Tag: Romantasy

Book Review

Empire of Flame and Thorns by Marion Blackwood

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Empire of Flame and Thorns by Marion Blackwood is an enemies-to-lovers romantasy where a fae girl enters a series of deadly trials for a chance at freedom. It’s set in a world where dragon shifters rule, justifying their dominance over fae through stories of a half-remembered past where the fae once held power over the dragon shifters, though neither side truly remembers how or why that world ended. Now, the fae live under tight control, their choices limited, their futures dictated. But every 150 years, the Atonement Trials offer three winners the chance to leave this oppressive system. Selena Hale enters the trials not just for her own survival and freedom, but for the possibility of helping the fae rebellion in a way she never could from within.

Book cover for Empire of Flame and Thorns by Marion Blackwood.

Because fear is a weapon. It gives other people power over you without them even having to do anything.

Marion Blackwood, Empire of Flame and Thorns

This is one of those books that pulls you forward through sheer momentum alone. The trials are chaotic by design, governed only by whatever rules the dragon shifters decide to enforce in the moment. That instability raises the stakes immediately, especially because the fae are not competing for glory or status, but for their lives. The intensity never settles into a predictable rhythm either. Instead, each challenge forces Selena to adapt, and the reader is right there with her, recalibrating what survival even looks like from one trial to the next.

Selena is a compelling protagonist, in part because her growth feels as much internal as it is external. She enters the trials with something to prove, not just to the world around her, but to herself. Her ability to manipulate emotions has made her an outsider among her own people, leaving her caught between wanting connection and knowing she makes others uneasy. That tension carries into how she moves through the trials. She wants to be liked and accepted, but she also has to learn how to prioritize her own survival and sense of self. Watching Selena begin to prioritize herself, trust her instincts, and own her power rather than ignore or diminish it is one of the most satisfying arcs in the book. By the final trials, both Selena and the reader have a clearer understanding of what her abilities can do and why they matter.

You do seem to have an unhealthy obsession with tracking me down in empty corridors. Can I suggest a hobby instead? Perhaps knitting since you’re so fond of pointy sticks.

Marion Blackwood, Empire of Flame and Thorns

Selena and Draven’s dynamic works because it disrupts expectations from the very beginning. Their first encounter sets the tone, with Selena turning what should be a moment of danger into something chaotic and unexpectedly funny. That same energy carries into the trials, where their back-and-forth builds on that initial clash and gradually becomes something else as their connection deepens. The banter is quick and does more than just entertain us, as there’s always an undercurrent of tension shaped by the fact that Draven holds power within the system that controls Selena. He reads as distinctly morally grey, shifting in ways that are hard to fully understand until later, which gives the enemies-to-lovers arc its edge.

The story’s deeper potential lies in its suggestion that power is less about truth and more about who controls the narrative of the past. The idea that the dragon shifters’ rule is justified by a history no one fully remembers raises a larger question about inherited narratives and how they are used to sustain systems of power. Both sides are operating on stories that have been passed down, shaped and reshaped over time, until they function less as truth and more as justification. There are moments where the text gestures toward this, particularly in how the fae themselves question the legitimacy of their oppression, but it stops short of fully engaging with it. There’s a deeper conversation here about cycles of violence, about how long a debt can be carried across generations, and who ultimately pays for it. I hope these early threads are laying the groundwork for something more fully realized in future installments.

I don’t care if you hate me. Truth be told, I kind of hate you too. And that’s why I don’t hold back when I talk to you.

Marion Blackwood, Empire of Flame and Thorns

Overall, this is an action-packed, immersive, and fun romantasy that rewards paying attention, even when you’re not entirely sure what you’re noticing. There’s a steady sense that something isn’t adding up, and the final plot twist brings that unease into sharp focus. It doesn’t tie things up so much as it opens them further, leaving a lot still to explore, both in terms of character and the larger stakes. One thing I know for sure is that I’ll be picking up book 2. I need to see what happens after that ending!

