02 May Strung By Roske Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour #HistoricalFantasy #roskechronicler #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @RoskeChronicler @maryanneyarde

FEATURED AUTHOR: ROSKE

It is my pleasure to welcome ⟅R̫o̮s̫k͚e̫ (Roske) as a featured author in The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held May 2nd — May 6th, 2022. ⟅R̫o̮s̫k͚e̫ is the author of the Literary, Historical Science-Fantasy Romance, Strung, which was released by Conceptual Chronicler of Time on 22nd February 2022 (422 pages).

Below are highlights of Strung, author bio of ⟅R̫o̮s̫k͚e̫, and an excerpt from the book.

To Follow the Blog Tour, CLICK Tour Schedule Page

HIGHLIGHTS: STRUNG

Strung

By ⟅R̫o̮s̫k͚e̫

(Blurb)

Few in the world of Iodesh believe the Faye are more than legend—until an unwanted suitor captures one as Lady Lysbeth Haywood’s bride price.

Presented with the Faye, Lysbeth is torn between her excitement to learn more about the legendary people, her dread at the possibility of a forced engagement, and her battle of attrition with Avon society.

It’s worth the struggle, for as layers of the Faye’s extraordinary mysteries are peeled away, their revelations—and Lysbeth’s own role in them—reach farther than she ever thought possible.

Praise

Trigger Warnings:

Mild self-harm, off-screen abuse, and brief on-screen violence.

Buy Links:

Available on #KindleUnlimited.

Universal Link  ♦  Amazon UK   ♦  Amazon US   ♦  Amazon CA  ♦  Amazon AU

Strung [Longform Mood Trailer]

AUTHOR BIO: ROSKE

⟅R̫o̮s̫k͚e̫ is Strung’s diegetic author and illustrator. Its real-world counterpart began building the world of Strung at age 12
to disassociate from budding bisexuality and physical disabilities—and eventually traded adversity’s escapism for inspiration.

Social Media Links:

Website  ♦   Twitter  ♦   Facebook  ♦  Instagram  ♦  BookBub  ♦  Amazon Author Page  ♦  Goodreads

EXCERPT: STRUN

OVERTURE: Adagio

(aka Chapter 1 | The Faye Arrives)

Servants assemble on the front terrace as the Ladies proceed to the Grand Chamber. The extravagant marble hall is a central intersection to Lindenholt’s equally extravagant entryway, Grand Drawing Room, and Grand Dining Hall. Ornate frescoes on the vaulted ceiling peer over the floor’s polished, crystalline veins. Clerestory windows cast warm, westerly light on the railing of a second story mezzanine. Behind the gathered Ladies, a series of ornate columns guard the Grand Stair at the room’s end.

“Moment of truth.” Isaac frowns, sauntering to the group from his den.

“Yes.” Lysbeth’s throat constricts as Mr. Tenson, Lindenholt’s head butler, takes up his position at the seam of two mahogany doors. She squeezes Elane’s hand and straightens, finding courage in well-stacked vertebrae.

They wait.

A muffled hum swells from the terrace. Mr. Tenson clutches brass at his hips and peeps through the door’s sliding window. His back stiffens; he clears his throat. Carved mahogany swings wide, pulling sharpened murmurs into the room on a puff of cool air.

“Announcing The Right Honorable, The Earl of Dorsit… and guest,” he declares, following the door’s swivel to the Chamber’s inner walls.

Dorsit, a man of fair build and looks—and upon whose features pretension finds permanent accommodation—stands alert in the entryway as mahogany knocks against marble. Beyond him, curious glints of light move into the vestibule’s shade and dull. Lysbeth’s squint reverses course. They’re horns. Thin, silver, and affixed by some means to the head of a taller person behind the Earl.

“Your esteemed Lordship. My Ladies,” Dorsit simpers, removing his hat to perform an exaggerated bow. A gasp emits from the greeting party. Dorsit’s bow has revealed the figure at his back.

Thin tubes of silver alloy run over a lithe torso. Beginning at either temple, two jet-black, fishtail plaits lead to an exceptionally long ponytail decorated with thin chain. Diagonally above each ear are not one, but three horns stacked in a gentle downward arc. Though a silver mask covers the lower face, large eyes, fine brows, and the beginnings of a tall nose give the impression of great beauty.

Gina pulls a smelling-salt pouch from her bliaut-bodice and tilts against Marium for a huff. In turn, Marium tilts on Elane, who releases her cousin’s slackened hand to shoulder her friend’s daze.

Lysbeth takes in as many details as possible, drawing a sharp breath as her gaze climbs. The eyes. They’d been aimed at the vestibule’s ceiling, now they look into the Chamber. Their striking shade of green—or is it blue? —leaps from the landscape of black, sterling, and tan that comprise the face they inhabit. The rattling in her chest threatens to topple her carefully constructed spine. Dorsit had written truthfully.

Arising from his bow, the Earl blocks the stranger again. “I hope the evening finds you well, Lady Lysbeth.”

“Indeed, thank you, Sir,” she manages a steady voice, “though we’ve been quite anxious for your arrival.”

“M’yeees? How delightful.” Dorsit purses his lips and swallows. “Eh, before I present the Faye specimen, allow me to allay any fears of ferality. My men addressed him as Evyn and assured me he’s a docile sort, though I’m afraid his appearance may shock the sensibilities of one so delicate and virginal as you, My Lady.”

“We’re all equally shocked by the magnitude of your good fortune in this endeavor, I’m sure,” Lysbeth responds in fruitcake: dry, but with enough scattered moisture to be given the benefit of the doubt.

Dorsit puffs and moves to the side. Fully visible now, the room eagerly regards the Faye again.

He touches the doorframe with long, graceful fingers as he steps into the Chamber. Willowy, tall-waisted, and extremely lean, hems of musculature tailor his body. An elegant filigree^[1] of resplendent silver—which leaves little to the imagination—journeys across his physique, hiding at times beneath thin plates along the inner and outer planes of his appendages. A rectangle of snake-chain hangs like a loincloth from his hips. Above it, a narrow path of panels climbs the center of his abdomen. Eight lines of silver wrap around his torso and converge under a slightly convex, diamond-shaped cover against his heart.

Lysbeth’s gaze skitters across him. As she reaches his face again, she finds he’s looking at her, too.

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