Tag: Oak King Holly King

Blessed Winter Solstice!

Blessed Winter Solstice! On the longest night of the year the Oak King duels the Holly King to turn the seasons. You can read all about it in OAK KING HOLLY KING, a gay Victorian fae romance available now wherever fine books are found. And you can read an excerpt of Shrike and Wren’s first winter solstice together below.

~

As the two kings reached the centre mark, the Holly King turned to cast one final glance back up at the queen’s bower. The glimmer in his eyes froze before it ever reached his cheeks. He raised his two-handed longsword aloft in salute, then resheathed it, as to begin the fight fair.

Shrike did no such thing. Instead he cast his gaze over the crowd in a last desperate quest for Wren. He’d almost consigned himself to defeat when he spied him at last—a pale bespeckled face, chestnut locks tumbling in disarray over his brow, his dark eyes wide and deep with a longing that sang through Shrike’s own heart.

Shrike vowed to return to his arms. Then put him from his mind for the remainder of the duel.

The herald—an apple-cheeked, toad-mouthed courtier in exquisite wasp-lace—called for the combatants to take their places marked on either side of a ring some three ells wide burned into the ground. He held up the queen’s token between them. A scrap of emerald velvet, shimmering with sunbeams, a portent of the spring to come. Then he turned to the queen herself for the signal.

Shrike didn’t bother glancing back at her bower.

She gave her sign regardless, for the herald dropped the token and leapt backwards out of the fray as it fluttered to the ground.

The moment the merest corner touched the dead grass, the peal of metal against metal rang out through the cold air as the Holly King unsheathed his longsword.

Shrike did the same with his arming sword an instant after. He had time to do little else before the first blow fell from the Holly King’s blade and forced him to dive to the side. The blade sang as it cleaved the air by his head.

In its wake there came a sharp sting in the tip of Shrike’s ear. Something cold trickled down its length.

First blood.

The crowd roared in approval.

~

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Oak King Holly King audiobook update!

Thrilled to announce that Gary Furlong will narrate the Oak King Holly King audiobook!

If you’re a queer romance audiobook enthusiast you may recognize him from…

  • The Secret Casebook of Simon Feximal by KJ Charles
  • The Ruin of a Rake by Cat Sebastian
  • The Soldier’s Scoundrel by Cat Sebastian
  • The Lawrence Browne Affair by Cat Sebastian

Keep a weather eye on the horizon for the Kickstarter in January to preorder your copy! Audiobook release anticipated for June 21st 2024.

Queer Audiobook Seeking Narrator!

The hour has arrived to turn Oak King Holly King into an audiobook – and I need YOUR help to find its voice!

Oak King Holly King is a gay Victorian fantasy romance between a fae warrior and a mortal clerk. It has high heat and high adventure to the tune of 150k words.

Ever since its release, readers have demanded an audiobook version. To that end I’m now seeking…

  • male narrator
  • well-hydrated
  • capable of British accents beyond RP (Northern accents particularly sought!)

This is a PAID gig! Standard industry rates to be crowdfunded through preorders on Kickstarter. The Kickstarter campaign is planned for January or February of 2024. If possible I’d like to have the audiobook itself ready for release by June 21st 2024. Regardless of whether the Kickstarter campaign succeeds or fails, you will be paid in full up front to record narration for the Kickstarter video (explaining the project, why it needs funding, etc.) and the first chapter of the book to use as a sample for the Kickstarter page. If the Kickstarter campaign fails, the audiobook will not go into production.

Auditions are open now through November 30th.

Please email nothwellsebastian@gmail dot com for the audition script.

And as always, thank you for reading!

Sunday Snippet, 4.16.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance, Oak King Holly King – available now wherever fine books are found!

~

Butcher cleared his throat and held out his left hand. Dark lines wore through his weathered palm like tree-rings, and his long fingers bore more than a few calluses. It looked more like a sailor or farmer’s hand than the hand of a thespian or an aristocratic eccentric. “Tonight I join the Wild Hunt to slay the beast that has devoured the children of the Court of Moons. If you will venture out with me, I will show you that all I spake of rings true.”