Thank you to NetGalley and Scarlett Press for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

Stolen Midnights by Katherine Quinn

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Stolen Midnights by Katherine Quinn is a regency-inspired young adult romantasy that unfolds in the gilded city of Andalay, where the Three Fates bestow magical gifts upon the upper classes as a mark of divine favor and social worth. On her eighteenth birthday, Wren Hayes, the so-called “princess” of Ward One, waits to receive the powerful magic her status promises. But it never comes. Unbeknownst to her, a thief has stolen it! And in a society where magic is currency and legitimacy, that turns Wren into a social pariah. What follows is a richly layered, compulsively readable story about power, class warfare, dangerous alliances, and one of the most delightful grumpy x sunshine slow-burn romances I’ve read in a long time.

Book cover for Stolen Midnights by Katherine Quinn set against a pink background.

One day our world would change, and all it took to start a revolution was one person.

Katherine Quinn, Stolen Midnights

Despite being marketed as young adult, I think Stolen Midnights just barely on the edges of it. Tonally, this novel reminds me a lot of Heartless Hunter by Kristen Ciccarelli. It has that same balance of sharp banter, moral ambiguity, simmering tension, and high-stakes worldbuilding. Even when the plot turns twisty and dark, there’s an undercurrent of yearning and restraint that keeps the characters at its center, and that’s why it works so well.

I love a good thief character, so Damien was always going to be an instant favorite, but Wren really surprised me, too. She begins the story sheltered and naive, yet never willfully ignorant. Wren wants to understand the world beyond her privilege, and once that privilege is stripped away, she actively chooses growth, accountability, and compassion. Damien, meanwhile, is morally gray in all the right ways, shaped by a system that exploits the poor to keep the wealthy powerful. His motives are messy, personal, and deeply tied to the book’s class commentary. Watching these two become reluctant allies—especially with Wren unaware that Damien is the thief who stole her gift—creates a dynamic that is both emotionally charged and narratively compelling.

The dual POV structure of the chapters also works beautifully here, giving equal weight to both Wren and Damien’s perspectives without letting one overshadow the other. Seeing Andalay from opposite sides of the class divide adds real texture to the story, especially as the larger conspiracy begins to unravel.

I’m sorry because I allowed myself to be blind when I had the choice to do otherwise. I’m sorry for being a part of a society that uses people when they’re desperate. That forces them to remain desperate. Afraid. Hungry.

Katherine Quinn, Stolen Midnights

The magic system itself deserves special attention because it’s such a clever device. In Andalay, gifts granted by the Three Fates are not random blessings but deliberate reinforcements of wealth and status. Therefore, magic becomes another mechanism of control, hoarded by the upper classes and used to keep power exactly where it already sits. I loved how this magic system feeds directly into the novel’s social commentary, interrogating privilege and exploitation. It shapes Damien’s anger and motivations just as much as it forces Wren to confront the moral cost of her upbringing, adding layers that make the story resonate well beyond the romance.

Speaking of the romance, it was so much fun! The dynamic between Wren and Damien is exactly what I expect when promised enemies-to-lovers. The banter is genuinely delightful, the grumpy x sunshine trope is fully realized (he literally calls her “sunshine”!!), and the slow burn is paced to perfection. Watching Damien deny his feelings while very obviously falling for Wren was endlessly entertaining, and their chemistry is off the charts.

I also really appreciated the emphasis on female empowerment throughout the story. Andalay is unapologetically patriarchal, but Quinn highlights women supporting women, questioning their assigned roles, and actively resisting expectations designed to limit them. The contrast between older men enforcing tradition and a younger generation beginning to push back felt deliberate and thoughtfully executed.

I knew with complete certainty that I’d done the one thing I promised I’d never do—I’d fallen for a mark.

