"Remember what I said, Alyce. About monsters.” The words are low, spoken in a tone that wakes something deep in my core. “Take care you don’t become what they think you are."
🥀Malice🥀 is a sapphic dark sleeping💤 beauty🪞 retelling. It gives me strong ✨The School for Good and Evil✨ vibe.
"I am reviled and despised for the very reasons I'm sought out. A figure of dark, evil magic. A member of a race all but stamped out. A Vila. A monster."
There's Alyce🐸 who, because of her green🐢 blood, is considered a monter, something to be afraid of😈. She makes potions🍹 that make people ugly💃.
"You were never a villain to me."
And there's Aurora🛌, the cursed princess👑, looking for her true love🫀, because if she doesn't find it🫀 she'll die💀 on her 21th birthday.
"History is written by victors."
You know I love retellings✍️, so obviously I had to pick this one. This book is completely different then what I expected👀, it's okay, but nothing ✨special✨, except the ending. There's not much action🏃 in it. 3,5/5⭐
Thanq @youandyabooks for the book to review!
Malice: 1 Miękka oprawa – 1 lutego 2022
Wydanie: Angielski
Heather Walter
(Autor)
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Opcje zakupu i dodatki
A princess isn’t supposed to fall for an evil sorceress. But in this “bewitching and fascinating” (Tamora Pierce) retelling of “Sleeping Beauty,” true love is more than a simple fairy tale.
“Walter’s spellbinding debut is for all the queer girls and women who’ve been told to keep their gifts hidden and for those yearning to defy gravity.”—O: The Oprah Magazine
Once upon a time, there was a wicked fairy who, in an act of vengeance, cursed a line of princesses to die. A curse that could only be broken by true love’s kiss.
You’ve heard this before, haven’t you? The handsome prince. The happily ever after.
Utter nonsense.
Let me tell you, no one in Briar actually cares about what happens to its princesses. Not the way they care about their jewels and elaborate parties and charm-granting elixirs. I thought I didn’t care, either.
Until I met her.
Princess Aurora. The last heir to Briar’s throne. Kind. Gracious. The future queen her realm needs. One who isn’t bothered that I am Alyce, the Dark Grace, abhorred and feared for the mysterious dark magic that runs in my veins. Humiliated and shamed by the same nobles who pay me to bottle hexes and then brand me a monster. Aurora says I should be proud of my gifts. That she . . . cares for me. Even though a power like mine was responsible for her curse.
But with less than a year until that curse will kill her, any future I might see with Aurora is swiftly disintegrating—and she can’t stand to kiss yet another insipid prince. I want to help her. If my power began her curse, perhaps it’s what can lift it. Perhaps together we could forge a new world.
Nonsense again. Because we all know how this story ends, don’t we? Aurora is the beautiful princess. And I—
I am the villain.
Book One of the Malice Duology
“Walter’s spellbinding debut is for all the queer girls and women who’ve been told to keep their gifts hidden and for those yearning to defy gravity.”—O: The Oprah Magazine
Once upon a time, there was a wicked fairy who, in an act of vengeance, cursed a line of princesses to die. A curse that could only be broken by true love’s kiss.
You’ve heard this before, haven’t you? The handsome prince. The happily ever after.
Utter nonsense.
Let me tell you, no one in Briar actually cares about what happens to its princesses. Not the way they care about their jewels and elaborate parties and charm-granting elixirs. I thought I didn’t care, either.
Until I met her.
Princess Aurora. The last heir to Briar’s throne. Kind. Gracious. The future queen her realm needs. One who isn’t bothered that I am Alyce, the Dark Grace, abhorred and feared for the mysterious dark magic that runs in my veins. Humiliated and shamed by the same nobles who pay me to bottle hexes and then brand me a monster. Aurora says I should be proud of my gifts. That she . . . cares for me. Even though a power like mine was responsible for her curse.
