Science Fiction & Fantasy
![Heather Walter - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B08HC8YCW2.jpg)
Misrule: Book Two of the Malice Duology (Malice, 2)
Does true love break curses or begin them? The dark sorceress of "Sleeping Beauty" reclaims her story in this sequel to Malice.
"Fans of reimagined fairy tales and LGBTQ+ themes will be delighted with the conclusion of this fantasy duology."-Booklist (starred review)
The Dark Grace is dead.
Feared and despised for the sinister power in her veins, Alyce wreaks her revenge on the kingdom that made her an outcast. Once a realm of decadence and beauty, Briar is now wholly Alyce's wicked domain. And no one will escape the consequences of her wrath. Not even the one person who holds her heart.
Princess Aurora saw through Alyce's thorny facade, earning a love that promised the dawn of a new age. But it is a love that came with a heavy price: Aurora now sleeps under a curse that even Alyce's vast power cannot seem to break. And the dream of the world they would have built together is nothing but ash.
Alyce vows to do anything to wake the woman she loves, even if it means turning into the monster Briar believes her to be. But could Aurora love the villain Alyce has become?
Or is true love only for fairy tales?
Book Two of the Malice Duology
"Fans of reimagined fairy tales and LGBTQ+ themes will be delighted with the conclusion of this fantasy duology."-Booklist (starred review)
The Dark Grace is dead.
Feared and despised for the sinister power in her veins, Alyce wreaks her revenge on the kingdom that made her an outcast. Once a realm of decadence and beauty, Briar is now wholly Alyce's wicked domain. And no one will escape the consequences of her wrath. Not even the one person who holds her heart.
Princess Aurora saw through Alyce's thorny facade, earning a love that promised the dawn of a new age. But it is a love that came with a heavy price: Aurora now sleeps under a curse that even Alyce's vast power cannot seem to break. And the dream of the world they would have built together is nothing but ash.
Alyce vows to do anything to wake the woman she loves, even if it means turning into the monster Briar believes her to be. But could Aurora love the villain Alyce has become?
Or is true love only for fairy tales?
Book Two of the Malice Duology
Editorial Reviews
Praise for Malice
"The villain takes center stage in Walter's superlative debut, a refreshing spin on ‘Sleeping Beauty.' . . . Fairy tale lovers of all ages will be thrilled."-Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"A beautifully imaginative and feminist retelling of a fairy tale so often swept into the dark . . . Walter's debut is engrossing from its first page, with a striking cast of characters, thrilling romance, and a world so vivid it will wrap thorns around your dreams."-Roshani Chokshi, author of The Gilded Wolves
"I spent a lot of late nights getting lost in this world of sorcery, intrigue, and-of course-true love. I'm sure I won't be the only one!"-Richelle Mead, internationally bestselling author of Vampire Academy
"Absolutely dazzling! Full of love, power, and betrayal, Malice is as compelling as a spell, as captivating as an enchantment, and as fascinating and delicious as a fairy-tale curse. I loved it!"-Sarah Beth Durst, award-winning author of the Queens of Renthia series
"A truly original and clever retelling of a classic that had me racing to the end-you'll never look at ‘Sleeping Beauty' the same way again."-S. A. Chakraborty, author of the bestselling Daevabad trilogy
"Lively characters, a tempting sapphic romance, and a richly built world make this a book to savor."-Louisa Morgan, author of A Secret History of Witches
"Malice is the dark and wicked heart of a fairy tale carved into a book. This story is beautiful, vicious magic."-Tasha Suri, author of Empire of Sand
"Deliciously dark . . . Heather Walter's debut is just as gloriously compelling as it sounds, turning the iconic story [‘Sleeping Beauty'] on its head and giving the villain a chance to shine."-Book Riot
"The villain takes center stage in Walter's superlative debut, a refreshing spin on ‘Sleeping Beauty.' . . . Fairy tale lovers of all ages will be thrilled."-Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"A beautifully imaginative and feminist retelling of a fairy tale so often swept into the dark . . . Walter's debut is engrossing from its first page, with a striking cast of characters, thrilling romance, and a world so vivid it will wrap thorns around your dreams."-Roshani Chokshi, author of The Gilded Wolves
"I spent a lot of late nights getting lost in this world of sorcery, intrigue, and-of course-true love. I'm sure I won't be the only one!"-Richelle Mead, internationally bestselling author of Vampire Academy
"Absolutely dazzling! Full of love, power, and betrayal, Malice is as compelling as a spell, as captivating as an enchantment, and as fascinating and delicious as a fairy-tale curse. I loved it!"-Sarah Beth Durst, award-winning author of the Queens of Renthia series
"A truly original and clever retelling of a classic that had me racing to the end-you'll never look at ‘Sleeping Beauty' the same way again."-S. A. Chakraborty, author of the bestselling Daevabad trilogy
"Lively characters, a tempting sapphic romance, and a richly built world make this a book to savor."-Louisa Morgan, author of A Secret History of Witches
"Malice is the dark and wicked heart of a fairy tale carved into a book. This story is beautiful, vicious magic."-Tasha Suri, author of Empire of Sand
"Deliciously dark . . . Heather Walter's debut is just as gloriously compelling as it sounds, turning the iconic story [‘Sleeping Beauty'] on its head and giving the villain a chance to shine."-Book Riot
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter One
Age of the Dark Court, 99
"Do you think she's dead?"