Katherine Quinn, Stolen Midnights

If I had any minor nitpicks, they come down to personal preference rather than flaws. I found myself wishing for a deeper exploration of how certain magical powers work and more on-page moments of characters actively using their magic. There’s also a mention of a jail early on that stuck in my brain. I kept expecting it to reappear or play a larger role later (at one point, I was fully convinced Damien would end up there!), but it never did. That’s very much on me for latching onto it, not the book failing to deliver. But who knows? Maybe it’s there, waiting for book 2 shenanigans!

By the time I reached the final chapters, I was fully hooked. And then that ending completely blindsided me! Jaw on the floor, theories in shambles, and a cliffhanger that was brutal in the best way. I genuinely have no idea how I’m supposed to wait for the sequel! Consider me fully committed, emotionally compromised, and counting the days.

Thank you to NetGalley and Delacorte Press for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

Break Wide the Sea by Sara Holland

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Break Wide the Sea by Sara Holland is a moody, ocean-soaked young adult romantasy that immediately pulled me in with the promise of mysterious fae sea creatures, ancient curses, and that particular brand of melancholy that only stories at sea seem to pull off. The cover alone had me sold, and the premise gave me the same atmospheric pull I felt with When the Tides Held the Moon by Venessa Vida Kelley. And to be fair, the atmosphere is there. The salt, the isolation, the tension of life aboard a ship in unforgiving waters? That part worked so well for me. But while the vibes were vibing, the story itself never quite broke open the way I hoped it would.

Book cover for Break Wide the Sea by Sara Holland.

Maybe I need to be a monster to survive this.

Sara Holland, Break Wide the Sea

At the center of the novel is Annie, the heir to a powerful whaling company whose survival (and humanity’s) depends on harvesting magic from whales. It’s a fascinating and morally messy setup, especially paired with the presence of finfolk and fae mythology. Annie is also cursed, slowly transforming into something monstrous and not entirely human, which should’ve been the emotional core of the book. I kept waiting for that thread to really take over, and for Annie to reckon with what she’s becoming and what that means. Instead, so much of the narrative energy is spent on human conflicts aboard the ship, and it often feels like the most interesting parts of the story are hovering just out of reach.

Annie herself was difficult for me. She’s been trained her entire life to lead, yet repeatedly gives up power while insisting she wants it. Early on, she’s told she will be betrayed, and even as every possible sign points directly at her fiancé, August, she refuses to believe it. We spend what feels like half the book circling this impending betrayal, and because Annie won’t open her eyes, the plot stalls right along with her. Watching her continue to trust him, excuse his behavior, and remain emotionally and physically involved with him was genuinely maddening.

I didn’t want anyone else’s whole heart. I wanted the broken scraps of yours. Whatever you saw fit to give me.

Sara Holland, Break Wide the Sea

August is exactly as awful as you’d expect, and not in a way that felt particularly nuanced. He’s manipulative, controlling, and deeply unlikable, but the story spends so much time having Annie deny this that it dulls the impact. Silas, on the other hand, was the character I wanted more of. He’s the type of character I usually latch onto immediately, but we just don’t get enough of him. His relationship with Annie felt underdeveloped, and I never felt a real spark between them. The romance overall was honestly frustrating. At a certain point, I would have preferred it to be nonexistent because it didn’t add anything meaningful to Annie’s growth or the story’s tension.

Pacing was another major issue for me. For hundreds of pages, the story revisits the same ideas without much escalation, and then suddenly, everything happens at once. When the plot finally surges in the last act, it feels rushed and almost disconnected from what came before. The ending is fine, and it clearly sets up the sequel, but it didn’t reel me in or leave me desperate for more. Instead, I found myself questioning Annie’s final choices yet again, especially since I couldn’t understand why she agreed to the terms she did. Like, hello? You’re cursed to transform into a sea monster. Show me some teeth, girl!

