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The False Princess
The False Princess is a fantasy novel that blends court politics, young love, and an undercurrent of danger as Princess Sitnalta prepares for her future role as queen. The story opens with old secrets resurfacing, threats stirring in the shadows, and multiple characters navigating loyalty, family, and identity. What begins as an engagement celebration quickly fractures when Sitnalta becomes the target of a calculated assault, and the emotional fallout sends her, her loved ones, and the kingdom into far more complicated territory.
Reading it felt like slipping back into a classic fantasy world where kingdoms matter, alliances matter, and every gesture carries weight. What pulled me in most wasn’t the magic or intrigue, but the relationships. Sitnalta’s bond with Navor is warm and earnest, and the moments between Sitnalta and Aud feel tender in a way that makes the palace feel like an actual home instead of a backdrop. Gwendolyn and Ipsinki add another thread about love, choice, and the quiet pressure of tradition.
The writing itself is straightforward and emotional. Sometimes a little dramatic, sometimes soft, but always sincere. And when the darker moment arrives on the balcony, the tone drops hard and fast, which honestly worked. It’s jarring in the way those moments are supposed to be. The author gives Sitnalta space to feel shaken, ashamed, angry, and ultimately supported, and those scenes were some of the strongest in the book.
As I read, I kept noticing how much attention the author gives to interior feelings. Characters think, hesitate, second-guess, explain themselves, and comfort one another. The pacing stretches at times because of this, but in a story that centers on identity and stepping into power, I didn’t mind lingering in people’s heads. What surprised me most is how grounded the emotional beats feel inside a fairy tale–like setting. There are silk gowns and royal balls, but also conversations about consent, reputation, and the burden of leadership. Even the villain, Sparrow, isn’t painted with subtle strokes, yet his cruelty serves as a sharp contrast to the compassion in the rest of the cast. The book keeps circling back to the idea that strength isn’t loud. Sometimes it’s in telling the truth. Sometimes it’s in letting others help you.
The False Princess is a good fit for readers who enjoy character-driven fantasy, especially those who like royal intrigue mixed with heartfelt relationships and themes of resilience. It’s very much a fantasy novel at its core, but one that leans into emotional honesty more than magic or battles. If you appreciate stories about young women finding their voice within demanding worlds, this one will speak to you.
Pages: 184 | ISBN : 978-1945502750
The City of Arches
The City of Arches follows Princess Sitnalta as she uncovers a long-hidden letter, one that reveals the past of her mother, Learsi, whose own journey from starving street thief to reluctant partner of the wizard Kralc becomes the heart of the book. It’s a fantasy novel through and through, built on quests, hidden cities, magic, danger, and old wounds, yet it moves with a personal focus that makes the stakes feel close to the skin.
I found myself reacting less to the grand fantasy quest and more to the author’s choices in shaping her characters. Learsi’s early chapters hit me hardest. Her hunger, the cold stone under her bare feet, and the constant weighing of risk and survival felt vivid and relatable. Even her wary dance with Kralc, a man who can feed her, manipulate her, or save her depending on the moment, brought a tension that carried far beyond the tavern scene. The writing is straightforward and sincere. It doesn’t try to dazzle with flowery language, which I actually appreciated. The pace is steady, letting me sit with Learsi’s exhaustion, Kralc’s prickly solitude, and Sitnalta’s shock as she pieces together her mother’s past.
The fantasy elements are threaded in with a kind of quiet confidence. The legend of the City of Arches, for example, is both eerie and oddly beautiful: enchanted arches emitting a soothing song that masks the slow decay of a cursed people. I liked how the author lets the myth sit without over-explaining it. The emotional beats land more softly than dramatically, but they linger. Even the small moments, like Kralc awkwardly realizing he cannot knock on a deaf girl’s door or Learsi racing to shovel stew into her mouth, gave the book a grounded feel. Sometimes the dialogue is earnest, sometimes the plot steps into familiar fantasy rhythms, but those qualities made the story welcoming and easy to follow.