"She's breathing, you idiot."
Tinny voices permeate the twilight space between sleeping and waking. I groan and pull the thick covers over my head.
"See? I tolds you."
Something hard thunks onto flesh and the screeching wail of an Imp stabs through my skull, erasing any hope that they will find some other entertainment before I'm fully awake. I throw a pillow in the direction of their noise. "It's too early for your nonsense."
"Not nonsense, Mistress." Their squabble ceases. I open my eyes to discover two vermilion faces peering at me, only tall enough that the tips of their hooked noses hover above the edge of the bed. "We've brought you something."
With a chorus of grunts, the Imps heave a text onto the enormous mattress and slide it toward me. I push myself to sit up, curiosity overriding my irritation. "Where did you get this?"
"Valmar says to bring it right to you. Says we weren't allowed to wait, case it gots lost."
Which occurs more often than not with the Imps. I run my hands over the book's cover. It's not a material I recognize, like leather, but scaled and slightly rough. I wonder if it's dragon hide. If so, it's exceedingly rare and old.
"Has Valmar brought more Imps from Malterre?" It's been years since we welcomed anyone from those blighted lands into the Dark Court.
"Aye." One of the Imps uses his companion as a ladder and clambers up onto the bed. He points a clawed finger at the book. "Will you read it to us? Been too long since we had a story."
I trace the sigil stamped into the cover, the unique material made darker against the nearly translucent shade of my skin. A broken Fae orb of the Vila crest surrounded by a circle of raven feathers.
I knew that court, Mortania whispers from her den. It could contain powerful magic.
The tingling of my curiosity intensifies. I've learned so much from the relics and books the Imps carried with them from the ruins of Malterre-all manner of rituals and the history of the Vila courts. I cannot wait to see what secrets this one provides. Maybe, impossibly, even something about breaking curses.
"I haven't even eaten breakfast," I say to the Imps, hoping they'll scurry off and leave me to explore the book in peace.
But the first one fishes a stone out of his pocket, tosses it into the air, and claps. By the time he catches it, the rock is transformed into a glazed pastry. He presents it to me with a flourish and a jagged-toothed smile. "Your favorite."
The other Imp applauds. I accept the pastry but give him a playful pinch anyway. It was a blessing when we discovered the Imps and their small magic. They can turn almost any bit of rock, wood, or material into a feast. And my skill in the kitchen never improved from the months I lived here alone.
"A story, then," I say around a mouthful of nutty chocolate filling, and crack open the text, releasing its smell of musty parchment.
"With plenty of guts and blood," one of the Imps instructs, the veiny ridges of his ears quivering.
"Find one with a beheading. We love those."
I thumb through the pages, scanning entries detailing various events in the fallen court. Council meetings and ceremonies and special occasions. Births and deaths. Logs and ledgers. A few diagrams illustrating how to conduct rituals I've not yet encountered, which I make a mental note of to revisit later. "This isn't a storybook," I tell them, tapping a corner of the page. "And these dates suggest that it was written before the War of the Fae, so I doubt there are any beheadings. Vila courts didn't do that to their own."
"Sounds boring." An Imp yawns.
The other nudges closer. "You sure there's not anyone having their innards ripped out?"
I eat the rest of the pastry, lick my sticky fingertips, and am tempted to ask for another. "Not that I can see."