But with less than a year until that curse will kill her, any future I might see with Aurora is swiftly disintegrating—and she can’t stand to kiss yet another insipid prince. I want to help her. If my power began her curse, perhaps it’s what can lift it. Perhaps together we could forge a new world.
Nonsense again. Because we all know how this story ends, don’t we? Aurora is the beautiful princess. And I—
I am the villain.
Book One of the Malice Duology
- Długość wersji drukowanej496 str.
- JęzykAngielski
- WydawcaDel Rey
- Data publikacji1 lutego 2022
- Wymiary13.79 x 2.54 x 20.83 cm
- ISBN-101984818678
- ISBN-13978-1984818676
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Recenzja
“The villain takes center stage in Walter’s superlative debut, a refreshing spin on Sleeping Beauty. . . . Fairy tale lovers of all ages will be thrilled.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“A truly original and clever retelling of a classic that had me racing to the end—you’ll never look at ‘Sleeping Beauty’ the same way again.”—S. A. Chakraborty, author of the bestselling Daevabad trilogy
“Absolutely dazzling! Full of love, power, and betrayal, Malice is as compelling as a spell, as captivating as an enchantment, and as fascinating and delicious as a fairy-tale curse. I loved it!”—Sarah Beth Durst, award-winning author of the Queens of Renthia series
“Malice is the dark and wicked heart of a fairy tale carved into a book. This story is beautiful, vicious magic.”—Tasha Suri, author of Empire of Sand
“A beautifully imaginative and feminist retelling of a fairy tale so often swept into the dark . . . Walter’s debut was engrossing from page one, with a striking cast of characters, thrilling romance, and a world so vivid it will wrap thorns around your dreams.”—Roshani Chokshi, author of The Gilded Wolves
“I spent a lot of late nights getting lost in this world of sorcery, intrigue, and—of course—true love. I’m sure I won’t be the only one!”—Richelle Mead, internationally bestselling author of Vampire Academy
“Lively characters, a tempting sapphic romance, and a richly built world make this a book to savor.”—Louisa Morgan, author of A Secret History of Witches
“A truly original and clever retelling of a classic that had me racing to the end—you’ll never look at ‘Sleeping Beauty’ the same way again.”—S. A. Chakraborty, author of the bestselling Daevabad trilogy
“Absolutely dazzling! Full of love, power, and betrayal, Malice is as compelling as a spell, as captivating as an enchantment, and as fascinating and delicious as a fairy-tale curse. I loved it!”—Sarah Beth Durst, award-winning author of the Queens of Renthia series
“Malice is the dark and wicked heart of a fairy tale carved into a book. This story is beautiful, vicious magic.”—Tasha Suri, author of Empire of Sand
“A beautifully imaginative and feminist retelling of a fairy tale so often swept into the dark . . . Walter’s debut was engrossing from page one, with a striking cast of characters, thrilling romance, and a world so vivid it will wrap thorns around your dreams.”—Roshani Chokshi, author of The Gilded Wolves
“I spent a lot of late nights getting lost in this world of sorcery, intrigue, and—of course—true love. I’m sure I won’t be the only one!”—Richelle Mead, internationally bestselling author of Vampire Academy
“Lively characters, a tempting sapphic romance, and a richly built world make this a book to savor.”—Louisa Morgan, author of A Secret History of Witches
O autorze
Heather Walter is a native Southerner who hates the heat. A graduate of the University of Texas at Austin, she is a former English teacher and a current librarian. Perhaps it is because she’s surrounded by stories that she began writing them. At any given moment, you can find her plotting. This is her first novel.
Fragment książki opublikowany za zgodą wydawcy. Wszelkie prawa zastrzeżone.
Chapter One
Age of the Rose, 996
The golden bell above my doorframe bobs twice.
