Publisher Description

An instant New York Times bestseller!

Carry On meets Arthurian legend in this funny, subversive young adult fantasy about what happens after the chosen one wins the kingdom and has to get married to keep it…and to stay alive.

Arek hadn't thought much about what would happen after he completed the prophecy that said he was destined to save the Kingdom of Ere from its evil ruler. So now that he's finally managed to (somewhat clumsily) behead the evil king (turns out magical swords yanked from bogs don't come pre-sharpened), he and his rag-tag group of quest companions are at a bit of a loss for what to do next.

As a temporary safeguard, Arek's best friend and mage, Matt, convinces him to assume the throne until the true heir can be rescued from her tower. Except that she's dead. Now Arek is stuck as king, a role that comes with a magical catch: choose a spouse by your eighteenth birthday, or wither away into nothing.

With his eighteenth birthday only three months away, and only Matt in on the secret, Arek embarks on a desperate bid to find a spouse to save his life—starting with his quest companions. But his attempts at wooing his friends go painfully and hilariously wrong…until he discovers that love might have been in front of him all along.

Author Biography

F.T. Lukens is a New York Times bestselling author of YA speculative fiction including the novels So This Is Ever Afterand In Deeper Waters (2022 ALA Rainbow Booklist; Junior Library Guild Selection) as well as other science fiction and fantasy works. Their contemporary fantasy novel The Rules and Regulations for Mediating Myths & Magic was a 2017 Cybils Award finalist in YA Speculative Fiction and the Foreword INDIES Book of the Year Gold Winner for YA fiction and won the Bisexual Book Award for Speculative Fiction. F.T. resides in North Carolina with their spouse, three kids, three dogs, and three cats.

Review

The characters have the same dynamic as a well-organized ­Dungeons & Dragons party and are well rounded and easy to root for." * School Library Journal *
"Reading like the love child of a late-night D&D session gone awry and a romantic drama, Lukens has crafted a delightfully original and whimsical narrative." * Kirkus Reviews *
"Lukens has created a magically expansive world where there's no homophobia and the only roadblock to romance is having the courage to delve into your own heart. An adventure that's both madcap and tender." * Booklist *

