Seventeen-year-old Twylla lives in the castle. But although she's engaged to the prince, Twylla isn't exactly a member of the court. She's the executioner. As the Goddess embodied, Twylla instantly kills anyone she touches. Each month, she's taken to the prison and forced to lay her hands on those accused of treason. No one will ever love a girl with murder in her veins. Even the prince, whose royal blood supposedly makes him immune to Twylla's fatal touch, avoids her company.But then a new guard arrives, a boy whose easy smile belies his deadly swordsmanship. And unlike the others, he's able to look past Twylla's executioner robes and see the girl, not the Goddess. Yet Twylla's been promised to the prince, and knows what happens to people who cross the queen. However, a treasonous secret is the least of Twylla's problems. The queen has a plan to destroy her enemies, a plan that requires a stomach-churning, unthinkable sacrifice. Will Twylla do what it takes to protect her kingdom? Or will she abandon her duty in favor of a doomed love?

The final battle is here... As the Sleeping Prince tightens his hold on the land, the net closes in on the ragged band of rebels trying desperately to defeat him. The end is coming - and not everyone will survive. Explosive, rich and darkly addictive, this is the stunning conclusion to Melinda Salisbury's internationally bestselling trilogy

Using magic to control the golems he has raised, the legendary Sleeping Prince has woken, killed King Merek, and taken Lormere, and many of its people are refugees, including Errin and her sick mother--but there are those who oppose the Prince, and Errin, a skilled apothecary, may hold the key to ending his power.

If you've ever wondered what happened to the Bringer after the end of THE SIN EATER'S DAUGHTER, then wonder no more. Dark, beautiful and as bewitching as the rest of Melinda Salisbury's world, THE HEART COLLECTOR is a stunning short story that will swiftly have you under its wickedly addictive spell.

In Lormere the queen is stirring up war and has unleashed the sinister Bringer. Betrayed by the one she loves, Twylla is in self-imposed exile. But for how long? The people need a leader. They need something to believe in - whether it's true or not.

From internationally bestselling, acclaimed author Melinda Salisbury comes a darkly seductive story of murder, betrayal, love, and monsters in a small town in the Scottish Highlands. Here are the rules of living with a murderer.One: Do not draw attention to yourself.It's pretty self-explanatory -- if they don't notice you, they won't get any ideas about killing you. Be a ghost in your own home, if that's what it takes. After all, you can't kill a ghost.Of course, when you live with a murderer, sit opposite them for every meal, share a washroom and a kitchen, sleep a mere twelve feet and two flimsy walls away from them, this is impossible. Even the subtlest of spectres is bound to be noticed. Which leads to the next rule.Two: If you can't be invisible, be useful.Everyone in this quiet lakeside community knows that Alva's father killed her mother, all those years ago. There wasn't enough proof to arrest him, though, and with no other family, Alva's been forced to live with her mother's murderer, doing her best to survive until she can earn enough money to run away.One of her chores is to monitor water levels in the loch -- a task her father takes very seriously. His family has been the guardian of the loch for generations. It's a cold, lonely task, and a few times, Alva can swear she feels someone watching her. The more Alva investigates, the more she realizes that the truth can be more monstrous than lies. And while you might be able to outrun anything that emerges from the dark water, you can never escape your past . . .

People in Merit, Wisconsin, always said Jimmy was . . . you know. But people said all sorts of stupid stuff. Nobody really knew anything. Nobody really knew Jimmy. I guess you could say I knew Jimmy as well as anyone (which was not very well). I knew what scared him. And I knew he had dreams—even if I didn't understand them. Even if he nearly ruined my life to pursue them. Jimmy's dead now, and I definitely know that better than anyone. I know about blood and bone and how bodies decompose. I know about shadows and stones and hatchets. I know what a last cry for help sounds like. I know what blood looks like on my own hands. What I don't know is if I can trust my own eyes. I don't know who threw the stone. Who swung the hatchet? Who are the shadows? What do the living owe the dead?