I roll my shoulders against the needling ache that settles at the base of my neck whenever that damn thing sounds. After nearly a decade of hearing it, I’ve come to despise the bell’s shrill, tinny clang almost as much as the message it carries: A patron is coming. When it was first installed, my bell gleamed like those the Graces use in their parlors. But now, seeing as the servants conveniently forget to polish it, a mottled green tarnish clings to the thing like a scaly skin. Fitting, I think, that I should have the ugliest bell in Lavender House when I am by far the ugliest creature living inside it.
Alyce. My own name on my patron schedule glares up at me when I glance at the next appointment. Beneath it: The Dark Grace.
Grace, indeed. If I were truly a Grace, I’d be receiving my patrons in a sunny parlor with silk-upholstered chairs and trays of spongy, cream-frosted tea cakes. Instead, I’m banished to a converted storage annex attached to Lavender House’s kitchen. It’s yet another reason Cook hates me. The space was once a larder and now Cook complains every chance she gets that there isn’t enough storage space in the cellar. I catch her grumbling curses at me when she thinks I’m out of earshot, as if this insufferable chamber is some kind of prize. There are no windows. A dank chill seeps through the rotting mortar, even in the summer heat. And the wretched hearth—hastily added once I opened my practice—clogs more often than not, filling my Lair with a perpetual smoky scent and smearing soot on every surface.
It’s more a dragon’s lair out of a story than a parlor in a Grace house. Rose dubbed it such soon after she arrived: the Lair, where the Dark Grace dwells. I hate the place so much that I didn’t even fight her.
Callow ruffles as the bell jangles a second time, as annoyed as I am at the intrusion. I offer my kestrel a few meat trimmings snuck from beneath Cook’s nose.
“What do you think this one wants?” Callow shakes out her white-speckled wings in a decidedly irritated fashion and nudges my hand with her head. And I suppose there’s no point putting it off any longer. “Enter!”
The chamber door squeals and I can tell immediately from the footsteps that it isn’t one of my regulars. They’re anxious. Hesitant. A startle away from turning and bolting.
I wish they would turn and bolt.
Whispering apologies to Callow, I fix her hood over her head. She’s easier to handle this way, especially around strangers. I’d found the kestrel as a chick some years ago, half-dead and starving on the sea cliffs outside Briar’s main gates. Though I’m no healing Grace, I was able to nurse her back to health with what tinctures I could concoct. She’s never taken to anyone else. Not that I blame her. Mistress Lavender said it would have been kinder to kill the bird, and one of the servants mistook her for a rat and nearly bludgeoned her to death. The maid was lucky I didn’t return the favor.
The nervous patron hovers in my doorway, hood close around her face despite the oppressive, salt-soaked heat of late summer. The firelight flits over her features, sharpening her cheekbones. Hollowing her eye sockets. Definitely not a regular. She looks like she thinks I’m going to roast her over a spit. As if my pathetic hearth is large enough to manage that. Would that it could.
“Your Grace.” The edges of her brocade cloak tremble as she scrapes a curtsy.
“What brings you here?” I stroke Callow’s snowy breast with one finger, affecting the cool, detached manner people expect from the Dark Grace. I don’t ask her name. Within these walls, she doesn’t have one. Patrons do not come to my Lair seeking beauty or charm or wit as they would in a Grace’s parlor. They come for revenge. For cruelty. Services provided at a steep price, and that price includes anonymity.
“I . . . I have a . . . cat.” She stumbles. Flushes at her own threadbare deception.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. My patrons always spare less than half a thought to crafting a decent backstory. Briar’s Grace Laws prevent the use of their magic for ill will, which should directly prohibit my line of work. But I am the only Grace of my kind. And all I do is prepare the elixirs. Once the vials leave my hands, it’s up to the patrons to dispose of them as they please. And as long as I don’t know I’m party to an attack on another citizen, I cannot be held liable for my patrons’ actions. Besides that, my elixirs cost three times the average rate of those of a Grace. And if I stopped working, the Crown wouldn’t get its cut.
“A cat.” I school my features into the neutral expression I’ve perfected over the years.
“Yes, a cat.” She fiddles with the buttons at her sleeves. “A cat too pretty for its own good. She’s getting too much attention from the other . . . cats.”
