To my editor, Kristine Swartz—thank you for helping me realize I can’t just say something epic happened, I actually need to explain how it was even a possibility. With your insight, this book turned into something not even I could see when we first started developing this idea. I have learned so much from you and can’t wait to learn even more. Thank you for helping find Roark and Lyra and giving them the story they deserve.

Thank you to my beautiful readers. I get emotional just thinking of you, Wicked Darlings. You have cheered me on, helped me realize how strong the book community can truly be, and have become some of my favorite humans. I owe so much to you and you will always be my “folk.”

Thank you to my father in heaven for leading me on this journey. It has been life-changing.

And last of all, I’d like to thank the LJ from nearly ten years ago. I’d like to thank her for never giving up on the stories in her head even when it seemed like no one would ever read them. Here’s to us for pushing through it all and finding our voice. And, of course, here’s to more wickedly romantic tales.

Thank you,

LJ

Keep reading for a preview of the first book in the Ever Seas series by LJ Andrews

The
Ever King

That Night

The ending needed to be altered.

The girl spent the whole of the afternoon crossing out lines with her raven-feather quill, then adding new, better words to read to the boy in the dark. A tale of a serpent who befriended a songbird. A tale where they lived happily ever after, for in the girl’s version, the snake never devoured the bird.

Long after the moon found its highest perch in the night sky, the girl slipped from the loft in the battle fort near the shore. Crouched low, she used the tall snake grass as a shield until she found her way to the old stone tower. The top had caved in, and it wasn’t much of a tower anymore, but the walls were thick as two men standing side by side.

Along the foundation, iron bars covered a few openings. In her head, the girl counted six barred windows before she crouched at the final cell.

“Bloodsinger,” she whispered. Since the end of the battle, she’d practiced the breathy pitch to be loud enough so the boy inside would hear, but the guards stomping along the borders would think it nothing more than the hiss of a forest creature.

Five breaths, ten, then red eyes like a stormy sunset appeared from the shadows.

He was a frightening boy. A few turns older than her, but he’d fought in the war. He’d raised a sword against her people’s warriors. A boy who still had dried blood on his skin.