This February binge-read the award-winning time travel romance with the first three books of [Stolen] Series until book 4 is out.
Available exclusively at Amazon.
Books in Order:
Once Upon A [Hidden] Time – Book 4 of [Stolen] Series (Coming Soon!)
Once Upon A [Chosen] Time – Book 5 of [Stolen] Series (Coming Soon!)
All her life, Myra Farrow has been obsessed with medieval castles—and the kings and princes who once inhabited them. Now, wealthy videogame designer Steve Bernard wants her to model for a princess character in his new game. Myra can’t resist his offer, especially when she learns that Steve plans to film inside the mysterious Hue Castle—a cursed, barren, colorless place forbidden to visitors for centuries. But unknown to Myra, her soul is bound to Hue Castle by blood and sorcery. When she enters its doors, she awakens dark powers that will reach through time—stealing her past, torturing her present, and rewriting her future.
Edward Hue, the last of the Hue royal bloodline, has never stood in the sunshine or held a living flower. Cursed from birth to live in darkness and bring death to all he touches, he is at the mercy of his cruel, tyrannical father, who will not rest until he shatters Edward’s soul and makes his son into a diabolical copy of himself. Edward’s one hope is the mysterious woman who haunts his dreams—who will either break his curse and bring him out of the darkness, or destroy him utterly.
For Myra and Edward, past and future collide in a tale of love, obsession, betrayal, and the hope for redemption.
Enjoy the first three books of time travel romance, set in modern-day and fifteenth-century England, at Hue Castle, surrounded by curses, intrigue and deception.
EXCERPTS FROM ONCE UPON A [HIDDEN] TIME (BOOK 4):
“One cannot love with the eyes alone.”I heard a man speaking in French, his voice echoing in my paradise. “What crime, then, have my eyes committed, if their glance but follows my desire?” I whipped my head around, finding a man standing a few paces away, flashing me a mysterious smile that he may have borrowed from the pages of one of the poems he just quoted. He looked fit, his black hose and doublet adhering to his physique like a silk pelt. A silver chain embedded with garnets was draped across his chest. I realised he was quoting Chrétien de Troyes’ words, a French poet who had died a few years ago. From his accent, I was unable to figure out if he was an Englishman or a Frenchman, but his French was very fluent.
I tried to read his mind, but failed to reach his soul. Either there was too much darkness inside him that my powers failed, or there was too much light in him that it turned me blind. But for the first time, my powers were doused.
“What is their fault and what their sin?” His impenetrable aquiline gaze rested on mine. “Ought I to blame them, then?”
We were shielded by the evening light and that despondent silence that brings strangers together, and I felt daring enough to say anything that came to my head, even though it might be for the first and last time. I stood up from the rock I was perched on, chin high, and answered back with Troyes’ words. “Who, then, should be blamed?”
He gave me a kind smile, rounding me, entrapping me in my own paradise.
“Surely myself, who have them in control,” he answered, continuing Troyes’ words. To my surprise, he knelt down on his knees, his gaze never leaving mine. His grey eyes had the same colour as mine, but with more depth that could drown me. “My eye glances at nothing unless it gives my heart delight.” He pulled out his sword from its sheath. I took a step back, preparing myself for danger, but he laid the sword at my feet, holding on to my stare.
“Who are you?” I composed myself.
The Queen of England shouldn’t be afraid of a man trying to woo her in the middle of a forest. I usually travelled alone, but for the first time, I realised I should have brought guards with me.
“An ordinary man with a poetic heart,” he answered, his eyes glittering brightly.
I tried studying him for a while again, trying harder to read his mind and dive into his soul, but dammit, my powers utterly failed. Should I be afraid of this…nothingness?
“Rise,” I ordered.
He obeyed me like a slave, but his look was controlling me, gripping me.
“A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t be wandering around in the forest alone,” he commented.
I scoffed, folding my arms. He certainly didn’t know who I was, did he?
“I don’t need anyone to guard me,” I said, raising my chin high. “I can take care of myself.”
“What about the matters of the heart?” He dared to take a step closer, close enough to reach out for my hand, holding it firmly in his. “Is there anyone to guard your heart?”
I stood speechless, my hand foolishly given away, my heart slipping. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“Certainly not Soredamors,” he smirked, “nor am I Alexander.” It took me a moment to fathom that he was still talking about the same poem Cliges by Chrétien de Troyes. Part of me was Soredamors, but before I could say it aloud, he continued, “This maiden was scornful of love.” He kissed my knuckles, daring me to defy him, but I couldn’t. “For she had never heard of any man whom she would deign to love.”
For a moment, I forgot myself, and I was submerged once more in his words—the narrative, discovering sonnets and turns of phrase that flowed like musical motifs.
“Whatever might be his beauty, prowess, lordship, or birth.”
He came closer, pulling me into his embrace—almost. My mind and body were losing all their powers. I licked my lips, yearning for more of him like a thirsty Bedouin wandering in a desert.
“And yet the damsel was so charming and fair that she might fitly have learned of love,” he continued, tucking my hair behind my ear.
No one had spoken to me this way. These weren’t even his words, but the way in which he recited Troyes’ words, I felt like we were truly Alexander and Soredamors. But I didn’t want to succumb into sadness later on when Alexander departed from this world.
“If it had pleased her to lend a willing ear…” He kissed my temple, a mere touch that set my body on fire. “But she would never give a thought to love.”
He smiled again, his eyes singing so many sonnets—it made my soul dance with joy. My insides, the nippy air, the trees and the river, the sky and the sun—they all softened and bled together, warmed and muted, running like wet paint on a canvas.
By then, I was hopelessly dumbstruck, at the mercy of this creature whose words and charms I had neither means nor desire to resist. In his warm embrace, I was losing my powers of showing powers to him because I could neither read his mind nor see our future. In our case, he was a magician, giving me a heady potent to drink—he was a wizard, casting a spell on me—he was the ruler, invading my heart. I was nothing but an ordinary girl who was daring to take a risk.
He covered my eyes with his palm, which forced me to close them. He let my hand drop as I heard him stepping away, but even when his hand left my face, I didn’t dare to open my eyes to check. I wanted to know why and how his distance suddenly gave me cold shivers, but his presence gave me so much warmth.
“Now she grows pale and trembles,” he said, his voice fading, “and in spite of herself must succumb to Love.”
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