Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King, #2)

by Rachel Gillig

To anyone who’s ever felt lost in a wood. There is a strange sort of finding in losing.

But his soul carried on, buried deep in Elspeth Spindle, the only woman Ravyn had ever loved.

Above rowan and yew, the elm tree stands tall. It waits along borders, a sentry at call. Quiet and guarded and windblown and marred, its bark whispers stories of a boy-Prince once scarred.

“I’d be your King, but always your servant. Never your keeper.”

The yew tree is cunning, its shadow unknown. It bends without breaking, its secrets its own.

The Shepherd King had described the Spirit of the Wood in The Old Book of Alders as neither kin, foe, nor friend. He might have saved ink and called her what she truly was. A proper asshole.

‘Magic sways, like salt water on a tide. I believe the Spirit is the moon, commanding the tide. She pulls us in, but also sets us free. She is neither good nor evil. She is magic—balance. Eternal.’”

“For even dead, I will not die. I am the shepherd of shadow. The phantom of the fright. The demon in the daydream. The nightmare in the night.”

Don’t die. I won’t. Because if you do, and we never get the time we’re owed, I’ll hate you, Ravyn Yew. I’ll love you and hate you forever.

Oh, give her a hug. Don’t be grotesque.