BLOG TOUR – Disenchanted by Brianna Sugalski

Disenchanted
Brianna Sugalski
(A Lay of Ruinous Reign, #1)
Publication date: December 16th 2022
Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, New Adult, Romance

At the peak of the Breton Renaissance, Lilac Trécesson is held prisoner in her own castle after a most wicked secret is revealed on the eve of her fifteenth birthday. Her coronation looms years later, and between their town riots and the noble family bent on snatching her throne, she prepares for the worst…

Until a letter arrives from The Witch of Lupine Grotto, detailing a curious offer to banish her curse forever.

Her heirloom dagger at the ready, Lilac embarks into Brocéliande and finds herself in the hands of a bloodthirsty barkeep who demands her help in exchange for protection against the even deadlier forces of the woods.

She is thrust on a quest to uphold her family’s legacy—and her sovereign right to destroy it and start anew—by any means necessary. Pity the fool to underestimate the girl with subpar blade skills but pure spite to make up for it.

This is the tale of a cursed princess,

A crestfallen killer,

The town that wants them to burn,

And the witch who can save them both.

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Excerpts

Outside her door, Lilac turned to tell him goodnight—and her breath caught in her throat.

The way the torchlight illuminated his hair from behind made him look ethereal.

She rubbed her eyes.

“You,” she said, fumbling for the knob behind her. Should come in, she suddenly wanted to say as he regarded her from a safe distance, in the middle of the hallway.

“Have a good night, Garin,” was all she managed.

It was closer to sunrise by now, but a couple hours of sleep sounded better than nothing. She grabbed for the knob again and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. Cursing under her breath, she tried again, harder. This time her hand slipped, and she stumbled backward.

Garin was suddenly behind her, catching her by the shoulders. 

“That was quick,” she observed as he righted her.

No, you’re just moving in slow motion. You did finish off a rather large serving of a sipping drink in all of five seconds. Would you like me to help you inside?”

Lilac stiffened against him. It didn’t sound like a horrible idea—but she wasn’t sure it sounded like a good one. Not only was it unsafe for her as a lone traveler, but there was no sense in allowing herself to become sidetracked. Not with everything at stake.

She couldn’t.

Could she?

Seeming to sense her hesitation, he immediately let go of her. “I’m sorry.” His voice was different. Soft. Gentle, even. 

Lilac turned to face him, to tell him it was all right.

“That was not my intention. I would never hurt you.” The remark seemed off kilter, but suddenly, she couldn’t bring herself to look away. Stars then danced in the twilight of his darkened irises, and through the haze, Lilac wasn’t so sure.

A curious feeling washed over her then. The longer she held his gaze, the lighter she felt, and the more aware of her hammering pulse she grew. It throbbed through her head, her throat, her fingertips, down her legs. The longer she looked, the softer his sharp edges became.

“Would you like to come in?” The words felt foreign as they fell out of her mouth.

His brows rose slightly—suggestively—and so did the corners of his mouth. 

Her cheeks grew red. No one had ever taken a moment to question her intent before. “I just thought you might have wanted to…” She trailed off, flustered.

“I didn’t intend to make it seem like I was waiting for an invitation. I was only admiring you.”

“Me? Why?” She crossed her arms across her chest. 

“It’s everything. Your face. The way the torchlight frames it just there.” He drew his hand near. “May I?” 

She nodded, and he reached up and tenderly ran his knuckle down one cheek. Then the other. The shiver that ran through her came too quick to conceal.

Garin didn’t even seem to notice. “You have a striking look about you.” He leaned against the wall—against her door—and without thinking, she pivoted her body to face him. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”

She shook her head, throat dry.

Although he was the one propped against the wall, she felt pinned by his gaze. She stepped closer.

“You would look almost menacing if you swept your hair back.” He reached for her again and smoothly ran his palms from the bottom of her ears, down the sides of her neck, over her collarbone, sweeping her hair back to rest over her shoulders. It felt entirely like a lover’s caress, and she stepped back in panic.

“Menacing,” she repeated, riding her nerves. “That’s a funny way of calling someone beautiful.”

“Beauty is what people admire from afar. Menace is the lure that draws them near.”

She laughed nervously. “I don’t know anyone who would prefer menace over beauty.”

“I do.” He smiled lazily, and even if everything else had grown blurry, it made him more clear. Every glance he gave her was filled with a strange hunger, subtle enough and not predatory, but like he was challenging her to ask him about it. He was a commoner that smelled like he’d bathed in the finest custom colognes and spoke like he had the money and armies to match.

Garin pushed himself off the wall and circled her. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” Behind her, his voice was a low whisper that slammed into the wall of her will, cracking her poise and grace.

Part of her wanted it to break. Perhaps shatter completely.

She began fumbling at her door for the knob. Getting inside felt urgent. But then, through the haze, her mouth opened. “Come inside,” she said breathlessly.

He gave her a knowing smile and leaned past her—he smelled of pine and wood hyacinths emerging after the cold—and pushed her door open. 

Oh.

“After you.”

About the Author


Southeast Asian fantasy author with a soup addiction. Diverse medievalist and developmental editor who lives in oversized sweaters, and prefers to explore the more ominous—disenchanting, if you will—undertones of history, romance, and the arcane.

My debut, Breton Arthuriana-inspired YA Dark Fantasy DISENCHANTED, released with the Parliament Press in March 2020, and is being re-released and rebranded for the New Adult/ Adult indie market in December 2022. The rest of the trilogy will follow this updated genre rating.

