CURSE OF THE FAE QUEEN Blog Tour Assets
About The
Book
Title: CURSE OF THE FAE QUEEN
Author: Delia Castel
Pub. Date: February 14, 2019
Publisher: Delia Castel
Formats: Paperback, eBook
Pages: 231
A Huntress of Faeries. Five cursed Fae Princes.
An evil that will destroy the world.
When Eighteen-year-old
Neara saves a villager from the clutches of a deadly faerie, the Fae Queen
sends warriors to abduct her dying father in revenge. To gain his freedom,
Neara must venture into the Shadowlands and obtain three enchanted objects
under the supervision of the bestial Prince Drayce.
As Neara and Prince
Drayce grow closer, she discovers the Queen’s scheme to release an ancient evil
and enslave the mortal world. To thwart these plans, she must break the curses
of five Fae Princes, but the cost of doing so is her Father’s life.
Torn between saving
the human realm and saving her father, Neara must navigate this treacherous
world and choose between love, liberty and power.
Curse of the Fae Queen
is a reverse harem fantasy adventure for fans of A Court of Thrones and Roses
and A Song of Ice and Fire!
Excerpts
As though of its own volition, my gaze lifted to his face. It was
no longer the characterless visage from earlier. He now resembled the
raven-haired faerie whose presence had cursed me with the sight. A bolt of
shock shot through my heart as fast as lighting, jolting it into action. I drew
in a sharp breath between my teeth.
Everything vanished from my attention. The crowd of drunken men,
the sobbing girl at my side, the fear of being discovered by the fae. It all
faded now that Gerald had caught me in his mesmerizing, viridian-green gaze.
His full lips split into a breath-stealing smile of even, white
teeth, rising up to high cheekbones, and leading to eyes so longing they wrung
my heart.
“Neara…” My name sounded like supplication on lips that begged to
be kissed. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
One of my hands twitched toward his still outstretched hand. My
mouth dried, not because of the salt, but due to the warmth pooling between my
legs, creating a fire that only he could quench.
*****
The pool rippled again, revealing an image of me sitting on a gold
throne, surrounded by four handsome faeries.
“What’s this?”
Prince Drayce knelt at my side. He pointed at the first male, a
faerie whose skin shone like polished mahogany. Rope-like strands of hair hung
down his muscled chest. “That is Prince Calor of the Summer Court.”
The next male’s hair was as black as crows’ feathers, his skin a
pale beige with beautifl, almond-shaped eyes. “Prince Verus of the Spring
Court.”
I nodded, waiting for him to explain why I was sitting with all
these royals.
The third male had bronze skin and hair that shone like spun gold.
“Prince Folium of the Autumn Court.”
And the last male was as pale as me, but with blue hair and eyes
the color of frost. I turned to Prince Drayce. “I suppose this one’s from the
Winter Court?”
He nodded. “That is Prince Nix.”
*****
A slow grin spread across his face, showcasing even, white teeth
that had no business on a face so scaly. I bristled, spine stiffening at his
mockery. In a low purr that made my
spine tingle, he said, “Call me Drayce.”
I stepped back, and my hamstrings hit the edge of the four-poster.
“What happened between you and Queen Melusina?”
“Do you really wish to know?” He stepped so close, I felt his heat
radiating through his leather armor.
I pulled my shoulders back. “Actually, I—”
He cupped my cheek and lowered his lips onto mine.
Firm lips, softer than I had imagined, brushed against mine in the
lightest of caresses. Sweet, tentative, safe. His warm, leather scent engulfed my
senses and pushed away the doubts that plagued me earlier. My eyes fluttered
closed, and I yielded to his touch.
Just as I became accustomed to his kiss, he drew back and examined
my face with those slitted eyes. There was something skittish in his gaze, the
expression of one waiting for a rebuke. When I smiled, he kissed me again.
I
slid my hand over the leather encasing his forearm, over his strong, hard
bicep, wanting, needing more.
Chapter
1
Wherever there was commotion, there was a faerie.
Wherever there was a faerie, someone was about to die.
I rushed after the crowd of merrymakers toward the tavern’s exit
and the source of the commotion. The fresh scent of wildflowers wafted in through
the open doors, a welcome respite from sweat and sawdust and sour ale.
Someone’s booted foot stepped on the hem of my skirts. I snarled and yanked it
free.
A leprechaun darted through the throng, slashing purses and
swiping gold pieces. He stuffed his pickings into the openings of his blood-red
tunic, eyes gleaming, handsome features twisted. I clutched my basket of burn
salves and stared ahead, avoiding eye contact with the leprechaun, avoiding his
clever fingers, and most importantly, avoiding his notice.
The folk in the Isle of Bresail say a maiden who can see the fae
is twice-blessed. Blessed to behold beings of beauty and blessed again for the
chance to bargain for health, riches, and immortality. Whoever said that had
obviously never met a faerie.