Dragon’s teeth, she’s even worse than the others. And I once had a man tell me his own rose garden smelled too nice and was attracting bees.
“And you wish to . . .”
“I don’t want to harm the cat,” the woman says automatically. “I just want . . .”
“To give her a few warts?” A standard ugliness elixir.
Her gaze brightens in the gloom. How predictable. New patrons are always so grateful when I offer suggestions. I think it makes them feel less the villain. Like they didn’t come here specifically to do harm to someone they’ve convinced themselves deserves it.
The patron nods and I motion for her to sit at a worn wooden table near the hearth as I start assembling ingredients for the elixir. Swamp water. A dash of powdered nightshade. And, for the warts, I cart over the short, boxy cage that houses my toad, Prince Markham.
The woman stammers, flinching as I plop His Highness on the table in front of her. He lets out a belchy croak.
Only the crackle of the flames and the grind of the pestle break the silence as I work. I’m grateful. Sometimes my patrons try to plump up their lies, offering needless explanations and sugarcoated stories. Hoping I’ll nod along. Make it easier on their consciences. I never do. They deserve whatever guilt festers in their guts.
But this woman only chews the inside of her cheek, glancing at the door every few moments as if she’s worried she’ll be discovered. She needn’t be. Every aspect of my craft is steeped in secrecy. Patrons book their appointments with me using a shrouded alcove around the side of the house, built specifically for the purpose. There’s a little screen secured into the wall, where patrons or their servants can murmur their needs to our house manager, Delphine. She even takes the payments through a slot and allows aliases on the bookings, a practice forbidden to the other Graces. If Delphine guesses who the patrons are, she’s paid well enough to keep her mouth shut.
My current patron, who calls herself Mistress Briar—how original—seems to have forgotten about the great care Lavender House has taken to protect her identity. Despite the Lair’s cold, sweat beads on her upper lip and she dabs it away with a lace handkerchief. She jumps every time Callow moves on her perch. Ignoring her restlessness, I hold a long needle over a candle flame, and then with a quiet apology, I pierce one of Prince Markham’s warts. He gurgles in protest as a few drops of his blood, so dark they’re almost black, fall into the waiting vial. I add it to the rest of the mixture.
Now for the most important piece. With a small scalpel, I press down on my finger. A line of green blood—the source of my power—wells. I count to three, inhaling the faint scent of woodsmoke and loam that is my magic, as it dribbles onto the other enhancements. Immediately, the mixture hisses. I stir it with a long spoon until a cloud of black smoke erupts from the mortar. My patron covers her slender, highborn nose and coughs.
“For your cat.” I raise an eyebrow, pouring the elixir into a vial and sliding it across the table. “The more you use, the more warts she’ll get.”
She nods and pockets it, not daring to say another word, not even deigning to thank me.
As the door snicks closed behind her, I curse the familiar sickening feeling that settles like hot coals inside me. I should be used to these requests by now. I can’t even count the number of ugliness elixirs I’ve produced over the years. And I’m bound by the Grace Laws to satisfy my patrons’ needs.
But the woman’s abrupt dismissal still stings, as does every other slight I’ve endured since I began working in Lavender House. My patrons pay good coin for my services, but not one of them would willingly meet my eye if they passed me on the street. I am reviled and despised for the very reasons I’m sought out. A figure of dark, evil magic. A member of a race all but stamped out. A Vila.
A monster.
Age of the Rose, 996
The golden bell above my doorframe bobs twice.
I roll my shoulders against the needling ache that settles at the base of my neck whenever that damn thing sounds. After nearly a decade of hearing it, I’ve come to despise the bell’s shrill, tinny clang almost as much as the message it carries: A patron is coming. When it was first installed, my bell gleamed like those the Graces use in their parlors. But now, seeing as the servants conveniently forget to polish it, a mottled green tarnish clings to the thing like a scaly skin. Fitting, I think, that I should have the ugliest bell in Lavender House when I am by far the ugliest creature living inside it.