This, then, was the trick. No shell hidden beneath a cup or ha’penny pulled from behind an ear. Just a fairy tale to lure Wren out of the city. To what end, he couldn’t fathom.

Yet even as his rational mind supposed that such an adventure could only end in mugging or murder, his Romantic soul stretched its withered wings and soared at the notion of leaving the suffocating fog of Staple Inn behind to venture out into the wilderness beneath the full moon.

Furthermore, if he did end up murdered, it meant he’d never have to copy out another account-book again. And if he must end in murder, Wren supposed he’d rather have a strapping specimen like Butcher slide the knife into his heart.

~

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Sunday Snippet, 4.9.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance collection, Tales from Blackthorn Briar, a sequel to Oak King Holly King featuring hurt/comfort and many happily-ever-afters – available wherever fine books are found!

~

“I’m sorry,” said Wren as their lips parted.

Shrike furrowed his brow. “What for?”

“It’s my fault you lost your chance at the white hart.”

Shrike continued staring at him for another moment or two. Then his hand came up to brush Wren’s hair off his brow and trail down his cheek in a tender caress.

“I did almost lose my heart,” Shrike murmured. “But he is found again, and reawakened, and now all is well.”

~

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Sunday Snippet, 4.2.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance, Oak King Holly King – available now wherever fine books are found!

~

“Larkin had fled across the countryside,” Shrike went on. “More concerned with the knights gaining on him than the path ahead, he fell through a fairy ring. He stumbled through the forest—he knew not for how long—until he heard a child wailing and followed the sound until he stumbled upon me. I remember I had fallen out down from the tree. The other fledglings had pushed me out of the nest.”

“The other fledglings?” Wren interrupted.

“Aye,” said Shrike, confused by Wren’s confusion.

Wren hesitated, not wishing to offend, before he ventured what felt like the obvious question. “Were you born a bird?”

Much to Wren’s relief, Shrike didn’t appear offended. Merely befuddled. “No.”

“But you were born in a nest,” said Wren. When Shrike confirmed this with a nod, Wren added, “From an egg?”

“Aye,” Shrike said as if no one had ever questioned it before.

Wren supposed such circumstances were common in the fae realms. That conclusion didn’t prevent his mind from reeling. “Do all fae come from eggs?”

“Some do. Others grow in flower buds, or on the under-sides of leaves, or beneath toadstools, or in hollow logs—or sometimes in bonfires or particularly sooty chimneys. And,” Shrike added with a sceptical twist of his mouth, “some are born from other fae in the same manner kits come from vixens, or a fawn comes from a doe.”

“Or as human babes come from human mothers,” said Wren.

Shrike’s eyes widened with dawning horror.

~

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Sunday Snippet, 3.26.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance, Oak King Holly King – available now wherever fine books are found!

~

In the moonlight, and without his hood, Wren could see Butcher’s ears quite clearly. Now there was no mistaking them for waxwork. He could see, as well, the black woollen tunic Butcher wore and how it clung to his muscular frame, tied off with a belted leather gyrdel at the waist and hanging down not much farther than that. Nothing covered Butcher’s thighs save medieval hose, likewise black, and his black cavalier boots came up to his knees; a motley assortment of costuming eras in a monochromatic assembly.

Wren shut his mouth but kept on staring in wide-eyed wonder at his new surroundings. He’d never seen so many stars in his life. Had seen none, in fact, since he’d moved to London. The silence was new to him as well. Moreso than the muffled angles of Staple Inn, the forest had no wagons rattling endlessly over cobblestones, no people shouting, no bells ringing, none of the millions of incidental human sounds that tumbled all on top of each other every minute in the city. Just the rustling of pine needles in the wind.

Then he heard it.

An eerie sound, a howl that began low and swooped upward to end in a triumphant blast that echoed throughout the forest as if from miles off. A hunting horn.

Butcher took hold of the stag’s antlers and dug his knees into its flanks. The stag leapt off once more, darting to and fro between the trees at harrowing speed, along no path Wren could perceive. He clung to Butcher’s waist, his chest flush with Butcher’s spine, the closest embrace he’d known in more years than he cared to count.

~

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