The fae, creatures of hideous power and beauty, revel in human
misery, beget bad luck, and feast upon mortal lives. Every encounter with the
monsters carries the risk of being killed. Or worse, a repeat of that horrific
Samhain night seven years ago, when the fae slaughtered an entire village
trying to find me. Terror still grips my heart like the jaws of the hound of
Culainn.
I see the fae. I fear the fae. I’m powerless to stop the fae. And
I can say I am thrice cursed.
As I neared the exit, the baker’s apprentice bumped me on the
shoulder, and I stumbled across the gritty floor. “Sorry, Neara!”
My gaze dropped to the salves. They lay in the basket, nestled in
muslin cloth I’d wrapped around them for safekeeping. “I’m looking for Eirnin.
Is he here?”
“Have you tried the forge?”
“They told me he’d be having an early dinner here.”
“Can’t say I’ve seen him.” He raised his massive shoulders. “Maybe
he’s watching the spectacle Shona is making of herself in the square.” He
rushed ahead, shoving through a group of sailors stumbling toward the doors.
Dread rolled through my belly like a summer thunderstorm. Shona,
the haughty eldest daughter of the mayor of Calafort, would never even sip a
tankard of ale in public. If she was doing something to attract the attention
of drunken louts, there could be only one cause: the fae.
I stepped out into the warm evening, inhaling a lungful of fresh
air. The sun hung behind a dip in the Fomori mountains, a burst of daffodil
amidst clouds tinged the color of blood-red poppies. Its yellow haze reflected off the whitewashed
timber framed buildings lining the cobbled thoroughfare. My gaze traveled down
to the crowd gathered at the end around the village square.
Shona, the center of the attraction, wasn’t exactly a friend.
Since Father and I moved to the port town of Calafort, she had sullied my name
with allegations about my associations with the blacksmith, the retired soldier
of fortune, and the local priest—people vital in my private crusade against the
fae.
Two young men sprinted past. The smaller of the pair yelled,
“Hoist me up on your shoulders, Colman!”
“As if!” The taller gave his companion a playful shove.
A warm wind swirled around my hair, blowing vibrant, copper
strands into my eyes. As usual, its color brought back memories of the night I
had been willing to bargain to look… less peculiar. The night I had doomed an
entire village. Guilt clawed at my gullet, and I gulped. Even if Shona had
soured my existence with her gossip, I couldn’t leave anyone, not even her, to
become a faerie’s prey.
I strode after the rush of drunk men, only for the familiar pull
of dread to weight my steps. For reasons I couldn’t fathom, faeries had become
more commonplace in Calafort and more malevolent. Benign household spirits and
mischief makers were replaced by malicious beings of unusual and tremendous
power.
The innkeeper’s wife stormed out of the crowd, skirts swishing,
shooting sharp glares at the men rushing through the cobbled thoroughfare.
“Don’t think I won’t tell your wives and mothers about your
disgraceful conduct!” she screeched at their backs. “There should be a law
against giving an audience to a public harlot!”
An iron fist clenched my heart. “Mrs. Martin?”
“What?” She whirled around, auburn locks falling from her bonnet.
“Are you talking about Shona Mulloy?”
Her thin lips twisted. “She’ll never be able to put on airs and
graces, that one. Not after revealing the wanton hussy beneath that false
piety!”
My pulse throbbed in my throat. Not waiting to ask any further
questions, I broke into a run. The only cause for Shona to make a public
spectacle was magic, and no one could stop it but me.
Hoots and cheers and roars exploded from the podium, louder than a
clap of thunder, making me trip on a loose cobblestone. Splaying out my hands
for balance, I slowed my steps. What in the name of all that was holy did I
think I was doing? Father’s words echoed in my skull. Every encounter with a
faerie increased the chance of being captured. The creature behind Shona’s
shameless display could be one of the horsemen from that terrible Samhain
night. What if he recognized me?
I brought my feet to an abrupt stop. After six years of moving
from place to place, we had a mere week before the dense mist covering the
coast of Bresail would clear. No merrow could lurk in the waters, calling
people to their deaths with their enchanted music, and no kelpies would board
the ship and attack. Father and I planned to gain passage on a ship to
Hibernia, the land where holy men slew monsters to protect the innocent. Guilt
crawled up my back and clung to my shoulders like the talons of a night hag. If
I did anything to ruin our chance, Father’s sickness might not grant him
another seven years.
“Get ’em off!” cried one drunken reveler.
“What kind of lass can’t even undo her own corset?” shouted
another.
Guffaws filled the air, and someone bellowed, “The pampered sort!”