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Signed copy of Disenchanted

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BOOK BLITZ ~ Kingdoms of Wrath and Ice: An Anthology of Icy Villains

Kingdoms of Wrath and Ice: An Anthology of Icy Villains
Publication date: November 1st 2022
Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy

Fifteen original tales of wrath and ice.

Curl up by a warm fire as winter’s icy fingers claw their way down your back and sink into this collection tales of icy villains.

Tales of revenge. Of dubious heroes and well-meaning winter witches. Of noble assassins and the origins of evil. You might be left questioning who really is the villain, or just whose side you’re on.

But as the ice thaws, you might see some hope left, after all…

  • The Kelpie by Andrew LiVecchi
  • Ashen Queen by E. Seneca
  • The Third Son by Elise Berensen Meyer
  • Grandmother Oak by Benjamin Sperduto
  • A Forever Winter by Arwyn Sherman
  • How The Sea Witch Lost Her Heart by J. D. Trebmal
  • Elemental by Lily Manning
  • The Dark King of Time by Tina Capricorn
  • The Winter Queen by Jan Marie Reynoldson
  • Glace Noir by Kimberly Grymes
  • Immistar by Paul Williams
  • Don’t Feed the Beasts by William Rigsby
  • Cold Revenge by Maria Carvalho
  • Crown of Sweetgrass by Cherie Lynae Cabrera Suski
  • The Grusel Woods by Jessica Julien

Goodreads / Amazon

SNEAK PEEKS:

‘Ashen Queen’ by E. Seneca

Brigid awoke with a jolt, her hand flying away from the dried blood at her throat. It coated her entire arm, crusted and flaking, and her breath clouded the air before her as her thoughts swam, disjointed and broken. Why were her limbs so stiff and aching; why did a dull pain emanate from her very bones? It seemed as though she had been seated on her throne for a long, long time, but her memory did not cooperate, supplying her with only visions of darkness studded with slowly moving stars.

Shivering, she reached for her throat again, tracing the wide, jagged scab there and feeling flakes cracking along her scalp. Something thumped softly on the floor beside her, and in the dim silvery glow, she saw it was a frayed and moth-eaten rope, a pale mark left behind on her wrist.

A cloud of dust billowed slowly into the air, and as each tiny mote drifted, glimmering, into the light, images spattered across her consciousness like rain: the inexorable march of the troupe; the doors wrenching open; the shattering of glass; the tumbling of bodies upon the floor; the rough hands lashing her to the throne and the diamond-bright flash of the knife rising before it tore across her neck and there was only blackness.

Ah. So, she had outlasted them, just as she had hoped she would.

A smile split her cracked lips, painful as it was, and her bones creaked along with the chair as she levered herself to her feet. A wave of pinkish ash rose from her movements, slowly spreading through the room and bringing with it a modicum of warmth as it settled. Her knees trembled, weak after so long, but she stood under her own strength. Her eyes, dry from disuse, had adjusted to the meager illumination, and she saw that piled atop each other all around her were the featureless bodies of her soldiers, limbs twisted like broken dolls. Their glassy, staring gazes were all fixed upon the throne to witness the final terrible crime against her, and sorrow twisted her heart at their wretched expressions, at once desperation and agony, unable to fulfill their very purpose.

She had not the power to restore them just yet, but soon, as soon as she found some source of fuel. Gingerly she picked her way over to the window and brushed the curtain aside, blinking in the light from a waning half-moon reflecting off the fresh snowfall below the castle. No doubt beneath its pristine blanket lay ruined fields and razed buildings and butchered citizens, for all was perfectly, frightfully still, down to the laden branches of the thick fir trees lining the steps. Here and there, skeletons of the invaders and their horses decorated the drive, bones covered in snow. Years, she must have sat, awaiting the inevitable awakening, and she exhaled, watching her breath fade away, reveling in the sensation of merely being alive.

Perhaps they had taken her kingdom, but as long as she could yet open her eyes, she could rebuild it. And rebuild it she would, and make them pay.

The Third Son’ by Elise Berensen Meyer

Three days. Three Loki-cursed days of feasting. Of looking sorrowful during sad stories he did not find depressing. Of laughing at jests he did not find funny. Of communing with courtiers he did not trust.

Leaving the revelers to enjoy their last feast day, Drek was on his way out of the great hall when he crossed paths with one of his servants turned street spy. To any passersby who happened to see the young elf walk past Drek while balancing a tray of spiced pear wine, it would seem that the prince and the servant made no contact. Yet, Drek walked through the behemoth doors into the front corridor with a note tucked into his large fist.

He opened the missive as soon as he walked through his chamber door and didn’t bother relaxing into one of the plush leather chairs in the sitting room to read it. Heading straight to his dressing room, he decoded the message, letting his feet carry him along the familiar path. It related a lead that could reveal his next victim. No, he had decided not to think of them that way. Victim was much too personal of a word. Assassins used words like target, or mark. Those were better words. Words that separated him from the sordid deeds he carried out behind the crown’s back. His own father’s back.

Black training leathers hung in the back of his closet. They were nondescript and not unusual attire for a third born warrior-prince to own. However, when Drek donned them with a black tunic, boots, and a deep hooded cloak, he truly looked like what he had become. An assassin, but not one of those evil-worshiping members of the Order of Fenrir. They were the ones he was attempting to root out of his father’s court, but sometimes you had to become your worst nightmare in order to fight it.



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