I can’t touch him how I’d like to, not with the gloves and what’s under them. I have to be careful, but there’s something thrilling about that too—that he wants me despite the risk, despite everything.

Sara Holland, Break Wide the Sea

That said, there are things this book does well. The worldbuilding is strong, the concept is genuinely intriguing, and the ethical tension surrounding whaling gives the story real weight. I just wanted more immersion. More finfolk. More literal and figurative transformation. More time underwater! I wanted to taste the salt spray, feel the bone-deep cold of Arctic waters, and completely lose myself in those submerged realms.

Ultimately, Break Wide the Sea is a unique story with a lot of potential. My issues with it are subjective and largely tied to characterization and narrative focus rather than the core idea itself. I can absolutely see this working better for other readers, especially those who enjoy slow-burn tension and morally complex fantasy worlds.

Thank you to NetGalley and Wednesday Books for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

The Swan’s Daughter by Roshani Chokshi

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The Swan’s Daughter by Roshani Chokshi is a lavish, strange, and quietly radical fairytale retelling that takes familiar tropes and reshapes them from the inside out. On the surface, it looks like a classic setup: a young woman enters a glittering court to compete for a prince’s hand, surrounded by beautiful rivals and impossible expectations. But almost immediately, the story begins to question who holds power, who is truly at risk, and what beauty is allowed to look like in a world obsessed with spectacle. This Ugly Duckling retelling, wrapped in a Bachelor-style tournament of brides, is indulgent and whimsical, but it is also deeply intentional in the way it reframes vulnerability, worth, and agency.

Book cover for The Swan's Daughter by Roshani Chokshi.

They’re terrified of you, which is far more useful than affection.

Roshani Chokshi, The Swan’s Daughter

I came into this novel with high expectations because The Gilded Wolves is one of my favorite books. While The Swan’s Daughter is far frothier in tone, it carries the same confidence in its worldbuilding. This is one of the most decadent settings I have read in a fairytale retelling. Sentient castles, library wyverns disguised as rabbits, and daydream trees create a lush, storybook atmosphere, but there is always something sharp beneath the surface. The satire also works especially well here. The competition is absurd, glamorous, and dangerous in equal measure, and the book never lets you forget that performance and survival are deeply intertwined.

One of the most interesting things this book does is quietly subvert the traditional damsel narrative. Demelza arrives at the tournament of brides as someone easily overlooked. She is physically unremarkable by the court’s standards, visibly out of place among competitors who embody polished, effortless beauty. From the outside, she appears vulnerable, even pitiable. In reality, it is Prince Arris who occupies the most precarious position. His life, his future, and his very humanity hinge on making the right choice. If he chooses poorly, the consequences are catastrophic. I loved how this inversion reframes the entire competition. Demelza may look like the one in need of saving, but Arris is the one trapped by expectation and consequence.

Love is dazzling. Can you imagine it? To be entrusted with someone’s heart…to be all the radiance in their world? To be the only shelter in which they know both safety and bliss?

Roshani Chokshi, The Swan’s Daughter

Beauty is also treated with a surprising intentionality in this novel. Demelza is not revealed to be secretly stunning, nor does the narrative rush to “fix” her appearance to make her worthy. Instead, her beauty is initially internal, invisible to a society trained to value spectacle above substance. Every other competitor is outwardly beautiful in ways the court knows how to reward. Yet by the end, it becomes clear that none of them can match what Demelza offers as a person. Her honesty, emotional steadiness, and refusal to perform a version of herself for approval give the story a quiet power that will stay with readers. The novel slowly becomes less interested in beauty as currency and more invested in beauty as character.

Arris, too, is written in ways that resist traditional fairytale masculinity. I was especially drawn to the attention paid to his routines, his clothing, and the care he takes in presentation. There is something almost traditionally feminine in how these moments are framed for him and not for Demelza, and yet the story never treats this as weakness or contradiction. His sensitivity, precision, and emotional awareness exist comfortably alongside his role as prince and romantic lead. Even within the confines of a heterosexual romance, the book allows softness and attentiveness to be strengths rather than liabilities, which felt both refreshing and intentional.