By the time I reached the later chapters, I felt as if the book was less about a magical quest and more about the way people try to rebuild trust after their world has broken apart. The stakes grow, of course, but the heart of the story stays with Learsi and her slow opening up to someone who might actually mean her well. I rooted for her, even when she second-guessed herself or snapped defensively. Her reactions felt real.
I’d say The City of Arches is best suited for readers who enjoy character-driven fantasy: people who like quests but care more about the companions on the road than the monsters in the woods. If you want something gentle yet still full of secrets, something that balances fairy-tale simplicity with emotional weight, then you’ll heartily enjoy this book.
Pages: 226 | ASIN : B0G46P9D3T
They’re not wizards. They’re not powerful.
The Hedgewitch’s Charm follows a struggling hedgewitch and a haunted duke as they confront a deadly, possibly deliberate plague, discovering that compassion and failure can be as powerful and as dangerous as magic itself. What inspired you to center the story on failure and helplessness?
I felt that this was an interesting starting point for the story. The idea of fighting against something so small, and so unknowable as a sickness, it’s something that’s universal and also something that everyone can identify with. So many heroes in stories profess to have all the answers, and all the power. It’s this attitude of “I’m Superman, of course I can save the day.” What happens if our heroes are small? What happens if they don’t know what to do? What happens if they’re so very human? For me, that was an interesting place to start the story. Ipsinki has been there from the beginning of the series, and he has known failure. He’s just a man, and Gwendolyn, the hedgewitch is just a woman. They’re not wizards. They’re not powerful. They’re just people who want to do some good; and there’s real power in that.
Gwendolyn’s magic feels intimate and exhausting. How did you shape her relationship with magic and its limits?
I write her as kind of the anti-Kralc. He’s this wizard who acts as if he knows all the answers, and he’s almost cocky, in a way, with his power. She’s someone whose affinity with the earth, and with this desire to heal, grants her these gifts. Her power is of a much more humble nature, and so, like anyone confronting a large scale problem, she has her limits, and she is acutely aware of them. Whatever magic she has is limited in scope by her calling. She has a true sense of what’s right, and what is necessary. It’s from this place that her power comes from, and she accepts her limits.
Ipsinki carries both political responsibility and personal grief. How did you balance those two sides of his character?
For me, it’s these traits that make him a good leader. He recognizes what’s at stake on a far more intimate level than many of the other characters in the book. Here is a man who, through his years as a soldier, and through his mother who owns an inn, has cultivated a real relationship with the people on an individual level. This is something that is truly lacking with the royal family, with the rest of the nobility. It’s this quality that makes all of this so painful for him, but also makes him the perfect person to help tackle this problem. With the others in charge, it’s sad, but the lives being lost are just numbers on a page. It’s all so abstract. With Ipsinki, it’s not that at all. It’s “Oh my god, you mean Sarah died? I just spoke with her yesterday.” It’s his desire to know the people, and his relationships that drive him, and make him good at his job.
Disease and fear play a role in the story. Were there real-world anxieties or experiences that influenced how you portrayed the plague?
In a way, yes. I believe that all writers draw on their lives to some degree when they write. Funnily enough, I came up with this idea before the pandemic. It’s something that I came up with with my friend, An Tran, when we were working Bath Salts. The idea of a disease used as a weapon was something so scary to me. Add some magic to it, and we have The Hedgewitch’s Charm. There’s something so intrinsically tense that comes from a spreading disease. How does one fight against germs? It’s an invisible enemy that you can’t really confront. Writing it was interesting, as the disease almost became a character in itself.
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A strange illness is sweeping through the kingdom of Colonodona bringing death and pain wherever it hits. Gwendolyn, a young hedge witch has made the startling discovery that the illness is one that has been created out of magic. Leaving her home, she makes the trip to the capitol to see the King. There, she is teamed up with the Duke Ipsinki and sent out to find the wizard responsible. As this is happening, the disease strike the capitol infecting Ipsinki’s mother, Aud, and Sitnalta. It is now a race against the clock. Along the way, Gwendolyn realizes that Ipsinki is unlike any other man she has met, while the Duke sees that there is more to life than paperwork and duty. Regaining his love for adventure, he sees that he has more of a choice in front of him than he first realized.
