The elven kingdom of Tírnéth, weakened by civil war, is unable to ward off the threat posed by the mortal men of Carransii. For the first time in recorded history, foreign feet scale the Aghadh Mountains and tread elven land in pursuit of the most coveted thing in the world:
The magic of the Misty Bog.
Lying to the north of Tírnéth and governed by the Seelie Queen, it is a domain even elves are forbidden from entering. Even so, Princess Eimhir and her younger sisters make the journey to its border at the behest of her father, King Lorcán, in a desperate bid to preserve his legacy as the enemy closes in from the south.
He entrusts his daughters to the care of his enigmatic Warden of the North, who holds her lonely vigil in the Grey Tower of the Wall of Devin.
But in these days of war, Eimhir refuses to be passive. She will not be a damsel in distress awaiting the cold kiss of her enemy's blade. With her mind honed by the cutthroat politics of the royal court, she wields it like a weapon, but can she maintain her ruthlessness through the burgeoning feelings she holds for her protector?
Content warning: violence, gore, explicit sexual content, mentions and depictions of death, grief, emotional manipulation/abuse, suicidal ideation, and indoctrination.
×Mature×
> She died a jobless anime binge-watcher. She woke up a chubby, unwanted beast bride.
Odette didn't ask for a second life-especially not in the body of a despised gray swan with five drop-dead-gorgeous beastmen husbands who can't even look her in the eye. Forgotten by her tribe, accused of crimes she didn't commit, and left to drown by the very men who vowed to protect her... it should've ended there.
But fate-no, a shady cosmic system-had other plans.
Armed with a cheat-like storage space, a secondhand body, and five cold marks on her hand proving none of her husbands ever claimed her, Odette decides it's time to rewrite this beastly romance into her own personal revenge story.
Who needs loyalty when she can hoard hotter husbands? Who needs love when she can live deliciously petty?
Let the ex-husbands regret. Let the new suitors line up. And let the Swan Queen rise-feathers, fat rolls, and all.