Snowflakes: the Snow Queen Short Story Collection has officially launched! I’m still offering it for 99 cents, but by the end of the week I’ll be pricing it higher, so snag it while it’s on sale! So far the feedback seems to be positive, so I’m glad everyone was happy to return to Rakel’s world! If you would leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads for the collection, I would really appreciate it!
But while I’m excited about Snowflakes, I have officially started writing Endings, the final King Arthurs book. There is no set release date, mainly because I don’t know how long it will take to write it. Keeping that in mind, I’m going to be non-responsive for the next two or three weeks while I work on it.
The less I spend on my social media accounts, the more time I have to write Endings, and since I want to write a quality book and still get it released in a timely manner, I’m giving my internet time the axe. 😉
With luck I’ll be back by the end of the month, just in time for the annual Hero Poll! But until then, thanks for understanding, Champions! And here’s a ROUGH sneak peek of Endings!
Britt couldn’t remember her mom’s voice.
The realization struck her near the midnight watch, as soon paced in the small, frost-covered Queen’s garden. The moon glowed overhead, casting silver light the withered plants. Off in the distance a dog barked and soldiers greeted one another as the patrols changed over…and for the life of her, Britt couldn’t remember her mom’s voice.
Her sister’s face—a face she had seen every day of her childhood—was starting to grow hazy too.
Britt could remember her mom’s gusty laugh and the twinkle in her sister’s eyes. Details like that were easier to recall, but everyday things—like faces and voices—were starting to slip from her memory. Instead they were replaced with Merlin’s sarcastic barbs, Kay’s twitching mustache, Mordred’s dimpled smile, and Gawain’s clear eyes.
But while she treasured the new, her heart ached with the loss of the old.
“It’s been three years,” she whispered. “Just three! How could I forget them so quickly?”
Three years ago, Britt—an American from the twenty-first century—had been pulled back through time while visiting England. Her time travel was the result of a spell forged by Merlin, who told her Arthur—the boy meant to be King of Britain—had run off with a shepherdess, and she was to take up his identity and rule in his stead.
Britt placed her hand on a stone pillar, seeking support. The stone was so cold it bit her palms, but she barely noticed.
“I’m happy,” she murmured. “My knights accept me—the real me—Camelot is more beautiful than I could imagine, and we are at peace, but…how can I forget who I was, who I really am?” She took a shuddering breath.
“Milord?” one of her guards asked, shifting in the shadows.
Britt offered him a wane smile and waved his concern off. She resumed pacing, as if the exertion would help her recall the exact proportions of her sister’s face.
She paused only when Merlin—his blonde hair white in the silver moonlight—popped around the corner of the garden. He held a sputtering torch, and his forehead wrinkled as he and Britt stared at each other from across the garden.
