Enchanted Realms Book 5

Genre: Gothic Paranormal Romance

A beautiful heiress seeking solace. A mysterious caretaker burdened by shadows. And a forbidden love haunted by the echoes of the past.

When tragedy shatters her family, Victoria Ravenwood inherits the crumbling estate of Ravenfell Manor, a place she once called home but no longer recognizes. Hoping to escape her grief, she returns to its ivy-choked walls and forgotten rooms, determined to start anew. But Ravenfell is no sanctuary--it is a house of sorrow, steeped in secrets, and alive with something that should be dead.

Gabriel Allward, the manor's reclusive caretaker, has remained at Ravenfell for years, his presence as rooted as the ancient stones. Cold and mysterious, he keeps to the shadows, guarding a truth he dares not reveal. Yet Victoria is drawn to him and to the darkness that clings to him like a second skin.

As their fragile bond deepens, something awakens in the manor. A raven watches from the garden. Whispers echo through the halls. And a long-buried secret claws its way to the surface. One that binds Gabriel's soul to the estate...and could drag Victoria into the same eternal night.

Can they uncover the truth behind Ravenfell's curse before it claims them both? Or will their love become just another tragic tale whispered within its walls?

If you love heiresses reclaiming their haunted legacies, brooding caretakers bound by dark secrets, and crumbling manors where love must outlast restless ghosts—you’ll love this gothic reimagining inspired by Poe’s The Raven.

Excerpt

The letter arrived on black-edged stationery at half-past nine during breakfast on a too-bright day for mourning.

Victoria Ravenwood stared down at the unfamiliar wax seal stamped with the sigil of a bird in flight. A raven, from the looks of it. A slanting, looping hand had scrawled her name across the front in black ink.

Miss Victoria Ravenwood

Care of Mr. Hubert Pembroke, Crown Hollow, Rothbridge

“What is it, dear?” Aunt Eloise peered over her teacup, her bright blue eyes alight with interest. She looked like a feral cat ready to pounce on the latest juicy gossip.

“A letter.”

She laughed. “Of course, it’s a letter, silly goose. What does it say?”

She was always a bit of a busybody. Victoria didn’t want to read the contents of the letter in front of her. She’d demand to know it word for word. As her thumb swept over the seal, she had the distinct feeling this was meant for her and her alone.

Why she felt that way, she did not know.

It had no return address, which she found curious.

“Well? What is it, dear?”

She granted her aunt a faint smile as she placed her napkin next to her half-empty plate and pushed back from the table. “I think I’ll read it in the parlor.”

Alone. She wanted to read it alone, and not with her aunt breathing down her neck.

The woman harrumphed as she hastened from the dining room. No doubt she was planning to extort the information from her later.

Aunt Eloise meant well, but she was overbearing and pushy. Victoria was grateful to her and her uncle for taking her in after her parents died, but the woman was exhausting on a good day. If there was news of any sort in the contents of the letter, she would never let it rest.

What news, though? Victoria, still in mourning, walked to the parlor and pulled the door closed. She stood in the silence of the room staring down at that raven wax seal wondering about the sender. As far as she knew, there was no one else who knew she was here. She had no family except for her aunt, who was her mother’s older sister, and her uncle by marriage. And she didn’t exactly have a lot of friends.

Moving to the sofa, she popped the seal. Perching on the edge, she unfolded the letter with a careful hand. She pulled in a deep breath when she read it and then read it again.

This couldn’t be right.

Could it?

To Miss Ravenwood,

In accordance with the last will and testament of your late parents, Abner and Eleanor Ravenwood, you are hereby named sole heir to their estate, which includes Ravenfell Manor in the village of Elderbloom, Rothbridge. You are requested to take possession immediately.

There were other instructions about inheritance, land deeds, and legal oversight. It was signed by an R. Williams, Solicitor, Brown, Williams & Davis. She had never heard of him.

Her mind drifted away from the letter and the solicitor. To her childhood home and a place she thought she’d never see again. She thought her parents had sold it when she was a child.

Ravenfell Manor.

Her nightmares of the manor had long since faded, but now, as she held the letter, they flooded back to her.

A piano that played a haunting tune when no one was about. The acrid scent of smoke drifting through the halls. A shift in temperature from warm and comfortable to cold and frightening. Sometimes during certain times of the year, a misty fog curled through the west wing corridor.

What she recalled most of all was the man in the shadows with eyes full of sorrow and despair.

Her parents had never seen him.

But she had. And she had never feared him.

When she was eight years old, they fled Ravenfell Manor under the cover of darkness. And now, twenty years later, it had returned to her.