The Hedgewitch’s Charm
The Hedgewitch’s Charm is a fantasy novel that follows a spreading, deadly illness sweeping through Colonodona and the people who are desperate to stop it. We meet Gwendolyn, a young hedgewitch trying and failing to save those brought to her door, and Ipsinki, a duke haunted by the suffering of his people as he races to bring news of the mysterious plague to the king. Their paths eventually converge as both realize this sickness may not be natural at all, but something crafted with intent. The story blends magic, politics, and personal grief into a quest to uncover the living force behind the dying.
I kept pausing at moments where the writing leans into the rawness of helplessness, especially in scenes where Ipsinki stays at a dying friend’s bedside or when Gwendolyn works in suffocating heat, hoping for a miracle that never comes. The author’s choice to place us so close to the emotional burden of failure brings a kind of intimacy to the narrative. It hits harder than expected for a fantasy novel, which usually leans more on adventure than emotional weight. Here, the emotion is the adventure, and I found myself sinking into that more than the worldbuilding at times.
The ideas in the book feel grounded in very human fears: disease you can’t stop, the panic of not knowing the cause, and the sudden realization that the danger might not be random at all. When Gwendolyn senses the illness’s true nature, the tension spikes. It’s the moment where the genre shifts from comforting folk-magic fantasy into something more ominous, and the book seems to say: this world is lovely, yes, but it’s not safe. Still, the writing keeps a warmth to it. There’s grief, but also friendship; fear, but also stubborn hope. The rhythm of the storytelling reflects that. Some sentences snap quick like sparks. Others roll out slowly, the way a person talks when they’re trying to make sense of something that still hurts.
I think the book sits in that space between cozy fantasy and dark fantasy. It’s magic, mystery, and emotional stakes all woven together. I’d recommend The Hedgewitch’s Charm to readers who enjoy character-driven fantasy, especially those who like stories where magic comes with consequences and the heroes are driven less by glory and more by compassion. If you like fantasy that feels personal rather than epic, you’ll enjoy this one.
Pages: 221 | ASIN: B0G67H73RH
A Man Driven By Greed
The Kingdom Thief follows Princess Sitnalta as she races to undo a thief’s reality-warping wish, becoming the lone keeper of the truth in a world that no longer remembers who she really is. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
The Sitnalta Series finds itself focusing a lot on this coin- its origin, its powers, and the power of wishes. Through the first book, with Sitnalta’s relationship with the troll, Najort, we look into the consequences of wishes done with the right motivation, and by good people. For the sequel, I wanted to look at the reverse. Wilhelm is not Najort. He is not Sitnalta. He is a man driven by greed, and what would that look like, if he were to acquire the coin and make a wish.
Sitnalta and Navor’s relationship holds so much emotional weight. How did you approach balancing romance with the fast-paced plot?
For someone their age, the idea of a budding romance can be what drives a person. In a way, it is the plot. Navor wants to help Sitnalta, and Sitnalta wants her home back. This should be in balance with what is happening outside of their little bubble. For them at least, their feelings are just as important as magic, and politics, and stopping the mad man who has stolen a kingdom. When you look at the world through the lens of two young people and their feelings, one thing is never more important than the other. As a parent of teenagers, I’m surrounded by that on a daily basis, and that was my approach.
If you could expand one section of the story, give readers more time in any particular place or emotional moment, what would it be and why?
I would love to spend a lot more time in Navor’s head. He has a lot on his plate right now. Writing his dreams, his fears, and his hope for the future was a lot of fun, and I would love to have done a lot more of that.
What can readers expect in book three of the Sitnalta Series?
Oh, without giving too much away, I can say that we have tragedy, a very different type of romance, and so many questions about the past get answered. In a way, this is almost a prequel, but still very much Book Three. Sitnalta would not have been ready for these answers before now. I hope that wasn’t too cryptic.
