirled inside her. She found herself smiling, though. “You know me too well.” She passed him the book. “Your turn.”
            Grayson grabbed the book, his long gloved fingers brushing hers. He snatched up the pencil as well, deliberated a short moment, then scrawled something on the page. He tipped the book away from her, a soft smile on his face as he raised his head, locking eyes with her. “All right. Go.”
            Fates, she needed to focus. She pushed a hand through her loose curls and leaned back against the wall. “Is it a person?”
            “No.”
            “An animal?”
            “No.”
            Her brow wrinkled. “Is it a place?”
            “No.”
            “Is it alive?”
            “Yes.”
            She frowned, considering. “Is it an insect?”
            “No.”
            She stared at him. “I don’t know what to ask next.”
            “Do you concede?”
            She rolled her eyes. “Of course not, give me a moment . . .”
            Grayson’s eyes flashed with humor and he bit his lower lip to reign in his smile. It tugged at his freckle and something low in her belly knotted.
            She closed her eyes, forced herself to focus. Think . . . Alive, but not an animal, person, or insect . . . Her eyes snapped open. “Is it a plant?”
            He dipped his chin. “Yes.”
            “A flower?”
            “No.”
            “A tree?”
            “No. And I hate to point out the fact that you only have two questions remaining.”
            “If you hate it so much, don’t look so smug.”
            He only grinned.
            She tapped a finger off her chin. “Is it poisonous?”
            He considered that. “It can be, I suppose.”
            She shook her head slowly. “Fates, I hate this game . . . Why do I always agree to play this with you?”
            He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Is that your final question?”
            “No.” She sighed. “Is it a reed?”
            He frowned. “Are reeds poisonous?”
            “Maybe some of them are,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
            The corner of his mouth lifted. “I suppose you could be right. But in this case, you’re not.”
            She blew out her breath. “Fine. What was it?”
            “Sorry, you’re out of questions.” He snapped the book closed. 
            “Grayson!”
            He shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”
            “Those aren’t the rules at all.” She grabbed for the book, but he held it over his head, grinning.
            She snatched his wrist and tugged, unable to stop the huffing laugh that escaped her. “Seriously, Grayson, what was it?”
            “Do you really want to know?”
            “Yes!”
            “Hmm…”
            Impatience won out. Her fingers attacked his side and he gasped and doubled over, laughing as she tickled him.
            The book lowered, and she snagged it. Flipping open to the page, she stared at what he’d written. “A leaf?”
            “What’s wrong with a leaf?”
            She tossed the book at him, and he snatched it from the air with one hand. His grin stretched wider. “Want to play again?”
            “Absolutely not. I think it’s time for a game of Assassins.”
            He groaned. “You’ll win.”
            “And I’ll relish every moment.”
            He chuckled, and the sound was so deep it reached all the way to her toes. “Fair enough.”

​Bennick was in a late night meeting with the Winsel’s guards, so Wilf escorted Clare and Vera to the spare room that had been overrun with gifts. The Winsels said they’d begun arriving a week ago, offerings from nobles eager to send their congratulations on the upcoming marriage and alliance. 

Ivonne sat at a desk, apparently jotting down notes about a necklace that sat beside her. She spotted Vera and groaned, dropping the quill at once. “Thank the fates you’re back, my hand is cramped.”

  Vera moved to the desk, easily taking over the inventory while Ivonne shook out her fingers.

Clare scanned the room, marveling at all the paintings, boxes, bolts of fabric, and endless jewelry. “How are there so many?” Clare asked. 

  Ivonne snorted as she lifted a thin, narrow box. “Because there are too many nobles trying to outdo each other.”

  “And sometimes themselves,” Venn added. His arm was no longer in a sling, though he still moved gingerly. “I’ve found three gifts alone from Lady Finn. Apparently, each subsequent one was ‘better’.” 

  “How did you end up here?” Clare asked.

  He sighed. “Just eternally lucky, I suppose.”

  “Bennick won’t put him on rotation quite yet, so he might as well be useful,” Ivonne told Clare.

  Venn’s face broke into a smile. “You think I’m useful?”

  Ivonne just rolled her eyes.

  Clare approached the pile in the middle of the floor, spotting a stack of what must be rare books, and a trunk that was so decorated with gold, she thought it looked like a pirate’s chest. “I still don’t understand why people would send so much.”

  “It’s a royal wedding,” Ivonne said. “But more than that, I think people are worried they might be seen as unsupportive if they don’t give something truly magnificent.” She spoke over her shoulder to Vera. “Another gold necklace, this one with small rubies, from Lord and Lady Bent.”

