A series by Edward Crewe
The Hollow Crown
Four immortal fae courts have waited eight hundred years for a fifth throne to be filled. When a wild mortal claims the hollow throne — not by birthright, not by conquest, but because the Heartwood recognises her — the forest begins, against every working, to wake.
She does not expect to live.
Book One · Out Now
The Bone Trials
Mira Solenne is twenty-two years old, and her sister has been dying for two years, three months, and eleven days. When she is summoned to the fae court of Bone to compete in the Trials — a contest no mortal has ever survived — she goes for one reason: the winner is granted a single wish.
She does not expect to live. She does not expect to be trained by the crown prince who has been ordered to kill her. She does not expect the trial-keepers to be afraid of what she is.
Book Two · May 2026
The Wife of War
The Hollow throne is no longer empty. The Tide Court has a question its library cannot answer. And the prince who was sent to the marsh to be forgotten has not stayed.
The second book of The Hollow Crown follows Mira beyond the trials, into a war the four courts have spent eight centuries learning not to fight.
Five trials · Four courts · One throne
- The Bone Court
- Keeps its dead in patterns. Halls vaulted with bone, lit by silver candles, ruled by Vahrek Drazaar — who has not been challenged in three hundred years.
- The Tide Court
- Keeps its knowledge underwater. Its library holds eight centuries of working — every bargain made, every name spoken, every promise kept or broken.
- The Hollow Court
- Has no king. Has no queen. Has no throne but the four pillar-trunks at the cardinal points of a dead clearing. Has been waiting eight hundred years for a wild mortal who can fill it.
- The Marsh
- Beyond the four courts lies a marsh where exiled fae are sent to be forgotten. A place of reeds, water, and slow time. After the trials, one prince is sent here. He is told to stay. He does not.
A Free Companion
Letters from Vesserath
The year Mira spent learning to be queen, her sister was at Vesserath, growing up.
Wren wrote to her often — through the monthly rides south, through the bindings, through the working. Three of those letters survive.
They are not in this book or the next. They are a small thing on their own — fifteen years old in the first letter, sixteen by the last, the three-squeeze code closing each one a little differently.