Alyce. My own name on my patron schedule glares up at me when I glance at the next appointment. Beneath it: The Dark Grace.
Grace, indeed. If I were truly a Grace, I’d be receiving my patrons in a sunny parlor with silk-upholstered chairs and trays of spongy, cream-frosted tea cakes. Instead, I’m banished to a converted storage annex attached to Lavender House’s kitchen. It’s yet another reason Cook hates me. The space was once a larder and now Cook complains every chance she gets that there isn’t enough storage space in the cellar. I catch her grumbling curses at me when she thinks I’m out of earshot, as if this insufferable chamber is some kind of prize. There are no windows. A dank chill seeps through the rotting mortar, even in the summer heat. And the wretched hearth—hastily added once I opened my practice—clogs more often than not, filling my Lair with a perpetual smoky scent and smearing soot on every surface.
It’s more a dragon’s lair out of a story than a parlor in a Grace house. Rose dubbed it such soon after she arrived: the Lair, where the Dark Grace dwells. I hate the place so much that I didn’t even fight her.
Callow ruffles as the bell jangles a second time, as annoyed as I am at the intrusion. I offer my kestrel a few meat trimmings snuck from beneath Cook’s nose.
“What do you think this one wants?” Callow shakes out her white-speckled wings in a decidedly irritated fashion and nudges my hand with her head. And I suppose there’s no point putting it off any longer. “Enter!”
The chamber door squeals and I can tell immediately from the footsteps that it isn’t one of my regulars. They’re anxious. Hesitant. A startle away from turning and bolting.
I wish they would turn and bolt.
Whispering apologies to Callow, I fix her hood over her head. She’s easier to handle this way, especially around strangers. I’d found the kestrel as a chick some years ago, half-dead and starving on the sea cliffs outside Briar’s main gates. Though I’m no healing Grace, I was able to nurse her back to health with what tinctures I could concoct. She’s never taken to anyone else. Not that I blame her. Mistress Lavender said it would have been kinder to kill the bird, and one of the servants mistook her for a rat and nearly bludgeoned her to death. The maid was lucky I didn’t return the favor.
The nervous patron hovers in my doorway, hood close around her face despite the oppressive, salt-soaked heat of late summer. The firelight flits over her features, sharpening her cheekbones. Hollowing her eye sockets. Definitely not a regular. She looks like she thinks I’m going to roast her over a spit. As if my pathetic hearth is large enough to manage that. Would that it could.
“Your Grace.” The edges of her brocade cloak tremble as she scrapes a curtsy.
“What brings you here?” I stroke Callow’s snowy breast with one finger, affecting the cool, detached manner people expect from the Dark Grace. I don’t ask her name. Within these walls, she doesn’t have one. Patrons do not come to my Lair seeking beauty or charm or wit as they would in a Grace’s parlor. They come for revenge. For cruelty. Services provided at a steep price, and that price includes anonymity.
“I . . . I have a . . . cat.” She stumbles. Flushes at her own threadbare deception.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. My patrons always spare less than half a thought to crafting a decent backstory. Briar’s Grace Laws prevent the use of their magic for ill will, which should directly prohibit my line of work. But I am the only Grace of my kind. And all I do is prepare the elixirs. Once the vials leave my hands, it’s up to the patrons to dispose of them as they please. And as long as I don’t know I’m party to an attack on another citizen, I cannot be held liable for my patrons’ actions. Besides that, my elixirs cost three times the average rate of those of a Grace. And if I stopped working, the Crown wouldn’t get its cut.
“A cat.” I school my features into the neutral expression I’ve perfected over the years.
“Yes, a cat.” She fiddles with the buttons at her sleeves. “A cat too pretty for its own good. She’s getting too much attention from the other . . . cats.”
Dragon’s teeth, she’s even worse than the others. And I once had a man tell me his own rose garden smelled too nice and was attracting bees.
