Enjoy a never-before-read scene from the upcoming Ever Seas novel, ‘The Stolen Crown’:

“What in the hells are you doing?”

I glimpsed over my shoulder, careful not to lose my grip on the tree branch. Tait stood at the base of the slender tree, dark hair tousled, a tangle of horror and annoyance painted on his face.

Pale morning sun had long ago overtaken the sky. Air in this corner of the far seas was heavier and wetter than in the Ever Kingdom. My hair was sticky on my brow, and I’d tied the hem of my chemise in a knot between my thighs to make the climb up the trunk simpler.

Sleep was an evasive creature. The whole of the night was spent trying to find a place that did not jab a stone into my spine. But the sea wind wailed outside our little cavern and all I could do was fret over another monstrous storm drowning us in our sleep.

Tait, on the other hand, hardly moved.

In my mind there was little sense in wasting time sitting about, worrying. The sooner we got off this damn isle, the sooner I’d be back to the comforts of the Royal City, laughing with Livia, and kept at a more desired distance from my castaway companion.

The man was a grumbling, unlikeable sort, so naturally it was a bit of conundrum why I could not help but smile over my shoulder at the sight of him.

“These trees have a strange sort of moss, see it hanging there like weaver webs?” I used my chin to gesture at a strand. “It’s coarse, almost like a husk. I would bet my life that if we braid it, we could—”

“Get. Your ass. Down.”

Rude. “Did you not hear me? We could use it as rope.”

“I bleeding heard you, Mira.” Tait pressed a palm to the tree, looking like he might begin his own climb. “Get down.”

“No, I’m already here.” I reached for the upper branch again and called over my shoulder. “But I do love how you say my name.”

Mumbled words—no doubt several curses—slid over his tongue. “You’re going to break your neck.”

“And if you go on without a smile, your face will be permanently carved in a scowl. I suppose we all must gauge the risks in our own lives.”

“Bleeding, stubborn woman. Get down.”

“You’ll need to come up here and make me.” I glanced down the tree once more and winked as salaciously as possible. “Can’t say I’d protest.”

His honey red eyes burned like a distant flame. It was delightsome to aggravate Tait Heartwalker. One day he was going to learn the more he let on that I carved under his skin, the more I taunted him. It would be a dreary day, indeed. For the taunts would not be nearly as satisfying.

“It is too high,” he said. “And the branches are too narrow. One slip and you’re gone.”

I rolled my eyes. “There are times”—I grunted and pulled myself one branch higher— “when your concern is flattering. Now, however, you are free to cease treating me like an incompetent little at any time. The sooner the better.”

“The branches are too thin!”

I glared at him. “This is potential rope we need. My idea has merit.”

“I never said it didn’t.” His jaw worked. “But come back down and let me do it.”

“No.” I blinked, a sting of emotion burned behind my eyes. Gods, how grateful I was Tait would not be able to see from such a distance.

I was doing this. I could do this. Most people in my life complimented me for my bright countenance, my laughter, my sweetness. It was no secret to me most thought of me as a dainty princess who took pleasure from silks and revels.

What the hells was wrong with all that? And who was to say enjoying brighter things in life meant I could not be of value in a battle, could not be of value in saving us from being stranded on some godsforsaken isle?

I returned to my climb.

Another curse rolled up the tree from below, and I ignored the scuff of his boots over sand, ignored the sound of Tait heaving himself into the branches after me. Let him follow. This was my plan, and I had the spine, the skill, to see it through.

Even if he did not see me as anything more than some whimpering female.

As if to prove my thoughts, Tait freed a grumble of annoyance. “You’re being a bleeding fool, trying to prove something you’ve no damn business proving. Now, sit still and wait for me.”

“Do not even try it, Hearttalker. I’ve now determined I shall thrash and scream should you touch me. Then, if ever I see the Ever King again, I’ll inform him that you caused me a great deal of distress.” I peered over my shoulder again. “I’ll cry to Livie, I swear I will.”

Tait’s eyes flashed in a red fury that might’ve caused a great deal of delight if I was not so horridly high off the ground.

His lip curled. “You think your threat holds more power than the risk of a flighty glamour fae princess with a broken neck?”

Gods, the man was infuriating. Flighty? That was all he saw when he looked at me, some brainless woman whose most trying decision to make was what shade of ribbon would don my gowns.

I shook my head and turned away from him, a familiar determination—no, a need—to prove I was more than he believed cinched in my chest.

My fingers curled around a strand of moss. Without a glance back, I tossed it over my shoulder, snickering softly when Tait spluttered. More moss went flying. I drifted to the next branch. Tait tried once more to call me back. I went on ignoring him.

For a moment, I thought he might’ve conceded and admitted I was capable of much more than he thought. Until I reached for the next branch.

There is something terrifying when time seemed to slow, when a voice somewhere in the mind screamed warnings of grave danger. As though I was no longer part of myself, I recalled how the branch split. Nearly immediately. I recalled the force of the slip pulling me backward, of my hands flailing and seeking purchase on anything sturdier than air.

I fell.

Another limb struck my ribs. My wrist twisted when I made a sloppy reach for a knot on the tree. I knew I screamed, but the thickness of the morning heat blotted it out. That, or the rush of panic.

A strong branch caught me around the waist. No. It gave too much and I slipped, only to be caught again around my sore wrist.

There was no branch at all. Tait tried to catch me from where he clung to the tree. Damn sod had thought it through enough to use his thick leather belt as a harness around his own waist. Another was draped over his shoulder. Doubtless, he’d been climbing up to force me to use it.

Rather sweet of him.

In the next breath, I slammed back into the focus of the moment. My wrist screamed in a fiery agony. My legs flailed over the ground.

Tait’s face was red as he clung to my wrist, trying to heave me upward. I kicked my legs, pleading with Tait not to let me go. All at once, I was not the confident woman I always tried to be.

What a fraud I truly was, always terrified, always desperate to prove otherwise. It led to this sort of bullheaded, feckless folly. Now, if Tait lost his grip on me, as he said, I would break my royal neck.

“Mira, look at me. Look up.”

Somehow through the fear, I blinked up at him. Stern as always, only now his stoicism served as a ballast to which I could cling.

“I’m going to swing you slightly.” Tait’s voice was firm and low. It was steady. “There’s a lower branch where you can put your feet. Then we’ll climb down. Together.”

Mira and Tait’s story, ‘The Stolen Crown’ will be published Fall 2026.