Power is a matter of perception. In the end, it’s what you believe that holds the most sway. All the rationale in the world might tell you you are walking headlong into danger. But if you believe yourself an exception, if you believe that fate walks you down a different road despite every evidence to the contrary, then it is perception alone that rules you. Nothing else.

Roshani Chokshi, The Swan’s Daughter

The weakest element for me was the romance. While I appreciate that Demelza and Arris don’t experience insta-love (an annoying pitfall of many YA romances for me!), their relationship never really evolves into something convincingly romantic. Their chemistry is muted, and there is no clear emotional turning point where their feelings shift from friendship to romantic love. At times, it even feels as though the narrative invites us to root for Arris to end up with someone else. Given how central love is positioned within the story, this lack of development is disappointing.

Several plot threads also feel underresolved, particularly those involving Demelza’s father and the spell she and her sisters were raised to decipher. Both arcs are introduced with significant weight and then quietly fade away, which undermines their earlier importance.

Still, I genuinely enjoyed The Swan’s Daughter. Its greatest strength lies in how it reimagines familiar tropes without stripping them of their magic. This is a story about being underestimated, about finding worth beyond performance, and about choosing who you are in a world determined to define you first.

Thank you to NetGalley and Wednesday Books for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

Smoke and Scar by Gretchen Powell Fox

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Smoke and Scar by Gretchen Powell Fox is a gripping enemies-to-lovers romantasy that plunges readers into a world still reeling from the dark, magical scars of an ancient war. At its center is Elyria Lightbreaker, a fae war hero (or criminal, depending on who you ask) who has spent 250 years drowning her past in alcohol, sex, and reckless avoidance. But when her dead lover’s sister enters the Arcane Crucible—a brutal, winner-takes-all series of trials that could shift the fragile balance between humans and fae—Elyria is dragged back into a fight she wanted to forget. As she battles deadly opponents, shifting alliances, and an infuriatingly broody human knight, Smoke and Scar delivers high-stakes action, emotional depth, and a slow-burn romance that smolders…right until it ignites.

Book cover for Smoke and Scar by Gretchen Powell Fox.

Cedric shuddered at the thought of what it would be like to meet the Revenant in battle at full power. He hoped he never had to find out. And yet, for some reason he could not possibly begin to explain, he also hoped he did?

Gretchen Powell Fox, Smoke and Scar

I could only ever mean this in the best way, but start this book prepared with the knowledge that it will make you fall hard for its characters, then drop you into a haunted cave and threaten to break your heart once you’re in its clutches. (But it’s fine! You’ll be fine. Trust me.) Elyria is sharp, feral, and drowning in unresolved trauma, and Cedric, is a fierce warrior with protective instincts that belie his programming, particularly once he begins to question the narratives he’s been raised on after actually spending time with fae. What makes their dynamic fresh is the way Fox subverts our favorite genre conventions. Elyria is the shadow mommy, if you will. She’s emotionally constipated and a little bit uncouth, and Cedric is her damsel in distress (and there is so much distress—whump goblins, come get your food!). Their romance is the kind of slow burn that aches in the best way, full of reluctant trust and repressed third-degree yearns. Among other choice genre favorites, there is a Pride and Prejudice-esque hand flex, as well as a “who did this to you?” But when I say it’s a slow burn, what I mean is any slower, and they’d literally be on fire. But it’s great! So bring your marshmallows!

High fantasy can sometimes fall into the trap of making side characters seem as though they’re positioned simply to function as plot devices rather than people, but here, every character feels important and distinct. They are a found family, full of snarky, reckless, and endlessly lovable personalities. Fox’s treatment of “side characters” (more accurately, characters who are not the two main love interests) reminds me of the way Leigh Bardugo writes her characters in the Grishaverse. Nox and Thraigg are my favorites in the bunch (actually, I need an entire novella all about Nox), but truly, not a single one feels expendable.