My eyes widened. Before good sense could prevail, my feet pounded
the cobblestones, and I reached the edge of the crowd. Pushing my way through
the eager men, I caught a glimpse of the spectacle. The bodice of Shona’s dress
hung around her waist like a shed skin, her breasts jutting out of her
under-bust corset. She had hitched her skirts, revealing her thighs and
glimpses of a thicket of mahogany, pubic hair.
“Higher!” screamed a drunkard.
Blood surged through my ears, dulling the men’s lascivious shouts.
My jaw clenched so hard, it throbbed in time with my raging pulse. I turned my
head away, understanding why Mrs Martin had been so incensed. No-one, not even
Shona the gossip, deserved to be humiliated in such a fashion!
Using the bodies of the leering men as cover, I receded into the
crowd and studied the men in the direction of her glazed stare. The usual
village louts and ne’er do wells jostled each other about in the front, but one
male stood out from the rabble. Not because his silk jacket was too fine for
the village of Calafort, not because he was the only man remaining calm amidst
the scandalous display, but because his face was devoid of features and did not
even have a nose.
His eyes, fathomless tunnels of black, stared at her with a cold
amusement. Around his unlit pipe, one corner of his lips curved into a whisper
of a smile.
Gancanagh.
The word popped into the forefront of my mind. It came from the
leather-bound book Father insisted that I study for hours every evening. The
gancanagh was a silver-tongued, shapeshifter faerie who could morph into a
woman’s heart’s desire and drive her into a frenzy of wantonness. While a gancanagh
enjoyed sexual contact with women, what really nourished them was the ensuing
despair he caused from withdrawing his affections and ruining her reputation.
Ostracized, isolated, and full of despair, his victim would commit
suicide, providing him with a condemned soul upon which to feast.
“If you can’t manage the corset, open your legs and give us a good
show!” bellowed the inn-keeper to a roar of drunken cheers.
Shona’s head lolled to the side, and she moaned. “Please… I need
you!”
The gancanagh nodded, indicating for her to do as they said.
Disgust curdled my stomach, making me want to spit. That was as
much as I could stand. Delving shaking fingers into my pocket, I gathered a
heavy pinch of salt. It soaked up magic, rendering the attacks of many faeries
useless.
Then, I put it under my tongue, suppressed a grimace, and pushed
through the crowd, making sure not to look at the gancanagh.
“Shona Mulloy,” I shouted, making my voice as shrill as Mrs.
Martin’s. “Your father would be ashamed of you!”
She ignored me, as I had expected. Those in the thrall of a
gancanagh became powerless to do anything but his bidding. Her tongue darted
out to wet her lips, and she hiked her skirts to her waist, eliciting
ear-ringing catcalls.
“That’s a bushy tail if ever I saw one!” yelled a voice from
within the crowd.
Affecting a shriek of outrage, I slapped her hard across the face,
ensuring that my iron ring made contact with her lip. The salt remaining on my
fingers must have either gotten into her mouth or into the tiny cut my ring
made, because her eyes focussed.
“Get yourself home,” I screeched. “You’re giving all the womenfolk
of Calafort a bad name!” I yanked on her arm, hoping to convince the gancanagh
that I hadn’t noticed it.
“Neara, show us your ginger muff!” shouted a heckler.
I ignored the drunken dolt and headed to a gap in the crowd. A few
of the men, now shamefaced, stepped aside. Rage seared my veins. Any one of
them could have intervened, but they had chosen to let a neighbor debauch
herself. According to the information in my book, the gancanagh’s allure only
affected women and only if they touched him of their own accord. There was no
reason, apart from malicious lechery, that they couldn’t have stopped Shona
from falling to ruin.
A hand wrapped around my wrist, its chill seeping through my skin,
permeating my bones to the marrow. I suppressed a shudder. The fae, immortal
creatures that were neither alive nor dead, were nothing like humans. My
leather-bound book said they were the offshoot of a supernatural race called
the Fomorians, but from what I had seen over the years, and I had seen a lot,
they were hungry spirits made flesh. The only thing that differed from one type
of faerie to another was what satisfied their appetites.
Gritting my teeth, I turned my head and glared at the hand
restraining me. It was an effort to keep my voice from trembling, but I
focussed on my anger and said, “Let go of my person, sir.”
“Permit me to introduce myself.” He released my wrist, gave me a
gentlemanly bow, and held out an elegant, smooth-skinned hand that could have
belonged to an artist or a Prince. “I am Gerald Canice, and I wish to commend
you on your valiant rescue of that young lady’s virtue.”
“I would be doing a better job if you didn’t keep me here
talking,” I snapped. “Excuse me.”
Most would have lowered their hand and stepped away at my
rudeness. This creature did not. He glided closer, still with his hand
outstretched, now turned as though he wanted to take mine and press a kiss on
my knuckles. “Please… I must know your name.”
“It’s Neara,” shouted a drunk. “And she’s interested in nothing
but stinking herbs and withered old men!”