Perhaps her fortune had changed. As the heiress of the country estate, she had a home to call her own. She no longer needed to depend upon the kindness of her aging aunt and uncle.

It was a moment of elation.

Shattered by the opening of the parlor door.

Her aunt bustled in with an expectant look on her face. Victoria wasn’t so sure she wanted to share the contents of the letter with her, but then, she also knew her aunt would badger her until she did.

“Good news, dear?” she asked, her tone hopeful.

Was it good news? She said nothing as she extended the letter. Aunt Eloise took it and read it, her face an explosion of expressions. From surprise to doubt to sorrow to something akin to envy.

“Well, this is a surprise. I thought my sister and her husband sold off that crumbling old manor years ago.” She handed back the letter.

“I suppose they didn’t.”

“Naturally, you’ll refuse to move there.” She said it flippantly, as if this were already true.

“Why would I do that?” Victoria rose, her ire suddenly raised.

“Well, my dear, you are a single lady. Alone. You can’t possibly think of running that estate all by yourself.” She chuckled, as though the thought was merely a jest.

She lifted a brow. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Aunt Eloise wrung her hands, looking confused. “You are a single lady,” she said again.

“Yes, I am. With an inheritance at my disposal. I’m sure I can hire anyone I need to help me run and take care of the estate.”

Flabbergasted, she said, “You’re considering it?”

Annoyance hit her hard and fast at her aunt’s disbelief. She understood very well that she was a young, single lady. With no prospects looming and no purpose to keep her here in Crown Hollow, Victoria saw no reason not to consider it.

“Yes,” she said, the word an icy breath.

Her aunt didn’t understand her need to find independence. Now, she had a chance—a real chance—at a life all her own. If she stayed in the city with Aunt Eloise, she’d suffocate.

Aunt Eloise remained still as a statue, rooted in the middle of the room, her chest heaving with labored breaths.

“I simply can’t allow it,” she said then, her tone stern. As though she would entertain no other thoughts on the matter.

Victoria stiffened. “The letter says I’m to take possession immediately.”

“Who’s to say this letter is valid?” Eloise snapped. “Why, I’ve never heard of this solicitor, and as far as I know, Abner and Eleanor made no mention of this in their wills.”

This was not going well. Victoria resisted the urge to crumple the letter in her fist.

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About the Author

MICHELLE MILES believes in fairy tales, true love, and a little bit of magic in every story. She writes fantasy, paranormal, and young adult books packed with adventure, action, and swoon-worthy romance—because what’s a story without a bit of danger and a whole lot of heart? From angels and demons to dragons, elves, and time travelers, her books are filled with epic quests, fierce heroines, and the kind of heroes worth falling for.

When she's not crafting new adventures, she brings stories to life as a narrator and hosts Miles Beyond the Page, a podcast where she chats with authors about their writing journeys. A Texas girl through and through, she loves getting lost in a good book, binge-watching movies, hiking the trails, and sipping a glass of wine. Come hang out with her on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and more!

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A Christmas Cinderella Fairy Tale Retelling

Once Upon a Time… in the holiday land of Rovenheim

A pair of enchanted glass slippers. A dark and dangerous queen. And the fate of a kingdom hangs in the balance.

Ella Rose Tremaine lives a life of drudgery as a servant in her own home, catering to the whims of her stepmother and stepsisters. All she wants is a life to call her own, but with no way out, she’s trapped. Even when the royal ball is announced, she is forbidden to attend.

Left alone on the night of the ball, a mysterious package arrives addressed to her. Inside, a pair of beautiful glass slippers. When she puts them on, she’s transformed and whisked off to the ball by none other than her fairy godmother—but with a warning. Remove the slippers before the last stroke of midnight to break the spell and all will be as it was before.

Lost in the magic of the evening while dancing with a handsome stranger, she is heedless of her fairy godmother’s warning. With the last strike of midnight, she is transported to the Christmas realm of Rovenheim.

Her arrival garners the attention of a dangerous queen determined to have the slippers for herself. She’ll stop at nothing to get them by issuing an ultimatum—bring her the slippers or she’ll destroy the enchanted realm and the Spirit of Christmas itself.

With time running out, Ella embarks on a perilous journey through the mystical realm on a quest to save it. She must embrace her destiny and discover the power of love and magic. But will it be enough to overcome the darkness that threatens to consume them all?

Excerpt

The chiming of the clock tower in Whitebridge clanged the early morning hour. It was a faint bong, bong, bong that Ella counted as she laid awake in her narrow, lumpy bed under the thin blanket dreading the coming day. Dread was part of her morning routine now.