As she met his golden brown eyes, something stirred in the hollow place where her inner shadow slept. A recognition. An understanding.

Gretchen Powell Fox, Smoke and Scar

One of the most impressive things about Smoke and Scar is its handling of power—not just the kind you wield in battle but the kind that shapes societies, histories, and people. The Crucible isn’t just a fight for a shiny prize; it’s a symbolic war over centuries of oppression, loss, and vengeance. The fae and humans have deeply entrenched narratives about who deserves power and why, and Fox doesn’t take the easy route of making one side clearly “right.” Instead, the story wrestles with the murky, often brutal nature of power itself: who controls it, who’s willing to die for it, and whether it can ever truly be shared.

The worldbuilding smartly reinforces the novel’s deeper themes, balancing intricate political tensions with tangible, sensory-rich settings that make you feel like you’re walking through the aftermath of a war that never quite ended. The Crucible itself is a thrilling, blood-soaked puzzle box of challenges, and Fox crafts each trial with enough variety and tension to keep both characters and readers on their toes. There’s a real sense of danger, and readers quickly learn no character is safe. As a result, each thrilling victory feels earned. The trials aren’t just about physical strength either; they demand strategy, adaptability, and an understanding of the larger forces at play. And because of that inventiveness, it’s fun to read about each new trial because they almost feel interactive, pulling the reader into the problem-solving alongside the characters.

Beyond its political and magical intrigue, Smoke and Scar also carries deeper themes of identity, acceptance, and learning to embrace the parts of yourself you’ve been taught to suppress. Elyria’s journey with her shadow powers, in particular, feels like a metaphor for self-acceptance—whether that’s tied to gender, sexuality, culture, or any other aspect of identity. There’s a moment where she finally stops resisting this part of herself, and it’s written with a kind of catharsis that will resonate deeply with anyone who’s ever struggled with their own sense of belonging.

She’d spent so long burying half of herself. Now that she had finally given that half the freedom of acknowledgment—started to embrace it, even—she suddenly wanted to know more about it. Wanted to know everything.

Gretchen Powell Fox, Smoke and Scar

If there’s one place where I found myself wanting more, it’s in the details of Cedric’s backstory (anyone else get unreasonably attached to Tristan for the 0.5 seconds he appears?) and the mechanics of mana magic. Cedric often serves as the “token human,” giving us an outsider’s perspective on the fae world, but his own history remains somewhat elusive. The concept of mana and the tension surrounding its use also raises questions that feel ripe for further exploration. What exactly does it mean to leach mana from the land? Why is it seen as so inherently destructive, especially when celestial forces gifted humans with this ability? And what are we to make of the fact that most of Cedric’s identity as a knight is supplemented by the lore behind this power? Fox gives us enough to fuel the conflict but leaves plenty of room for further revelations in future books. We also get seamless nonbinary representation in Tenebris Nox, but for all the diverse and interesting fae creatures and cultures introduced in this novel, I really wish we’d had a chance to see more of the LGBTQ+ representation that surely must exist in this world.

Ultimately, Smoke and Scar is the best kind of fantasy because it provides readers a thrilling, high-stakes adventure while sneaking in sharp commentary on power, identity, and history. And yet, despite its weighty themes, the book never feels bogged down. It’s as entertaining as it is thought-provoking. The characters are ones you want to protect (even when they make terrible choices), and the world feels vast but never overwhelming. I can picture it next to everyone’s favorite series by Sarah J. Maas, Rebecca Yarros, and Leigh Bardugo. If you love found family, slow burn romance, and fantasy that dares to explore the true cost of power, this is one you won’t want to miss.

Thank you to the author, Gretchen Powell Fox, as well as NetGalley and Scarlett Press, for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.