Hello, hello, hello! Today is day five of the Lost Kerchiefs Arista Challenge release week, and that means it's a very special day for me: release day for my newest novel, Illusion's Reign! I'm super excited to be able to share this story with you after having worked on it so long, and I hope y'all will enjoy it. In fact, I'm so excited to share it that I'm posting an excerpt from the first chapter here . . . and if you're still curious after that, you can visit Light and Shadows for a behind-the-scenes look at some of my worldbuilding for the book.

About . . .

Illusion's Reign

A transformed princess is determined to reclaim what's hers — but can truth prevail when illusion wears the crown?
Crown Princess Onora of Atìrse is eager to prove herself as the heir to her parents' throne. Moving into one of her family's holdings away from the Royal Seat offers the chance to put into practice all she's learned and demonstrate what kind of queen she intends to one day be, and even the shadow of an uprising among Atìrse's faery neighbors can't dull her excitement. Yet her plans go awry when one of her attendants proves false and she's transformed and replaced by a faery imposter.
Though cursed and cast into the role of a lowly goose-keeper, with only her beloved cat as an ally, Onora refuses to admit defeat. She'll do whatever it takes to break the curse, expose the imposter, and take back the role that is rightfully hers. However, that's easier said than done when her opponent can so easily manipulate the truth — and the fickle feelings of the locals and the surliness of the miller's strange assistant don't make her task any less difficult.
Time is swiftly passing, and Onora must reclaim her place before the transformation becomes permanent. But can she do so when nothing is as it seems and even her allies have secrets?
Return to the kingdom of Atìrse and discover what happens when "The Goose Girl" meets "Puss in Boots" in this prequel to the award-winning Song of the Selkies.

Find it on: Amazon || Goodreads

Illusion's Reign Excerpt: A New Beginning

The castle came into view as Onora’s party crested the hill, the grey walls and keep rising against the blue of the summer sky. The sight brought a thrill and a thrumming excitement to Onora’s heart. Nearly there!
The road here had been—not hard. They’d spent every night at the homes of nobles, had been welcomed and feted and given every courtesy. The weather had been fair, the road free of brigands and other hazards. And despite all the unrest in Tìr Soilleir, the kingdom of the faeries and Atìrse’s nearest allies, and despite all Onora’s parents’ and grandmother’s worry about trouble with rogue faeries along the road, especially with message mirrors largely unusable, the greatest inconvenience anyone in the party had suffered was the moping of Onora’s maid, Brigid.

No, the road hadn’t been hard. But it had been long. Onora felt she could have done just as well with a faster pace and fewer stops, even if that would have meant staying at inns or camping rough instead of resting in noble houses. Still, that was past. They were here—they were home—at last.

The same excitement that had caught her seemed to have touched her companions as well. The guards and the handful of servants she’d brought with her exchanged jokes and comments about what they’d do first when they reached the castle, laughing and teasing one another. None addressed Onora, but that was fine. She would be their queen someday, and so it was only right that she should stay a little aloof.

The castle remained in view as they trotted their horses down the slope of the hill and along the road that led through the fields. Spirits remained high as well; when Onora glanced back, she saw that even Brigid had perked up—somewhat, at least. Her petulant frown remained, puckering the burn scar that covered one cheek, but at least she had straightened in her seat on the back of the little-used carriage.

Onora sighed and turned to face forward again. When she got to the castle and got settled, the first thing she’d do would be give Brigid three days off to sort herself out. She knew the woman had reason to be upset. Brigid didn’t like travel, she hadn’t wanted to leave her family in the royal seat, and the man she’d been seeing had broken things off with her three days before the party left.

All the same, Onora had given her the chance to resign, and Brigid had chosen to come. “I’ll manage,” she’d said the day before they departed. “Maybe being far away from Rian will be good for me.”

So far, all Brigid had managed to do was mope, sulk, and be so slow to do as Onora asked that Onora frequently found it easier to fend for herself. But maybe she’d be better once they weren’t on the road anymore—and if not, Onora would send her back to the royal seat and find a replacement among the castle maids.

