The Wild Hunt – Never Join a Faery Procession

The beautiful, creepy fae! Separate images from Creative Commons, collage by Juno Heart.

The supernatural Wild Hunt has long featured in stories and myths, songs and art, which is hardly surprising, it would be an incredibly awesome event to behold. Well, as long as you weren’t dragged down to the underworld or the fairy kingdom forever and ever just for wandering outside on the wrong night. Ack, not good!

Legend has it that seeing a Hunt foretold of something horrible on the way, a war, plague or famine, or even the death of the hapless person witnessing it.

So if you’re ever out wandering in the wee hours and you hear the Wild Hunt’s horn, don’t delay, don’t look, just cover your eyes and run fast and hide before you get swept up by the Goblin King. Better hope he doesn’t spy you admiring him!

In book 2 of the Black Blood Fae series, Prince Raff has just joined Lara and Ever’s three-day wedding march back to Merrin Creek, along with most of the Elemental Court, and he warns Isla that fae processions are very similar to a Wild Hunt. Let’s eavesdrop for moment:

“And how did you sleep last night?” I ask, admiring this morning’s look of rumpled ruin—twigs and leaves crushed in her once shining yellow hair.

“Not great. There were a lot of weird noises in the dark, odd singing, screams and cries. It felt a bit like a war camp, rather than a traveling wedding party.”

“Yes, fae processions are hardly very different to a Wild Hunt. They begin formal and beautiful but quickly devolve. All manner of unspeakable things happen under moon shadow. But do not worry. You and I should form an alliance. A truce, if you like. Then when you are under my protection, no creature, wild or tame, would dare harm you.” As soon as the words have left my mouth, I know they could not have been more poorly chosen.

Her eyes have narrowed, peachy cheeks darkening to scarlet. With barely contained fury.

I’ve offended her again. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?


Excerpt from King of Always by… me, Juno Heart, in case you’ve forgotten. 🙂


And check out this spooky 1899 poem by W.B. Yeats about the Terrible Hunt.

“The Hosting of the Sidhe”

The host is riding from Knocknarea
And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare;
Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling Away, come away:

Empty your heart of its mortal dream.

The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,

Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,
Our breasts are heaving our eyes are agleam,
Our arms are waving our lips are apart;
And if any gaze on our rushing band,
We come between him and the deed of his hand,
We come between him and the hope of his heart.

The host is rushing ‘twixt night and day,
And where is there hope or deed as fair?
Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling Away, come away.


Hmmm… very creepy crawly!

Cruel Prince Pre-order

For lovers of fae romance, Prince of Never is available now at the special pre-order price of 99c – yipeee! Grab your copy HERE! And read a dramatic excerpt below.

P.S. Subscribers’ free copies were emailed out November 5th.

A fae prince with a poisoned heart. A mortal girl with a magical voice. Neither one believes in fairy tales.

Fae Romance - Prince of Never by Juno Heart. Enemies to lovers paranormal romance.
Awesome work by Covers by Julie!

Here’s an excerpt from the prologue. . . more peeks coming soon.

Prologue – Prince of Never

With a sound like rolling thunder, the horse canters onto the ridge of Waylan’s Tor, his midnight coat shining in the soft dawn light.

The black steed’s rolling eyes are fearsome, but his nature is warm and calm. In contrast, the rider’s beauty shines bright and fair, but his heart is as dark as coal.

The barren hill has a perfect view of the Crystalline Oak—distant and removed—and exactly how the golden prince prefers it.

Brow furrowed, he scans the grassy earth beneath the tree’s metallic roots. Searching. Searching.

After long minutes, his broad shoulders drop, and he exhales a heavy sigh, white puffs of air swirling to join the mist.

An amber moon sinks low in the lightening sky and, once again, the girl is nowhere to be seen. Thank the Elements. His lids fall closed, the pound of his black heart slowing.

More times than he cares to remember he has held his breath, standing on this rocky outcrop, silver eyes seeking—always looking for someone who never arrives.

Forever waiting. Waiting. Waiting for her.

He tears his gaze away from the hated tree, twisting the garnet ring on his left hand that proves he is the kingdom’s heir, for no other fae can wear it. Then even though he has no desire to view the tree and what may lie below, he forces his gaze to return—to be certain she isn’t there.

She isn’t.

Relief flows warm through his fouled blood.

Drawing wild lengths of hair from sharp cheekbones, he sneers with those wicked, kissable lips as he ponders his people’s prophecy. Perhaps the legends of his court are no more than tales to entertain children, stories spun from fanciful lies about him and the one who has the power to end his pain. She who is foretold to come.

One day.
The girl he doesn’t want.
Every day.
The girl he already hates.
Forever.

He recalls what happened to his older brother, Rain, the horror—and he knows the stories of the curse are true.

The cold bites through gaps in shiny armor, nibbling around snug leather, but it doesn’t matter; his veins are already filled with icy winter.

Why, then, does he shiver?

Maybe it’s the poison slithering its way toward his heart—the creeping magic that only she, his fated queen, can neutralize and save him from.

He leans forward in the saddle, fingers stroking warm horse flesh, and squints over the dusty plain below. Checking—to be absolutely certain.

All is well. Not a creature stirs. This morning, no girl lies dew-covered beneath the oak’s grasping branches. Brilliant. So he won’t be saved today. Instead he will ride far and ride hard. And be at peace… as much as a cruel heart can be.

But one day—one very unfortunate day—under that tree is where he shall find her, the queen who can make him king.

And when he does… under that tree is exactly where he’ll kill her.

For Everend Fionbharr will never be king.
Never.
Never. Ever. After.

Excerpt from Prince of Never – Juno Heart – copyright 2019.