  Vera noted it.

  “Sometimes there are amusing gifts,” Venn said. “That helps drive away the monotony.”

  Clare reached for a framed painting and found the attached card. “A painting from Lord Tripp. It appears to be a portrait of himself.” She double checked the card. “Done by himself.”

  Venn choked out a laugh, dropping the box he’d just lifted. “Let me see!”

  Everyone crowded around the less-than-masterfully-done painting, and even Wilf grunted in amusement. 

  Vera finally set it aside and made a note in the inventory. “That will definitely go to Iden.”

  “Can we please include a note that states it should be hung in the entrance hall?” Venn begged. “Please?”

  Clare returned to the pile and Wilf moved to the far corner of the room to sort through some cards that had been separated from their packages.

Ivonne found the next strange yet hilarious gift—a beloved dog’s ashes. “To sprinkle in the ocean and know that a beloved soul of Devendra is with you,” Ivonne read from the card, her eyes wide in disbelief. “Why? Why would anyone think their dog’s ashes would make a good wedding gift?”

  “Nobles are insane,” Venn said. “Haven’t you noticed?”

Venn: I’m very excited about this. Thanks for taking the time to sit down with us, Heather!

Heather: You’re welcome! I’m actually looking forward to this as well. I've never done anything like this before with my characters.

Venn: We’ll each ask you one question. I’ll go first. Why do you enjoy torturing your characters so much?

Heather: Oh. Wow. Well . . . I mean, I wouldn’t say I enjoy it. I really just write down the story as I discover it. And, you know, conflict sort of drives a story, and it gives depth and purpose to characters and their backstory.

Venn: No need to get defensive, I just wanted to start this session with a deep question. Clare, would you like to go next?

Clare: Yes, thank you. Heather, how did you come up with the idea of writing about a decoy?

Heather: I wanted to write a story with royals, but I wanted a unique perspective. So I thought, “Why not a decoy? And why not have the decoy be forced into it?” Sorry about that, Clare.

Serene: What qualifies you to write about royalty?

Heather: Aside from reading a lot of books and having a vast imagination? Absolutely nothing. Your Highness. *Belated Curtsy*

Venn: I have another question. Can I ask another?

Heather: Uh, sure. You're the moderator.

Venn: I am, aren't I? Who would you choose for a roommate: The Poison Queen, King Henri, or Prince Peter?

Heather: Hilarious, Venn. Well, let’s see . . . Queen Iris gives me the absolute creeps, and she’d poison me. So, no. Henri is pure evil, but so is Peter, and in the end, I feel like Henri is less volatile, so . . . If I had to choose one of them, I’d probably choose Henri. But I would be looking for new lodgings immediately.

Grayson: I think that would be wise.

Bennick: Can I go now, Venn?

Venn: Oh, by all means.

Bennick: Heather, what is--

Heather: Could you actually say that again? I’ve never heard you say my name, and I kind of love it.

Bennick: Um, sure. Heather, what is your favorite type of scene to write?

Heather: That’s a hard one! I enjoy any scene with dialogue. Especially witty banter. But I also love the romantic tension scenes; the fingers brushing, the deep looks, the easing in for a kiss . . . *sigh* Where was I? Oh! I also love writing the AH-HA moments. The scene in which the twist unfolds, and all the foreshadowing clicks into place. Those are super fun.

Mia: As you know, I’m quite artistic. I was just wondering if you are artistic as well?

Heather: I wish! But no. My creative talents lie in writing. Even my doodles are pretty sad looking. You and I both enjoy reading, though, so we have that in common!

Venn: I’ve got another question!

Bennick: Really, Venn?

Venn: *Grins* Heather, who would you pick for your bodyguard?

Heather: Hmm, that’s actually a great question. I think you all have different merits, but if I could only choose one--

Venn: You can’t pick Grayson. He’s a prince, not a bodyguard.

Heather: I was totally going to say Grayson.

Venn: I know. I could see it in your eyes.

Heather: Fine. If not Grayson, then I would pick Bennick.

Venn: But . . . why not me?

Bennick: Venn. Stop.

Venn: Fine. Grayson, do you have a question for Heather?

Grayson: Yes. How do you come up with all your character names? There are far too many people in your head . . .

Heather: I actually love naming characters. Sometimes a name just falls into place (like yours, Grayson) and sometimes I have a sense of the letter that name should start with, or a basic sound, and I start exploring names from there. (That’s what happened with you, Clare.) If I can’t find a name I like, I make one up (Bennick, I’m looking at you). And sometimes I try to take into account the meaning of the name. (Serene, your name is rather ironic, don’t you think?)