Their ears droop in disappointment. One scrambles from his place and scurries to the foot of the bed, which, as this is the former royal suite, is fashioned to look like the head of a roaring dragon just landed from battle. Its massive, mahogany tail winds down one of the bedposts, and taloned wings dip down over the sides. "I shall tell a story, then," he announces. "Of Mistress Nimara and how she turned beastie and toppled the fat old king and rescued us Imps from the Fae courts! How she swooped in with her green fire and-"
"You're telling it wrong! You left out her claws. And her teeth. Thems the best bits." The other rushes across the bed and barrels into him. Both fall in a tangle of limbs onto the floor.
I rub my temples. I definitely sho...
Age of the Dark Court, 99
"Do you think she's dead?"
"She's breathing, you idiot."
Tinny voices permeate the twilight space between sleeping and waking. I groan and pull the thick covers over my head.
"See? I tolds you."
Something hard thunks onto flesh and the screeching wail of an Imp stabs through my skull, erasing any hope that they will find some other entertainment before I'm fully awake. I throw a pillow in the direction of their noise. "It's too early for your nonsense."
"Not nonsense, Mistress." Their squabble ceases. I open my eyes to discover two vermilion faces peering at me, only tall enough that the tips of their hooked noses hover above the edge of the bed. "We've brought you something."
With a chorus of grunts, the Imps heave a text onto the enormous mattress and slide it toward me. I push myself to sit up, curiosity overriding my irritation. "Where did you get this?"
"Valmar says to bring it right to you. Says we weren't allowed to wait, case it gots lost."
Which occurs more often than not with the Imps. I run my hands over the book's cover. It's not a material I recognize, like leather, but scaled and slightly rough. I wonder if it's dragon hide. If so, it's exceedingly rare and old.
"Has Valmar brought more Imps from Malterre?" It's been years since we welcomed anyone from those blighted lands into the Dark Court.
"Aye." One of the Imps uses his companion as a ladder and clambers up onto the bed. He points a clawed finger at the book. "Will you read it to us? Been too long since we had a story."
I trace the sigil stamped into the cover, the unique material made darker against the nearly translucent shade of my skin. A broken Fae orb of the Vila crest surrounded by a circle of raven feathers.
I knew that court, Mortania whispers from her den. It could contain powerful magic.
The tingling of my curiosity intensifies. I've learned so much from the relics and books the Imps carried with them from the ruins of Malterre-all manner of rituals and the history of the Vila courts. I cannot wait to see what secrets this one provides. Maybe, impossibly, even something about breaking curses.
"I haven't even eaten breakfast," I say to the Imps, hoping they'll scurry off and leave me to explore the book in peace.
But the first one fishes a stone out of his pocket, tosses it into the air, and claps. By the time he catches it, the rock is transformed into a glazed pastry. He presents it to me with a flourish and a jagged-toothed smile. "Your favorite."
The other Imp applauds. I accept the pastry but give him a playful pinch anyway. It was a blessing when we discovered the Imps and their small magic. They can turn almost any bit of rock, wood, or material into a feast. And my skill in the kitchen never improved from the months I lived here alone.
"A story, then," I say around a mouthful of nutty chocolate filling, and crack open the text, releasing its smell of musty parchment.
"With plenty of guts and blood," one of the Imps instructs, the veiny ridges of his ears quivering.
"Find one with a beheading. We love those."
I thumb through the pages, scanning entries detailing various events in the fallen court. Council meetings and ceremonies and special occasions. Births and deaths. Logs and ledgers. A few diagrams illustrating how to conduct rituals I've not yet encountered, which I make a mental note of to revisit later. "This isn't a storybook," I tell them, tapping a corner of the page. "And these dates suggest that it was written before the War of the Fae, so I doubt there are any beheadings. Vila courts didn't do that to their own."
"Sounds boring." An Imp yawns.
The other nudges closer. "You sure there's not anyone having their innards ripped out?"
I eat the rest of the pastry, lick my sticky fingertips, and am tempted to ask for another. "Not that I can see."
Their ears droop in disappointment. One scrambles from his place and scurries to the foot of the bed, which, as this is the former royal suite, is fashioned to look like the head of a roaring dragon just landed from battle. Its massive, mahogany tail winds down one of the bedposts, and taloned wings dip down over the sides. "I shall tell a story, then," he announces. "Of Mistress Nimara and how she turned beastie and toppled the fat old king and rescued us Imps from the Fae courts! How she swooped in with her green fire and-"
"You're telling it wrong! You left out her claws. And her teeth. Thems the best bits." The other rushes across the bed and barrels into him. Both fall in a tangle of limbs onto the floor.
I rub my temples. I definitely sho...