My face heated, indicating a blush as red a hawthorn berries, one
of the many disadvantages of having skin the pallor of diluted milk. The drunks
snickered, and I pressed my lips together, trying to exhale my anger through
flared nostrils.
“Ignore those louts.” His voice soft and cultured, just as I would
imagine a storybook Prince. “Won’t you at least look at me?”
As though of its own volition, my gaze lifted to his face. It was
no longer the characterless visage from earlier. He now resembled the
raven-haired faerie whose presence had cursed me with the sight. A bolt of
shock shot through my heart as fast as lighting, jolting it into action. I drew
in a sharp breath between my teeth.
Everything vanished from my attention. The crowd of drunken men,
the sobbing girl at my side, the fear of being discovered by the fae. It all
faded now that Gerald had caught me in his mesmerizing, viridian-green gaze.
His full lips split into a breath-stealing smile of even, white
teeth, rising up to high cheekbones, and leading to eyes so longing they wrung
my heart.
“Neara…” My name sounded like supplication on lips that begged to
be kissed. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
One of my hands twitched toward his still outstretched hand. My
mouth dried, not because of the salt, but due to the warmth pooling between my
legs, creating a fire that only he could quench.
My throat dried, partially because of the salt under my tongue,
but mostly because of the male’s beauty. If he had chosen any other face, I
would have ignored the gancanagh, but I couldn’t resist this dark-haired, green
eyed apparition.
A tiny voice, as quiet and persistent as a midge, whispered that
it was a trap. The monster wanted to infect me with the venom coating his skin
and see me debased before my village.
“I…” A gulp interrupted words that had already withered in my
throat. I had come prepared, wearing a bracelet of iron with a matching torque
and ring, but I hadn’t anticipated being faced with the being who haunted my
dreams… my deepest, most oft-denied desire.
“Neara,” said a voice hoarse with tears.
I turned to lock gazes with Shona, her eyes bloodshot and brimming
with tears.
“Will you take me home?”
Her voice was the splash of saltwater I needed to break
gancanagh’s spell. Without a backward glance, I pulled her away from the
lecherous gazes of the crowd, trying not to succumb to the pit of dread
wrenching open my stomach. Once again, I had attracted the attention of the
fae. The gancanagh likely wouldn’t work out that I had seen through him, but my
awakening of Shona from her stupor would have at least aroused his curiosity.
Shona and I walked unmolested through the crowd of degenerates,
many were now slinking back to the tavern. Without his audience, the gancanagh
would not pursue us. He fed on the humiliation of his victims, delighted in
their ruin and not their lust.
His gaze, heavy on my back, turned my steps to lead. The gancanagh
was likely evaluating me, wondering why I could resist his magic. My throat
thickened, and I gulped down my rising panic. This was exactly the kind of
thing Father had warned me against. We could not flee Bresail if we attracted the
attention of the fae, and I had done exactly that! If the wicked creature stayed to satisfy his
curiosity, we were doomed.
A curious faerie always attracted others, and I of all people
would know that arousing the interest of the creatures was deadly.
*****
The folk in the Isle of Bresail say a maiden who can see the fae
is twice-blessed. Blessed to behold beings of beauty and blessed again for the
chance to bargain for health, riches, and immortality. Whoever said that had
obviously never met a faerie.
The fae, creatures of hideous power and beauty, revel in human
misery, beget bad luck, and feast upon mortal lives. Every encounter with the
monsters carries the risk of being killed. Or worse, a repeat of that horrific
Samhain night seven years ago, when the fae slaughtered an entire village
trying to find me. Terror still grips my heart like the jaws of the hound of
Culainn.
I
see the fae. I fear the fae. I’m powerless to stop the fae. And I can say I am
thrice cursed.
About Delia
Delia Castel
has loved fairytales for as long as she can remember. The books she writes
under this pen name are steamy, reverse harem retellings of classic stories.
To download a
free copy of The Big Bad She-Wolf as well as the exclusive chapters that follow
the tale, visit: www.DeliaCastel.com
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Giveaway Details
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winner will receive a $10 Amazon GC, International.
Tour Schedule:
Week One:
2/11/2019- Mythical Books- Excerpt
2/12/2019- Bookbriefs- Review
2/13/2019- Dena Garson-Real... Hot... Romance- Excerpt
2/14/2019- BookHounds- Excerpt
2/15/2019- PopTheButterfly Reads- Review
2/15/2019- Journey in Bookland- Review
Week Two:
2/18/2019- Character Madness and Musings- Spotlight
2/18/2019- Dazzled by Books- Excerpt
2/19/2019- Kelly P's Blog- Excerpt
2/20/2019- Smada's Book Smack- Spotlight
2/21/2019- TMBA Corbett Tries to Write- Excerpt
2/22/2019- Two Chicks on Books- Excerpt
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