Fairy Tale Retellings, Book Two (standalone)
Historical Romance (Medieval)
Date Published: 04-10-2024
Little Red Riding Hood reimagined with a dark and realistic twist.
Princess Blanchette’s world shatters when the Black Wolf tears apart her castle and everything she holds dear. All she clings to is the vow she made to her grandmother on her deathbed.
Hailed as the people’s champion, Sir Rowan Dietrich liberates the capital in a quest for vengeance. He takes Winslowe Castle with an army at his back and his wolf, Smoke, at his side.
United by a shared cause and powerful attraction, Rowan and Blanchette embark on a journey of self-discovery and redemption—a path filled with loss, transformation, and ultimately, the healing power of love.
Can Norland’s resplendent princess, with her captivating beauty and spirit, tame the fabled Black Wolf?
Inspired by the fairy tale Little Red Riding Hood, Red Kingdom is a passionate historical romance about the enduring quest for love and the longing for a world at harmony.
*Red Kingdom is a standalone installment in a series of reimagined classic fairy tales. Due to adult content and themes, it is not intended for readers under the age of 18.
What you can expect from Red Kingdom...
Dark, Medieval Setting
Enemies to Lovers
Slow Burn
Broken Alpha Hero
Strong Heroine
Wolf Companion
He Falls First
Redemption
Warring Kingdoms
Rowan teaches Blanchette how to shoot a longbow
Rowan stepped close to Blanchette, and suddenly, the
training yard seemed to shrink. He stood over her, his eyes sparkling in the
light, the sun’s rays gleaming in his hair’s deep black.
“Have you shot a longbow before?” he asked, his voice a
sultry rumble that Blanchette felt move through her bones.
“No,” she said, shuffling back just an inch. Dark
memories came tumbling like water through a dam. “But I’ve used a dagger. An
axe too,” she added with a nervous chuckle, thinking of that night in the
woods.
He closed the space she’d just gained. They were chest to
chest, face-to-face, and nearly touching. Blanchette tried to take a deep
breath, but her lungs felt tight. Her throat too. Her heart raced in her ears.
She was sure he’d hear the sound. He looked down at her for several more
moments of jittery silence. “The night of the attack. That was the first time
you killed someone.” It wasn’t a question. But she nodded anyway.
“Here,” he said, handing the longbow to her. It fit her
much better than Mary. But why did her hand feel so damn clumsy as he wrapped
it around the wood and carefully positioned her fingers?
“Keep your elbow up and your gaze on the target. Your
eyes will send the arrow where it needs to go.”
Blanchette felt heat emanating from Rowan’s body as he
stood behind her, guiding her posture. They fit together perfectly. His breath
tickled her neck as he whispered, “That’s it. Now, draw back the string and let
it fly.”
As she released the arrow, she couldn’t believe how
smooth the motion felt, almost like an extension of her own body. It sailed
through the air, hitting the target with a satisfying thump. She turned to Rowan with a smile, and he grinned back at
her.
He looked handsome… achingly wholesome, with a boyish
look of triumph on his face.
“You’re a natural,” he said, his voice low and husky.
“But we can always work on improving.”
Blanchette’s heart skipped a beat as Rowan’s hand rested
on her hip. He reached for another arrow. She could feel the heat of his body
against her back, and the soft hairs on her arms stood up in anticipation. The
hard ridge of his arousal strained against her bottom.
“This time, try to focus on your breathing,” he said, his
breath hot against her ear. “In... and out...” How in God’s name? she inwardly screamed. She felt close to
fainting. Her skin tightened at the sound of his voice, the way he spoke those
words against her neck as if they meant something else entirely.
She was acutely aware of every inch of her body, how her
skin felt against the fabric of her dress, how her hair brushed against her
cheeks in the cool breeze.
Blanchette felt the warmth of his body enveloping her.
She could smell his scent—sandalwood and sweat and leather and something
indefinable that made her heart race. She was growing wet down there, between
her hot thighs.
“You are very good with her. Mary, I mean.”
He hesitated, then met her eyes. “When she was a babe, I
was the only one who could put her to sleep. Not Beatrice or the wet nurse. I’d
sing to her… I still remember how it felt, her little hand gripping my finger…”
His confession faded into silence. Then he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter
now.”
“But it does, Rowan. It matters more than anything. She
yearns to be close to you. You—”
“Must keep your elbow up,” he whispered close to her ear,
his body brushing against hers, his arousal pushing against her hip. She grew
wetter, hotter, and little currents sang in her veins. “Yes, right there, Your
Grace.”
Blanchette turned to face him. She was met with a gaze
filled with a fiery intensity she’d never seen before. She could feel her
cheeks flushing as she realized just how close they stood. They were
practically one. His hand still rested on her hip, and she could feel the
warmth of his fingers seeping through the fabric of her dress.
Rowan’s eyes roamed over her face, taking in every
feature, every curve, every nuance of expression. It was as if he was seeing
her for the first time and couldn’t look away. Their eyes locked for several
weightless moments.
She parted her lips and expelled a long-drawn-out breath.
He studied her mouth.
Kiss me…
“You ready?”
She nodded.
But
ready for what?
Blanchette closed her eyes, letting Rowan’s words wash
over her. She could feel her body relaxing under his gentle touch and guidance,
and she took a deep breath in, holding it for a moment before letting it out
slowly. He placed his large hand across her abdomen and applied gentle
pressure.
“Good,” Rowan murmured. “Now, draw back... and let go.”
Let go.
But if I
let go, I shall fall…
About the Author
I live in Sunny California with my dashing husband, who inspires my romance novels every day!
Writing has always been an integral part of my identity. Before I physically learned how to write, I'd narrate stories to my mom, and she'd record them for me.
I graduated from Chapman’s film school, where I often received the feedback on my scripts, “Your stories and characters are great, but this reads like a novel!” That’s when I realized my true calling.
In my free time, I frequent reptile expos, lift double my body’s weight, and indulge in dinosaur trivia.
I'm passionate about writing stories that explore what it means to be human and to be loved. My books focus on hope, courage, and redemption in the face of adversity.
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