“And you wish to . . .”
“I don’t want to harm the cat,” the woman says automatically. “I just want . . .”
“To give her a few warts?” A standard ugliness elixir.
Her gaze brightens in the gloom. How predictable. New patrons are always so grateful when I offer suggestions. I think it makes them feel less the villain. Like they didn’t come here specifically to do harm to someone they’ve convinced themselves deserves it.
The patron nods and I motion for her to sit at a worn wooden table near the hearth as I start assembling ingredients for the elixir. Swamp water. A dash of powdered nightshade. And, for the warts, I cart over the short, boxy cage that houses my toad, Prince Markham.
The woman stammers, flinching as I plop His Highness on the table in front of her. He lets out a belchy croak.
Only the crackle of the flames and the grind of the pestle break the silence as I work. I’m grateful. Sometimes my patrons try to plump up their lies, offering needless explanations and sugarcoated stories. Hoping I’ll nod along. Make it easier on their consciences. I never do. They deserve whatever guilt festers in their guts.
But this woman only chews the inside of her cheek, glancing at the door every few moments as if she’s worried she’ll be discovered. She needn’t be. Every aspect of my craft is steeped in secrecy. Patrons book their appointments with me using a shrouded alcove around the side of the house, built specifically for the purpose. There’s a little screen secured into the wall, where patrons or their servants can murmur their needs to our house manager, Delphine. She even takes the payments through a slot and allows aliases on the bookings, a practice forbidden to the other Graces. If Delphine guesses who the patrons are, she’s paid well enough to keep her mouth shut.
My current patron, who calls herself Mistress Briar—how original—seems to have forgotten about the great care Lavender House has taken to protect her identity. Despite the Lair’s cold, sweat beads on her upper lip and she dabs it away with a lace handkerchief. She jumps every time Callow moves on her perch. Ignoring her restlessness, I hold a long needle over a candle flame, and then with a quiet apology, I pierce one of Prince Markham’s warts. He gurgles in protest as a few drops of his blood, so dark they’re almost black, fall into the waiting vial. I add it to the rest of the mixture.
Now for the most important piece. With a small scalpel, I press down on my finger. A line of green blood—the source of my power—wells. I count to three, inhaling the faint scent of woodsmoke and loam that is my magic, as it dribbles onto the other enhancements. Immediately, the mixture hisses. I stir it with a long spoon until a cloud of black smoke erupts from the mortar. My patron covers her slender, highborn nose and coughs.
“For your cat.” I raise an eyebrow, pouring the elixir into a vial and sliding it across the table. “The more you use, the more warts she’ll get.”
She nods and pockets it, not daring to say another word, not even deigning to thank me.
As the door snicks closed behind her, I curse the familiar sickening feeling that settles like hot coals inside me. I should be used to these requests by now. I can’t even count the number of ugliness elixirs I’ve produced over the years. And I’m bound by the Grace Laws to satisfy my patrons’ needs.
But the woman’s abrupt dismissal still stings, as does every other slight I’ve endured since I began working in Lavender House. My patrons pay good coin for my services, but not one of them would willingly meet my eye if they passed me on the street. I am reviled and despised for the very reasons I’m sought out. A figure of dark, evil magic. A member of a race all but stamped out. A Vila.
A monster.
Szczegóły produktu
- Wydawca : Del Rey; Edycja Reprint (1 lutego 2022)
- Język : Angielski
- Miękka oprawa : 496 str.
- ISBN-10 : 1984818678
- ISBN-13 : 978-1984818676
- Wymiary : 13.79 x 2.54 x 20.83 cm
- Ranking najlepiej sprzedających się produktów: Pozycja 3,551 w kategorii Książki (Zobacz Top 100 w kategorii Książki)
- Pozycja 33 w kategorii Baśnie
- Pozycja 54 w kategorii Literatura i fikcja LGBT
- Pozycja 251 w kategorii Powieści fantasy
- Recenzje klientów:
Opinie o produkcie
4,7 na 5 gwiazdek
4,7 na 5
712 ocen globalnych
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Dowiedz się więcej, jak działają opinie klientów w serwisie AmazonNajlepsze opinie o produkcie
Duda
5,0 z 5 gwiazdek
Breathtaking!