Despite her eagerness to reach the castle, however, as they drew nearer, Onora turned her horse towards the sea cliffs and the small, round tower set upon one of them. Though it was still day, a light shone at the top. “We’ll go to the Tùr-Faire first to meet with the priest and ask Dèanadair’s blessing on this next stage.”

Brigid groaned, but the guard commander, Captaen Atholl, nodded and called out the order to the company. They all turned with Onora and made for the Tùr-Faire.

The doors of the Tùr-Faire stood open, but Onora could see no one inside. That was hardly a surprise. It was too early for an evening service and too late for a morning one, and Onora wouldn’t expect services on Speuratha, two days after the main day of worship, anyway.

Still, no one visible on the main level didn’t mean no one was present at all. So, as they reached the door, Onora reined her horse in and dismounted, swinging expertly to the ground. As she did, her cat, Càirdeil, roused himself with a sharp “Meowl?” from the nest of blankets Onora had made for him behind her saddle. He stretched and then hopped to her shoulder, landing atop the protective leather she wore there for just such a purpose and hooking his back paws into the chain loops at its edge.

Onora waited for him to settle himself there before addressing Captaen Atholl. “Captaen, will you and one of your men come in with me?” Turning to the others, she added, “The rest of you can come or stay as you please. I do not plan to be long.”

Captaen Atholl dismounted, gesturing for one of his men to do the same. A few of the servants also climbed off their horses or their seats on the carriage. The greater part remained where they were, however, and Brigid sighed wearily.

Was even honoring Dèanadair not reason enough for Brigid to cease her grumbling? Onora shut her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She would not allow her maid to ruin this day for her, nor would she harbor bitterness in her own spirit when she entered the house of Dèanadair. Her parents had taught her better than that.

Opening her eyes once more, Onora led the way into the Tùr-Faire. It was as empty within as it had looked from outside, but she could hear voices and movement from the second floor, where the priests had their quarters. So, she asked one of the guards, “Will you go inform the priests that I have arrived and wish to speak with one of them, preferably the head priest?” She couldn’t recall his name just now—the one she’d known growing up had stepped down after many long years of faithful service, and she was tired enough that she wasn’t quite sure which of the two possible replacements had been selected.
The guard saluted and obeyed, jogging towards the staircase—cleverly hidden from easy view by a trick in the curving architecture in the walls. He vanished up the steps. Onora heard his footsteps, then muffled voices. A moment later, he returned. Just behind him came a dark-haired man whom Onora judged to be perhaps five or six years younger than her father. He wore the green robes of a priest, trimmed in white to indicate his rank as the spiritual leader of this community.

As he neared her, he stopped and bowed. “Greetings, your highness. Dèanadair’s blessings be upon you.”
“And upon you,” Onora replied, gesturing for him to rise. “So, you have taken Aoghaire Rowan’s place?”
“Indeed, your highness. Dòmhnall is my name.” Now that he’d performed the necessary formalities, Dòmhnall stood straight before her and looked her in the eyes, much like Deòrsa, the head priest who often counseled Onora’s father, did before King Seòras. Good! Exactly what Onora had hoped for. “And you have come to take the place of her majesty your grandmother?”

“I have, yes.” Not that Queen Moireach would be leaving permanently anytime soon—this was her favorite of the royal holdings, and no one would dream of telling her she couldn’t stay. But this was also one of the holdings where heirs to the throne often dwelt between coming of age and starting their reigns, and in the same way, Onora would now take over the ruling of this castle and its lands, with Queen Moireach serving as an advisor.

In ordinary circumstances, the summer would have seen a slow shift of responsibility from Queen Moireach to Onora. However, the business of the faery uprising had kept Queen Moireach in the royal seat for a month and a half now, and she would most likely remain there until the rest of Onora’s family arrived in a few months’ time to make ready for Onora’s wedding. So, the transition would be much more rapid—but this was a quiet location, safe from most threats, and most aspects of life here managed themselves, and Onora doubted there would be any issue.