Venn: All right, Serjah Desfan.

Serene: Wait, he’s here? Where? I still haven’t met him, and I’m supposed to marry him.

Venn: We’re keeping you separated, to keep the storyline from becoming muddied.

Serene: Oh. That makes sense.

Desfan: My question is simple . . . Why wasn’t I in book one? I could have totally been in book one.

Heather: Actually, in earlier drafts, you were in book one. But the book was too long, and I felt it would be better to delay your entrance into the story. That way, readers could speculate about you and you could make a grand appearance.

Desfan: I suppose that makes sense. Thank you.

Venn: Well, I think that’s everyone. Oh, wait. Wilf! You've been so quiet, I forgot you were here.

Wilf: . . . You said Bennick mandated this.

Venn: I said I asked him to mandate this. 

Wilf: . . .

Venn: So. Wilf. Do you have a question for Heather?

Wilf: How many fates-blasted books will there be in this series?

Heather: Six.

Wilf: . . . Wonderful.

Venn: Well, I think that's everyone. Except I do have one last question.

Heather: I'm really not surprised by that.

Venn: If you could live in any of the four kingdoms, which would you choose?

Heather: Hmm…. I love the mountains in Ryden, but I love the culture in Mortise. And they don't have a creepy ruling family. No offense, Grayson.

Grayson: Absolutely none taken. 

Heather: Final answer for now: Mortise.

Venn: Thank you again for joining us, Heather!

Heather: It really was my pleasure. Thank you all, and see you in Royal Spy!

​Note: This interview was originally hosted by "Books Read By Tracy" as part of the Royal Spy Blog Tour.

- What is your full name?
     Clare Ellington

- What was it like to have to take care of your brothers by yourself from such a young age?
     It was difficult at times. My childhood ended when my parents died, and I had to raise Thomas and Mark. I had Eliot, my older brother, help, until he was old enough to join the city guard. It was a lot of work, and there were days I was just so tired. But taking care of my brothers was also very rewarding. I love them with my whole heart.
 
- What is your life motto? 
     Focus on what you can control. Sometimes that might not be much. It might only be your attitude. But if you focus your energy on what you can do, you will feel less overwhelmed and less helpless.

- Who do you love the most in the world? 
     My family. That includes my brothers, and also the family I’ve made more recently: Bennick, Vera, Venn, and the other guards.

- On a scale of 1 - 10 how much did you freak out when you first kissed Bennick ? ;)
     Definitely a 10! It was a complete shock. One moment, we were arguing, and I was feeling so many emotions. And then he grabbed me and we were kissing. It felt like my heart would pound out of my chest. It was exhilarating, beautiful, and perfect.

- What is it like to have guards around you all the time?  
     It was very strange at first, and a bit uncomfortable to always have people around me. In the beginning, it really felt like they were watching me—almost more like prison guards, as opposed to bodyguards. But as I spent time with them, I came to see them as friends. Sometimes I do long for a moment alone, though.

- What is your favorite hobby when you don't have to do duties?
     I’ve always enjoyed cooking, especially for my brothers. I miss doing that. I also love to sew, and seeing all of Serene’s dresses inspire me to make my own designs. 

- If you like reading, what is your favorite book? 
     As a kitchen maid, I didn’t have much time for reading, or great access to books. When I started training as Serene’s decoy, I mostly read histories and anything else my tutor told me to read. I love learning about other kingdoms, so my favorite book so far is probably one I read about Zennor’s jungles. The people who live there, the animals--it’s all so fascinating! . . . Of course, I also found a romantic novel in the library, and I’ve read it a couple of times now J

- What makes you happy?
     A day spent with friends and family. That is when I’m happiest.

- What stresses you out the most and how do you deal with it?
     What a great question! I feel a lot of stress when there is a last-minute change in plans, especially when I’m acting as the decoy. But I try to take a deep breath and remind myself that I can handle this. That I’ve trained for this. It really goes back to my motto: focus on what you can control.

- What is your greatest fear? 
     My greatest fear is losing the people I love. My brothers. Bennick. Losing them scares me more than anything that could happen to me personally.

- What is your biggest dream? 
     My biggest dream is to live away from all the politics and danger that surround me, and to have my brothers with me. And Bennick, of course.

- What is your favorite flower?
     I love daisies.

- Who is the person you despise the most? 
     I think I would have to say King Newlan. I hate that he put me into this position, forced me to become the decoy. I may have found some good things, met some people who have changed my life, but I can’t forget how he blackmailed me into this. I also hate the kind of ruler he is.