Review Quote

The characters have the same dynamic as a well-organized

Excerpt from Book

Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1 I''d been envisioning what it would be like to behead the Vile One since the old wizard had shown up at my door the day after I turned seventeen and told me my destiny--that I would be the person who ended the dark shadow of evil that ruled our realm. Well, okay, not that specific second because who believes a drunken stranger with a crooked hat carrying around a humming staff? No one. That''s who. At least, you shouldn''t. That''s unsafe. Let me amend. I''d been envisioning this moment since after we''d had tea and he''d explained a few things and told me about the prophecy . Though it didn''t feel real, as in very likely, and downright probable, until I pulled a magical sword from a bog and a beam of light shot down from the sky, anointing me with supernatural purpose. After that, I kept a vision in my head about what would happen when I separated the Vile One''s head from his shoulders in the final climactic battle. The cut would be clean. There would be artistic arterial spray, and the disembodied head would roll down the steps of the raised dais and come to rest at the feet of my best friend. Everyone would cheer, and I''d finally be the hero I was prophesied to become. I''d feel different. Righteous. Awesome. Accomplished. Finally grown-up. Unfortunately, as things seem to have gone since the start of this whole journey, that did not happen. Not even a little bit. Fueled by adrenaline and vigor, I swung my blade for the death blow, expecting to cleanly remove the Vile One''s head. Instead, the blunted edge buried halfway through his neck and jarred to a stop on his spinal column. Huh. Who knew that prophesied weapons didn''t come ready-to-use? Apparently, magic swords that spring from bogs don''t rise pre-sharpened. Stunned at this unexpected turn of events, I froze long enough to draw attention from the party of questors supporting me. "Arek!" Sionna yelled from somewhere in the chaos. "Finish him off!" I wrenched the blade from the Vile One''s throat, did my level best to ignore the astonished look on his face, the open mouth, the wide eyes, the gush of blood running down the front of his black robes, and struck again. And again. I hacked at the twitching body, which had fallen backward and slumped on the front of the throne, propped up like a grotesque doll, until I was certain he was dead, and no amount of magic could bring him back. Finally, the neck gave way and the head plopped onto the ground, splattering like an overripe pumpkin. Dead eyes peered up at me from sunken hollows, and thin lips pulled over yellowed teeth in a parody of a scream. A picture that would surely fuel my nightmares for at least the next few months, potentially the rest of my life. I had also imagined lifting the Vile One''s head by his hair and holding it up as a kind of trophy as all the dark magic he''d used to usurp the throne and control the realm would recede like a fierce tide, sucking itself from the world in a flash of light as the populace cheered. Except, the Vile One was bald, and there was no way I was picking the head up by anything else, because ugh . Also, nothing happened . No flash of light. No magical reversal. No swell of victorious music. No fanfare. Nothing. Huh. Disappointingly, I didn''t feel different at all, other than sticky. And weary down to my bones, and nauseated. There were no cheers from onlookers, though the sound of vomiting was clear over my right shoulder. I dabbed my blood-drenched face with the hem of my tunic, but only succeeded in smearing the crimson more thoroughly. My chest heaved. My arms ached. I turned, swaying on the steps, and surveyed the chaos of the room behind me. The fighting had ceased. My friends were all upright, scattered around like thrown dice, but alive. Followers of the Vile One, distinguishable by their black robes and neck tattoos, were either dead, fleeing, or kneeling in defeat. I leaned heavily on the sword--barely resisting the urge to sag right there onto the stone steps, next to the jerking corpse, and take a nap. Instead, I stumbled down to the main floor. "You okay?" Matt asked. He had soot stains on his sleeves, tears in his clothes, and a cut above his eye that leaked sluggishly. His brown hair was matted to his head with sweat. He smelled like ozone and magic. He held his staff in his hand, the bright blue jewel at the tip glowing like a star, but as we stood together in the aftermath, his power faded. A late addition to the vision of victory I kept in my head included sweeping Matt into my arms and declaring my undying affection. But as I was literally covered in blood, I didn''t think Matt would appreciate a hug at this point, or a grand gesture or even a friendly slap to the shoulder. Not when we were both trembling with exhaustion and ebbing adrenaline. "Yeah. I''m good. You?" "Yeah." He grinned weakly. "It''s done." "It is." I ran my gloved hand through my hair. "Super gross, though." "Oh, definitely. That was, for lack of a better word, vile." "Good one." I held out my fist, and he bumped his knuckles against mine. Bethany appeared from around a corner, small harp in one hand, wiping clinging bits of vomit from her mouth with her sleeve. She peeled a strand of sweaty auburn hair from her cheek, cast a look at the throne, turned green, then disappeared again. The sounds of her retching echoed in the eerie silence of the previously chaotic throne room. Sionna rolled her eyes. She wiped her sword on a prone body before sheathing it. Her brown skin was blood-spattered, but far less than mine. She''d no doubt sharpened her sword. Her black hair still swung in her high ponytail, and the wisps that had escaped framed her face, and though her shoulders slumped with relief, her steps were as energetic as ever. Every inch a warrior. Every inch beautiful. Every inch the reason for many of my inconvenient boners while on this quest. "I''ll check on her," she said. I cleared my throat. "Good idea." She left the room through the same arch. Matt and I exchanged a glance. Pretty sure we were on the same wavelength about the boners. Even if we weren''t, at least he was still by my side. Thankfully, that piece of my vision was fulfilled. We''d been best friends since we were boys and we''d be best friends forever if I had any say, weird wizards, glowing staffs, enigmatic prophecies, and secret crushes notwithstanding. "You two okay?" Startled, I spun around. Lila stood on the ribbon of purple carpet that led up to the throne. Her soft-heeled boots made little noise when she moved normally, but on the plush, she made no sound at all. With her hood pulled up, her features were partially hidden, but I knew the familiar jut of her chin and the bow of her mouth. She had a bulging sack over one shoulder. "Yes. We''re fine. Exhausted and"--Matt gestured toward the headless form--"vaguely traumatized, but..." He trailed off; his eyebrows drew together in consternation. "Have you been looting?" She shrugged. "A little." She dropped the overstuffed bag at her feet with a loud clank. "Lila!" I placed my hands on my hips, a difficult task when holding a sword. "Put it back." "No." "Now." "No." "But--but..." I sputtered. "What do you even have in there?" "Oh, you know, loot, spoils, riches. The usual." Matt pursed his lips. "That''s vague." She smirked. "Exactly." "Here you are!" The voice came from behind us, and again, I found myself turning quickly, sword raised. Rion leaned on the heavy wooden doors that we''d barged through mere minutes before. Besides his grimy army, he looked almost untouched from battle. He smiled when he saw us, tipping his blood-smeared sword in acknowledgment. I relaxed and blew out a breath. "Can people please stop sneaking up on me? I''ve had a day ." "Is it over?" Rion asked, not remarking on my outburst. Instead, his gaze drifted around the throne room until it settled on the body by the dais. "I think so?" Matt said. "I mean"--he gestured helplessly--"this is it. Right?" Sionna returned from the adjoining room, her arm looped through Bethany''s. Bethany wavered on her feet, but she''d stopped actively vomiting. The entirety of our party now stood in the throne room. We looked at one another, no one speaking, merely existing in the moment of sudden calm after the storm. I surveyed the group, reassuring myself that we''d all made it, that we were all there and safe. Bethany, our bard, rested against the wall, gaze locked on the broken window across the room, and not anywhere near the bloody neck stump that leaned against the foot of the throne. She was charismatic and magic, essential to our success with her ability to talk her way in or out of any situation. Sionna gripped Bethany''s arm, lending her strength. Sionna was a fighter, sleek and deadly, as fearless as she was dangerous. Lila, the rogue, stood on the carpet, loot bag at her feet. She was dexterous and conniving, her past shrouded in mystery, as were her motivations. Matt, the mage, my best friend, my confidant, my secret crush, and wielder of arcane spells, held his staff in the gentle curve of his hand. And Rion the knight rounded out the crowd. He was hulking and strong, older than the rest of us, but barely an adult himself, bound to our group by a sacred oath. Then there was me. Arek. The Chosen One. The fulfiller of the prophecy, awk

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