Sunlight peeked through the shabby draperies at her window as dawn arrived. Even as another day of labor loomed, nothing killed the spirit of the season inside her. Not even her stepmother and stepsisters. Not even their nasty dispositions or the fact that her stepmother, Lillian, refused to decorate for Christmas.

Except for a sad looking tree in the foyer with a few decorations.

But Ella was not to be dissuaded. She dragged out all her mother’s favorite decorations and placed them around her shabby third-floor bedroom, trying to make the drab appearance a bit more cheerful. She placed her favorite decoration on the top of the tree—a beautiful gold star.

She loved Christmas.

She shoved the blanket aside and walked to the window, pushing open the curtain to peer down at the estate that had fallen into disrepair. Since her father’s disappearance on a merchant trip several years ago, Lillian squandered what was left of the estate’s money on satin and lace, shoes and parasols for her two spoiled daughters. Meanwhile, the small manor they lived in needed many repairs.

In the distance, the offending clock tower stood tall and proud and ruled her day. From her window, the peak of it was clear as well as the high turrets and heraldry of Whitebridge Palace. What was it like living in a castle? Would she be a maid as she was here? Or would she find herself as one of the noble ladies wearing beautiful gowns and having her every whim attended?

She sighed when the rooster crowed. It was time to start the day. She looked out as the sun peeked over the horizon, illuminating the outline of the castle beyond and the dusting of snow on the cold ground.

“One day, Papa,” she whispered, “I will find my way out of here.”

She often spoke to her father, even though he’d been gone all these long years.

She dressed, tied her long dark hair back with a blue ribbon, and headed down to the kitchen for the day. She put a tea kettle on to boil. Outside, she fed the chickens and gathered eggs, petted the dog, and gave the cat his breakfast. In the distance, at the pond, geese honked their arrival. She smiled. Later she would walk out to the edge of the pond and feed them, too.

The servant’s bell rang. Her stepmother. She poured hot water into the tea kettle, made a breakfast of porridge, eggs, and toast, and then carried it up to the woman’s room. At the top of the stairs, she turned right and headed down the hall to the largest bedroom. She rapped twice and waited.

“Enter,” came the abrupt, muffled response.

Ella pushed open the door. Just as she did, the cat sprinted past her and hopped onto the oversized bed where her stepmother sat waiting for her breakfast. The woman’s salt-and-pepper hair was tucked under her nightcap. Crinkles were at the corners of each eye and her mouth was drawn down into a permanent grimace. No doubt due to being unhappy for so many years. Her thin lips were a deep red, high severe cheekbones and a chin that ended in a point. She petted the cat, her long slender fingers ruffling the fur between his shoulders. Loud purrs emanated from the small feline.

“Good morning, Stepmother,” she greeted in her best pleasant voice.

“Where is my newspaper?” her stepmother asked.

“I’ll fetch it for you.” Ella placed the tray with the breakfast on the woman’s lap. She did a quick curtsy then dashed from the room.

She hurried down the stairs to the front door and pulled it open. The rolled-up paper was on the doorstep as usual. But even so, Ella saw the hint of the headline. Something about a royal decree. As she snatched it off the stoop, she heard Lucinda shouting her name.

“Ella! Where is my breakfast?”

Ella hurried back up the stairs to her stepmother’s room, her chest heaving a bit and her legs burning from her brief sprint. Jet had curled up next to her in the bed, eyeing the breakfast tray.

“Your newspaper, stepmother.”

She scowled as she snatched it from Ella’s hands, then opened it with a snap. She glowered at her over the edge of the paper.

“What are you gawking at, girl? Don’t you have chores?”

Another quick curtsy. “Yes, Stepmother.”

“ELLA!” Lucinda shouted again.

Ella hurried back down the stairs to the kitchen. As she arrived, the other two bells were ringing. One for Lucinda and one for Daniella. She quickly made their breakfast trays. It was a balancing act, but she managed to carry both at the same time back up the stairs. By the time she arrived at the landing, her legs were burning and her arms ached. She used her elbow to push open the door to Lucinda’s room.

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About the Author

MICHELLE MILES believes in fairy tales, true love, and magic. She writes heart-stopping urban fantasy, young adult and adult fantasy, and paranormal romance with an action/adventure twist that will leave you breathless. She is the author of numerous series that includes everything from angels and demons to fairies, dragons, and elves.

She is a member of Romance Writers of America (RWA) and Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Association (SFWA). A native Texan, in her spare time she loves reading, listening to music, watching movies, hiking, and drinking wine. She can be found online at Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and more!

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