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Princess Sitnalta has been living happily ever after with Queen Aud and King Gerald as her adoptive parents, enjoying the peace in her world. Her growing friendship with the mysterious Prince Navor leads her on a journey to visit his island kingdom. While there she receives the horrible news that her kingdom has been conquered and cruel King Wilhelm is responsible.
With King Gerald and Queen Aud imprisoned, Prince Navor and a secretive network of spies as her only allies, Princess Sitnalta feels lost and adrift. Nothing about Colonodona’s takeover seems right, and Sitnalta suspects magic may be to blame.
Far from home and unsure of whom to trust, Sitnalta must find a way to save her kingdom, and return her beloved Aud and Gerald to their rightful thrones.
Who Doesn’t Dream of Escape?
Sitnalta follows a young princess trapped in a kingdom ruled by cruelty and fear, who becomes restless, yearning for freedom, and escapes her captivity to embark on a journey of self-discovery. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
Originally, Sitnalta began as a short story written for a school project. So, for all budding writers out there: don’t throw away old stories, and inspiration can strike in the most unlikely of places.
In grade seven, my English teacher put up a tic-tac-toe board on the chalkboard and said to make a line. In the line I chose were the words “coin, princess, escape”. From there, the story I was supposed to write should have been two pages. I handed in twelve. This short story just wouldn’t leave me alone. When I got into university, I pulled it out and reread it. Aside from the fact that I found the writing and some of the characterization a little juvenile (I was thirteen!), I felt that there was something there. I worked at it and eventually had a novel, and plans for five more.
Sitnalta was born at a time when most young people can feel trapped. I myself had issues with a bully at school, I didn’t know where I belonged. My friends and I were all figuring out who we were, who we wanted to be, and the character of Sitnalta was very much an extrapolation of that. Who doesn’t dream of escape?
In many contemporary coming-of-age fiction novels, authors often add their own life experiences to the story. Are there any bits of you in this story?
I am very much all over the story. The character of Aud is in many ways inspired by my grandmother who lived with me while I was growing up. Everyone used to say that she was a second mother to me. Aud’s nature, and her relationship with Sitnalta is very her. Sitnalta herself is an amalgamation of my childhood best friend, and characters from books I loved as a child. I used to say that she is my friend Marilyn superimposed on Anne Shirley. Sitnalta’s relationship with Najort, their time together, and how they speak with one another is something that came from every person’s desire to be seen, to be loved for who they are, and the need to be heard.
What were some themes that were important for you to explore in this book?
I wanted to convey the importance of choice. Sitnalta feels that she has hers taken from her continuously. She looks at the world from a place heavy with loss, however, when her back is to the wall, she finds that there is always a choice to be made. It may not always be the best one possible, but it always exists. Everyone has the ability to take their lives into their own hands and run with it. I found that to be an important theme, how even the smallest person can make a choice and better their world.
Can you tell us more about what’s in store for Sitnalta and the direction of the second book?
Well, I don’t want to give too much away, but that pesky coin still exists, and we see so much more of the world Sitnalta lives in, even beyond the shores of Colonodona. The next book is called The Kingdom Thief, and you can read into that title whatever you want to. It’s an adventure book, and may or may not have some hints at a burgeoning romance.
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But Sitnalta has other ideas. Before her father can come for her, she sneaks out of her bedroom window, scales the castle walls, and enters the magical forest that surrounds her kingdom. There she meets Najort, a kind-hearted troll, who was tasked by a wizard decades earlier to protect a valuable secret—with his life, if necessary.