Dòmhnall inclined his head slightly. “Then I welcome you once more, your highness, not just as yourself but as the new lady of these lands.”

“Thank you, Aoghaire,” Onora replied. “I have not yet taken up residence in nor command of the castle, for I wished to come here first. I hoped that you might pray over these next steps in my path, that I would have both Dèanadair’s blessing and His wisdom as I walk them, before I truly began.”

A smile spread over Dòmhnall’s square face. “It would be my honor, your highness. Will you come kneel at the altar?”

“Gladly.” Onora did as Dòmhnall had asked, walking to the carved and painted altar and kneeling just before it. Càirdeil leapt from her shoulder as she descended, landing with his stub-tail in the air, and padded off to investigate the corners of the room.

Onora clasped her hands and bowed her head as Dòmhnall rested his hands on her shoulders. For a moment, he was silent, no doubt finding the right words. Then he spoke, his voice quiet, but authoritative. “Dèanadair, Maker of Earth and Sea and Sky, we praise You, for You set the paths of men both noble and common according to Your unending wisdom. You lead us through green pastures and by clear streams, and You do not abandon us when we walk through valleys of thorns and snares.

“You set our paths, Dèanadair, and You already know each step that lies before Princess Onora. Until now, she has walked beside her parents and been guided by them in Your ways. Now she steps onto a path of her own, yet I pray that she would remain on Your true path, Dèanadair. May she follow in the footsteps of Cìobair, the Shepherd, walking in the way that leads to life and leading others in the same way, regardless of the cost. May the flame of the Gèadh Naomh, Your guiding Spirit, never dim in her heart; may she listen to its warnings and heed its guidance in each decision she makes.”

Dòmhnall’s hands squeezed Onora’s shoulders in a fatherly sort of way. “May she have courage, Dèanadair. A queen needs courage every day; so, too, does a young woman whose kin are far away. May she not forget that You walk with her. May she have wisdom to discern right from wrong and truth from lie, wisdom to find good friends and counselors and to avoid those who would try to draw her off Your way. And in all things, I pray that she would bring honor to You, her heavenly father, and to the king, her father in this realm, and that, despite her youth, she would be a shining example of what it is to walk in Your ways. As we pray, Dèanadair, so may it be.”

“So may it be,” Onora echoed softly. Dòmhnall’s hands left her shoulders, and she stood. “Thank you, Aoghaire. I appreciate your prayer, and I hope you will not cease to pray on my behalf.”

“I have been doing so long before now, your highness, and I have no intention of stopping.” Dòmhnall looked as though he might have laughed but caught himself just in time. “And if there is aught else a priest may do for a princess, I am at your service.”

“I am of the opinion that a princess always needs a priest.” Onora smiled wryly. “Or so my royal father and mother have taught me. They take council often with Aoghaire Deòrsa, the head priest nearest our castle. I hope I will be able to call on you for advice in the same way.”

Dòmhnall bowed his head. “It would be my honor, your highness, as well as being my duty before Dèanadair.”

“Good! Then I am certain we will see much of each other.” Even from this brief interaction, Onora had no doubt that Dòmhnall would be a valuable councilor. He was younger than Deòrsa, but he was devoted and seemed to know the words of Dèanadair well. “And do not hold back in your council, please. If you see me walking down a foolish path, or a path that would dishonor Dèanadair, warn me of my folly, whether I ask for it in the moment or not. No king or queen is above such warnings when given by a servant of the Maker.”

“I will do my best, your highness,” Dòmhnall replied. There was a hint of humor in his voice as he added, “And you will forgive me if, should such warnings be necessary, I remind you that you made this request.”
“I would expect nothing less.” Onora almost laughed at that. “Thank you once more, Aoghaire, and good day to you.”

~~~

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