Excerpt from THE SHROUDED QUEEN by Ashley Tropea:
My rescuer stood in front of me protectively, possessively, and snarled.
Bain glared but obediently ambled off, disappearing back into the dark.
Leaving me alone with my rescuer.
This bear was somehow larger than the first, its shoulders reaching much higher than my head. It turned slowly, yellow eyes locking on my still-shaking form, the fur on its neck blue. Without breaking eye contact, it rose up on its hind legs and shifted.
In the next breath, Keir stood in front of me, trousers tattered and bare chest heaving. His tan skin glistened with sweat under the light of the stars, and despite the pain lancing through me, my eyes ate up the sight of him, the immense strength and power that radiated off him. His large biceps flexed as he pushed his long braid over his muscled shoulder, veins cording his forearms like vines, and his massive chest rose and fell with each jagged inhale.
My own breath hitched as my gaze lowered. Above the rows of strong abs, huge white scars slashed along his rib cage, and bone peered out through the flesh, stark against his skin. Not a fresh wound. Not even a few days old. The puckering of skin around the exposed bone looked like the scars on my back, on my chest. Old. Smoothed by time.
We all have scars. That was what he’d said this afternoon after I’d shown him my X. But these were not just scars. Incredulously—impossibly—he’d healed with bone bared. Gods, the agony he must feel every hour of every day . . .
He cocked his head and approached. Stalked closer, until he was mere inches in front of me. His nostrils flared as he took in my scent, a piercing odor of fear and pain, I was sure. I kept my eyes trained on his torn chest.
Then he reached up and smoothed a thumb under my eye, wiping away my tears. The touch was so gentle, so unexpected, my gaze drew up to his.
Keir’s eyes were suns. Scorching as he looked at me. “I told you not to come tonight,” he rasped, voice more guttural than usual, like the night in Amunet’s room, caught between beast and man.
I said nothing. He might have just saved me, but the way his eyes raked over me, I thought it might have only been so he could devour me himself.
And then he moved. Circled me. Every step that of a predator.
I held my injured arms close to my sides and kept perfectly still.
He paused behind me, so close his inhuman body heat seeped into my back, chasing away much of the night’s chill. From the corner of my eye, I watched his hand lift to my shoulder—an entirely human hand, I marked gratefully. Slowly, he pulled my nightdress’s strap to the side, revealing my torn shoulder, and I winced. “You’re hurt,” he murmured.
There was something in his voice, something I’d never heard before, and I chanced a look back.
He stared ahead, into the night. The kohl that encircled his eyes and crawled up his forehead made his gaze look murderous, but it wasn’t for me. It was for Bain. He almost looked like he’d tear off into the dark after him.
Then his eyes dipped back down, and his expression changed. The anger faded away, replaced by curiosity. Like my shoulder held the answer to a question he knew he shouldn’t ponder, that he fought with every shred of willpower. A war waging in his mind.
A war he lost as he lowered his head to my skin and inhaled deeply, just as he’d done to my runes a few days ago.
Run, the rational part of my mind urged. Get back to the longhouse or to Milena.
But I couldn’t. I could only watch as Keir’s eyes guttered, so dark there was almost no trace of their bright gold. His hand hovered beside my arm a moment before drifting down again, stroking me without so much as touching me. A shiver racked my body, though I was anything but cold. In fact, my skin felt flushed, and a deep heat was curling low.
“That scent . . .” he rumbled, his nose skimming against the curve of my neck, making goose bumps pucker over every inch of my flesh. “Gods, that scent . . .”
Keir didn’t touch me, barely even allowed his face to graze mine, but I felt the phantom brush of his lips against the back of my neck, and my breath stuttered, the earthy spice of a mulberry tree filling my nose. Keir chuckled, a rough purr that tightened my insides. “Always so scared, aren’t you, little rabbit?” he whispered.
“I—I’m not scared of you.”
He inhaled again, and another deep laugh rolled out of him. “I suppose you’re not.” He lifted his head, and his bottom lip accidentally brushed the shell of my ear. I felt the touch all the way down to the tips of my toes and bit my lip, that swirling heat unfurling entirely, filling me with a deep pulsing want. Another rumble of a laugh. “No, you’re not scared at all, are you. The scent of fear is nowhere near as tempting as this.”
“Tempting as wha—” I turned to face him, but his hands clamped down on my hips.
“Don’t,” he said sharply. I heard him swallow, his fingers flexing against my sides as he struggled for control, kneading my flesh. “Don’t move.” Haggard breathing stirred the tips of my hair.
“Why?” I asked, voice little more than a whisper.
He didn’t say anything for a long time. The skin under his unforgiving grip throbbed, a sensation that spread through my whole body. Keir hated me and I hated him. Yet there was an unmistakable heat growing between my legs, anticipation beating in my veins.
Keir’s right hand released its grip on my hip to slide to my stomach. He applied just enough pressure to ease me back a single step, and then our bodies were flush. Suddenly, my heart was trying to beat its way out of my rib cage. Keir’s body was a furnace. His chest expanded against my shoulder blades with each unsteady inhale, restless energy emanating from him in waves, like he was one second away from pouncing. He ducked his head to speak in my ear. “Because,” he finally said, breath hot on my neck, “you’re already hurt, and I don’t want to make it worse.”
THE SHROUDED QUEEN. Copyright © 2026 by Ashley Tropea. All rights reserved.
In the first book in this romantasy duology inspired by ancient Egyptian mythology, a slave and a princess switch places during an enemy attack, igniting parallel journeys of love and survival.
As a slave to the Ashoran royals, Samira has always known she was expendable. So when the vicious Kaldfolk attack the palace, she is ready to die as a decoy for her princess. But when she’s captured instead, she’s forced to impersonate the princess and survive through brutal trials designed to awaken her divine powers—all under the watch of her dangerously intriguing, shape-shifting captor.
Amunet Khada—now queen of Ashorah—is on the run following the king’s death. With only her guard-with-benefits, Jasim, by her side, she must evade treacherous allies while racing to contact her father—the god of the underworld—before her long-promised powers slip beyond reach.
While Amunet embarks on a quest through the wastelands, Samira learns the true reason for the attack and unlocks secrets in her past that could change everything. And with threats growing on all sides, Samira and Amunet must decide...who can they trust?
Romance Paranormal [ Gallery Books, On Sale: June 16, 2026, Trade Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9781668096215 / eISBN: 9781668096222 ]
Born and raised in Los Angeles, Ashley Tropea comes from an Egyptian-Italian family and has been writing since she was eleven. She studied writing for TV at Loyola Marymount University, where she graduated with a BA in screenwriting in 2021 and won the Industry Award for one of her pilot screenplays. When she’s not writing, you can usually find her curled up with a book, struggling to learn the piano, or obsessively playing Baldur’s Gate 3. The Shrouded Queen is her romantasy debut.
No comments posted.
© 2003-2026