But King Supmylo has vowed that nothing will stop him from returning his daughter to Colonodona, and forcing her to go through with the royal wedding. With the help of friends from both kingdoms, Sitnalta and Najort flee ahead of the rabid king. For if they are captured, Supmylo will become so invincible, no one could stand against him
The Song of Hadariah
The Song of Hadariah follows Carrie Eisen, a seventeen-year-old caught between the ordinary pressures of finishing high school and the extraordinary call of magic. When she encounters a talking fox named Adom, her world is turned upside down. Alongside her two best friends, she’s drawn into Hadariah, a realm where music and spirit are one, and darkness has silenced its heart. Together, the girls set out to retrieve enchanted violin strings stolen by the demon king Asmodeus, hoping to restore harmony to a dying world. What starts as a whimsical fantasy quickly becomes a story about friendship, belief, and courage.
Reading this book felt like stepping back into the kind of story I would’ve loved as a teenager. The writing is vivid and heartfelt, full of warmth and charm. Goldenberg’s voice has this nostalgic rhythm to it. It moves like a bedtime story told by someone who truly believes in the power of magic. Sometimes the pacing slows a little, especially in the early chapters, but once the girls enter Hadariah, the world blossoms with texture and wonder. I liked how the author blended Jewish folklore with classic fantasy elements; it made the story feel both familiar and fresh. The dialogue among the girls felt genuine too, full of the easy banter and affection that comes from years of friendship. Their bond grounded the magic, made it feel real.
There were moments when I wanted to see a little more from the story’s darker side. Asmodeus, for instance, comes across as more symbolic than menacing, and the conflict feels gentler than I expected. But the real struggle isn’t only against a demon, it’s about growing up and finding the courage to believe when the world makes it hard to do so. I loved how Carrie wrestled with doubt and faith, logic and wonder. It reminded me that magic isn’t always about spells or creatures, it’s about trust, bravery, and the invisible threads between people. And that hit home for me.
The Song of Hadariah is a lovely, thoughtful fantasy that captures the ache of adolescence and the pull of imagination. It’s ideal for readers who miss the sincerity of early young adult fantasy, those who grew up on Narnia, Inkheart, or His Dark Materials, and still look at the world hoping to find a hidden doorway somewhere.
Pages: 212 | ASIN : B0FR2MLTMR
Sitnalta
Sitnalta tells the story of a young princess trapped in a kingdom ruled by cruelty and fear. From her birth, Sitnalta’s life is shadowed by her father’s tyranny and the tragic death of her mother. As she grows up, she becomes restless, yearning for freedom beyond the walls of her father’s cold castle. The novel follows her journey from captivity to self-discovery, blending elements of fairy tale, adventure, and moral reflection. The book opens with heartbreak and ends with a quiet defiance that feels earned. It’s a story about courage, kindness, and the stubbornness it takes to be yourself when the world insists otherwise.
Reading Sitnalta pulled me in more deeply than I expected. The writing is vivid and easy to fall into. The author paints scenes with the kind of care that makes the air in the story feel real. The story moves between light and dark with an unhurried rhythm. I found myself frustrated at times, mostly because I cared so much. Sitnalta’s innocence, her stubborn streak, her quiet bravery, they resonated with me. Some of the dialogue feels old-fashioned, but that suits the fairy-tale tone. What surprised me most was how layered the “villain” felt. King Supmylo is monstrous, yes, but there’s something broken beneath his cruelty. That complexity made the story more relatable than I expected.
There’s sadness in nearly every chapter, but it’s the kind that lingers gently instead of crushing you. Sitnalta’s world feels unfair, and yet she carries herself with grace and wit. Her friendship with Najort, the kind-hearted troll, was my favorite part. It’s strange and tender, filled with quiet understanding. The writing in those scenes feels softer, almost glowing. I caught myself smiling at moments that shouldn’t have been happy but somehow were. The author doesn’t overcomplicate things. The prose feels clean and honest. You can sense that it was written with love, not just for the story but for what stories can do, for how they let us hope.
I’d recommend Sitnalta to anyone who loves stories about courage, compassion, and freedom. It’s not just a tale for young readers; it’s for anyone who’s ever felt trapped by the life they were born into. It’s a book that made me think about kindness in a world that often rewards cruelty, and about how sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is walk away and begin again.
Pages: 204 | ASIN : B0FWFBQMG3
LITERARY TITAN 