ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR! - Publishers Weekly
"Simultaneously heart-pounding and hilarious, Robyn Schneider gives us a veritable romp through Camelot fueled by adventure and romance."
—Kerri Maniscalco, #1 NYT bestselling author of The Kingdom of the Wicked and Stalking Jack the Ripper
Channeling the modern humor of The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue, bestselling author Robyn Schneider creates a Camelot that becomes the ultimate teen rom-com hotspot in this ultra-fresh take on the Arthurian legend.
Welcome to the great kingdom of Camelot! Prince Arthur’s a depressed botanist who would rather marry a library than a princess, Lancelot’s been demoted to castle guard after a terrible lie, and Emry Merlin has arrived at the castle disguised as her twin brother since girls can’t practice magic.
Life at court is full of scandals, lies, and backstabbing courtiers, so what’s a casually bisexual teen wizard masquerading as a boy to do? Other than fall for the handsome prince, stir up trouble with the foppish Lord Gawain, and offend the prissy Princess Guinevere.
When the truth comes out with disastrous consequences, Emry has to decide whether she'll risk everything for the boy she loves, or give up her potential to become the greatest wizard Camelot has ever known.
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Robyn Schneider grew up in Southern California, where she spent her childhood reading fantasy novels and searching for secret passages. She’s a graduate of Columbia University, where she studied creative writing, and the University of Pennsylvania Perelman School of Medicine, where she earned a Masters of Bioethics. Robyn is the bestselling author of The Beginning of Everything, Extraordinary Means, Invisible Ghosts, and You Don’t Live Here. Her work is available across the world in over a dozen languages. She lives in Los Angeles with her TV producer husband, their tiny puppy, and far too many books.
Everything was going to be fine.
Emry Merlin staggered out the back door of the theater and gulped down the warm summer air. It wasn’t much cooler outside than backstage, but at least it didn’t stink of unwashed armpits. She hunched forward, hands on her knees, willing her heart to stop pounding.
There was no reason to be nervous. She’d filled in for a missing player plenty of times before. Besides, Pell’s was a small part. A few lines, a skirmish of swords, a quick death halfway through the first act. And it was only the town theater—it wasn’t as though they were performing for their patron, the Earl of Brocelande, at his manor.
And yet, it was dangerous. There was nothing wrong with employing a girl to help with the special effects—so long as Emry stayed backstage. But the theater troupe would be in trouble if anyone discovered she was also their understudy.
At eighteen, she was tall and skinny enough to play a boy’s part, provided she flattened her chest and tucked her long black hair under a cap. Thankfully, most people assumed it was her twin brother onstage, a mistake Emmett was all too willing to encourage—especially when the mistaken party was a pretty girl.
A bead of sweat ran down her temple, and Emry wiped it away with the back of her hand. It was a scorching afternoon in June, and any sensible person would be indoors, wearing as few layers of clothing as possible.
Unfortunately, Emry wasn’t sensible.
“Smart as spades, but foolish as hearts,” her father used to say. Whenever he’d turn up, which wasn’t often, he’d give Emry a pretty ribbon for her hair and take Emmett out to the woods to learn magic. Emry found this arrangement enormously unfair, and campaigned to be included.
When Father refused, Emry made her twin teach her everything he’d learned. The next time their father had shown up, Emry had tucked her hair under a cap and switched places with her brother. Their father quickly realized he had the wrong twin, because Emry learned twice as fast.
She was included in the lessons from then on, although Father never failed to remind her that she was learning things she could never use, which was both impractical and foolish.
Emry didn’t care. She just wanted a chance to prove herself before being told no. She couldn’t help being a girl any more than she could help having magic, but she’d be damned if she sat home with a box of hair ribbons, letting boys have all the adventures.
It was the same with the theater. At sixteen, she’d bullied the property master into letting her handle their special effects. Flammable powders and pig’s blood were expensive, messy, and no longer necessary. Not if he hired her to conjure illusions of fire and blood. Even better, illusions wouldn’t need to be scrubbed out of the costumes between performances. Marion, the dresser, had insisted her father hire Emry immediately, and the two girls had become fast friends. When one of the players was struck ill, it was Marion who had pointed out that Emry would fit into his costume, and Emry who had promptly lowered her voice and reeled off his dialogue with a devilish grin.
Screw being sensible, Emry thought. Being trouble is so much more fun.
Still, she could have done without Pell’s coat, which was not only far too warm, but stunk of flop sweat.
That, at least, was something she could fix.
Emry closed her eyes and focused. Rosemary, she decided. With a hint of lemon. She didn’t have her wand, but no matter. She pictured the wretched coat, mentally issuing the command that would fix it: Extergio.
Emry gave the coat a tentative sniff. Much better. Everything was very nearly perfect—except for the play itself, which stunk even worse than the backstage.
Ronda and the Elf King. It was supposed to be a comedy, but really, the whole thing was a tragedy. Perhaps one day the troupe would have license to perform in the city, where the latest playwrights supplied better fare. But until then, the earl demanded comedy, and so long as he footed the bill, comedy he would get.
She muttered Pell’s lines, which didn’t take long, and walked through the choreography for the sword fight. She was going over the lines again when a royal messenger rode up the lane.
Knights and their squires passed through Brocelande more and more these days, and a messenger was nothing too out of the ordinary. The town was half a day’s ride from London, with a bustling market and a farrier who knew his way around a horseshoe.
The king’s messenger was sunburnt and dusty, and his horse was lathered with sweat, but his crimson livery blazed in the hot sun. The golden wyvern on his chest shone so brightly that it had to be made from the precious metal itself.
Emry stared down at her own costume, threadbare with a sloppy yellow stencil of a rising sun. It would look impressive enough onstage. The theater held its own sort of magic, which was, perhaps, why she was so drawn to it.
She glanced back at the royal messenger, expecting him to urge his horse down the hill to the inn, or up the lane to Brocelande Hall. Instead, he slowed outside the bakery, leaning down to ask a question of the baker’s boy. With only a moment’s hesitation, the boy pointed a plump and sticky finger toward the theater—no, not toward the theater, toward Emry.
Well, this isn’t good.
She pulled the brim of her cap low across her face, trying to quell her nerves as the royal messenger approached.
“Afternoon, good sir,” he called, sliding down from his horse.
Emry inclined her head in response.
“I’m looking for Master Merlin,” said the messenger.
“My father?” Emry frowned. “You’re about eight years too late.”
Seven years, ten months, and three days, actually. Father had left exactly as he always did, slipping away in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye. Except he’d never returned. Not to Brocelande, or to Castle Camelot, or to anywhere else.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m looking for his son.” The messenger removed a scroll from his belt and held it toward Emry. “Master Emmett Merlin, His Majesty King Uther Pendragon of Camelot requires your presence at court.”
Oh no.
Emry stared at the scroll, trying not to panic. The messenger thought she was her brother! And she didn’t dare confess the truth now. Not while she stood outside the theater in a costume, for god’s sake. She couldn’t betray the performance troupe, especially to an agent of the king.
With a trembling hand, Emry reached out and accepted the parchment, bowing deeply. “Thank you, sir,” she murmured, pitching her voice low. “It’s an honor to receive a summons from the king.”
“His Majesty will expect you two days hence.” The messenger wheeled his horse around and clattered across the courtyard before Emry could say another word.
“Why would a royal messenger give this to you?”...
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