A woman broken by loss finds herself attracted to the man who starts off as the enemy before becoming just the kind of hero she needs in this historical romance. Keep reading to get a tempting taste of Red Kingdom by Rachel L. Demeter, then discover even more about this reimagined tale by visiting the other sites hosting this tour. In honor of this second installment in the Fairy Tale Retellings series, make sure to fill out the form below for the chance to win an e-copy of the first book in this series!
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?
EXCERPT:
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 heat 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...
“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 heat 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...
AUTHOR INFO:
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.
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.
**********GIVEAWAY**********