Opinia napisana w Brazylii dnia 28 marca 2022
Amazing storytelling. I was in for a heart wrenching ride, slowly following the main character’s descent into madness as she cannot take the cruelty her world continuously casts upon her. A tale of love, hope, discovery and betrayal, that literally embodies the phrase “the path to hell is paved with good intentions”
Although I bought it seeking LGBT content, this book was SO much more than that and has solidified itself as one of my best reads! The writing style, the world building, the descriptions of power and the bittersweet ending, all amazingly put together. I’m in love with this book!
Although I bought it seeking LGBT content, this book was SO much more than that and has solidified itself as one of my best reads! The writing style, the world building, the descriptions of power and the bittersweet ending, all amazingly put together. I’m in love with this book!
Léonie
5,0 z 5 gwiazdek
Extraordinary Book
Opinia napisana w Niemczech dnia 17 grudnia 2023
Ich habe das Buch innerhalb von 6 Stunden ausgelesen, so gefesselt hat mich das Buch.
Kann ich nur weiter empfehlen.
Kann ich nur weiter empfehlen.
Eldweena
5,0 z 5 gwiazdek
This will be a forever favorite!
Opinia napisana w Stanach Zjednoczonych dnia 17 maja 2021
This book was perfection on every page. From the very beginning I knew I was going to love it, and by the end I knew it was destined to be an all-time favorite. The wait for the sequel is going to be a torment!
The world the author created is filled with magic, but it's all so believable that it feels like a place that might really exist. I loved reading about the primary queendom of Briar and its place in the world. I enjoyed learning its history alongside main character Alyce, and trying to discern fact from fiction as she sorted through the lies to find the truth about where she came from.
The city felt like a living place, where you came to know shopkeepers by name and learned the routes in, out, and around town. You learned your way around the palace, from the gardens to the servants' passageways, and the secret places hidden just outside of the city that led to the seashore.
All the characters felt real. They each had distinct personalities, their own motivations, and secrets you slowly uncover as you dig deeper into the story. Reading through the book I felt suspicious of everyone and worried for Alyce's heart like she was my own friend.
The romance takes a realistic time to build, and you find yourself having the same misgivings as Alyce as you read, wondering if Aurora is all that she seems.
The ending is explosive and really leaves you craving more. If you're looking for an engrossing read that can transport you to another place, this is it.
The world the author created is filled with magic, but it's all so believable that it feels like a place that might really exist. I loved reading about the primary queendom of Briar and its place in the world. I enjoyed learning its history alongside main character Alyce, and trying to discern fact from fiction as she sorted through the lies to find the truth about where she came from.
The city felt like a living place, where you came to know shopkeepers by name and learned the routes in, out, and around town. You learned your way around the palace, from the gardens to the servants' passageways, and the secret places hidden just outside of the city that led to the seashore.
All the characters felt real. They each had distinct personalities, their own motivations, and secrets you slowly uncover as you dig deeper into the story. Reading through the book I felt suspicious of everyone and worried for Alyce's heart like she was my own friend.
The romance takes a realistic time to build, and you find yourself having the same misgivings as Alyce as you read, wondering if Aurora is all that she seems.
The ending is explosive and really leaves you craving more. If you're looking for an engrossing read that can transport you to another place, this is it.
Cailin
5,0 z 5 gwiazdek
Really good book.
Opinia napisana we Francji dnia 25 września 2023
This book is really good, but I was spoiled by the second one and was disappointed so I did not read it, but the first one is really good, good fantasy
Sheila
5,0 z 5 gwiazdek
Arte
Opinia napisana w Hiszpanii dnia 30 września 2022
Simplemente, arte