Format: Hardcover, 576 pages
Release Date: July 22, 2025
Publisher: Del Rey
Source: Publisher
Genre: Fantasy / Romance
A woman who wields magical tarot cards lands herself in a false engagement to the headmaster of a mysterious academy in this first installment of an enthralling fantasy romance series from the bestselling author of A Deal with the Elf King.
Clara Graysword has survived the underworld of Eclipse City through thievery, luck, and a whole lot of illegal magic. After a job gone awry, Clara is sentenced to a lifetime in prison for inking tarot cards – a rare power reserved for practitioners at the elite Arcana Academy.
Just when it seems her luck has run dry, the academy’s enigmatic headmaster, Prince Kaelis, offers her an escape – for a price. Kaelis believes that Clara is the perfect tool to help him steal from the king and recreate an all-powerful tarot card long lost to time.
In order to conceal her identity, and keep her close, Kaelis brings Clara to Arcana Academy, introducing her as the newest first year student and his bride-to-be.
Thrust into a world of arcane magic and royal intrigue, where one misstep will send her back to prison or worse, Clara finds that the prince she swore to hate may not be as he seems. But can she risk giving him power over the world – and her heart? Or will she take it for herself?
.png)
Clara Graysword has survived the underworld of Eclipse City through thievery, luck, and a whole lot of illegal magic. After a job gone awry, Clara is sentenced to a lifetime in prison for inking tarot cards – a rare power reserved for practitioners at the elite Arcana Academy.
Just when it seems her luck has run dry, the academy’s enigmatic headmaster, Prince Kaelis, offers her an escape – for a price. Kaelis believes that Clara is the perfect tool to help him steal from the king and recreate an all-powerful tarot card long lost to time.
In order to conceal her identity, and keep her close, Kaelis brings Clara to Arcana Academy, introducing her as the newest first year student and his bride-to-be.
Thrust into a world of arcane magic and royal intrigue, where one misstep will send her back to prison or worse, Clara finds that the prince she swore to hate may not be as he seems. But can she risk giving him power over the world – and her heart? Or will she take it for herself?
Arcana Academy is the first installment in author Elise Kova's Arcana Academy series. The story is a blend of dark academia, intricate world-building, and a slow-burn enemies-to-lovers romance with, of course, a really heartbreaking ending. But I digress. The story follows Clara Graysword, a cunning and resilient young woman who has survived the gritty underworld of Eclipse City through thievery and illegal magic—specifically, the rare ability to ink magical tarot cards, a power reserved for the elite practitioners of Arcana Academy.
After a job goes disastrously wrong, Clara finds herself imprisoned in Halazar, facing a lifetime sentence, forced to make tarot cards for the disturbing and vile Warden Glaystone. Her fortunes shift when Prince Kaelis, the enigmatic headmaster of Arcana Academy and second son of King Orcalis, offers her a deal: help him steal a powerful tarot card from the king to recreate a legendary, all-powerful card lost to time, and in return, she’ll gain her freedom.
To conceal her identity, Kaelis brings Clara to the academy as a first-year student and his fake fiancée, thrusting her into a world of arcane magic, deadly trials, and royal intrigue where one misstep could mean prison—or worse. The narrative is driven by Clara’s journey to navigate the academy’s dangers, uncover hidden truths about her own past, and grapple with her complex relationship with Kaelis. The story balances action, mystery, and romance, with themes of trust, betrayal, and self-discovery at its core.
Clara is a standout protagonist—bold, witty, and fiercely independent, yet layered with vulnerabilities stemming from her tragic past. Her ability to think strategically while maintaining a compassionate heart makes her a compelling and relatable heroine. Clara’s not infallible, though; her recklessness and tendency to keep secrets add depth and tension to her arc. Prince Kaelis, the brooding and morally gray headmaster, is an equally captivating figure.
His motives are shrouded in mystery, and his cunning, paired with moments of unexpected vulnerability, make him a perfect foil for Clara. The dynamic between them is electric, fueled by mistrust, forced proximity, and a slow unraveling of their true selves. Kaelis’s “shadow daddy” vibe, complete with a cat named Priss, adds a touch of charm to his otherwise ruthless demeanor. The secondary characters are equally well-crafted, contributing to the story’s rich tapestry.
From Clara’s fierce roommate who sleeps with a dagger to the enigmatic Silas, a “Bruno” figure living in the academy’s shadows, these characters add depth and intrigue. The society of Eclipse City and the elite Arcana Academy are intricately constructed, with a political structure, class system, and magical hierarchy all revolving around the use of tarot cards. The academy itself is a vivid setting, blending gothic dark academia vibes with a sense of danger reminiscent of a darker Harry Potter or Fourth Wing (minus the dragons).
The system is built around the interplay of minor and major arcana, with specific rules governing who can wield certain cards and how their powers manifest. For example, Clara’s ability to ink cards—a rare and forbidden skill outside the academy—sets her apart and drives much of the plot. The magic system is complex, with courses at the academy dedicated to different aspects of card-based magic, and its political implications add layers to the story’s conflicts.
The first half is slower, focusing on world-building and establishing Clara’s place in the academy. However, the second half picks up significantly, with action-packed trials, surprising plot twists, and a cliffhanger that leaves readers desperate for book two. At this point in the year, I am unsure whether to continue the series or not. We shall see how things go with everything I am currently dealing with.
.png)
Chapter 1
Break or die. It’s one or the other in Halazar Prison. I refuse to do either.
Two guards approach my cell. The man in front is carrying an annoyingly efficient lantern. After nearly a year of not seeing the sun, I’m blinded by mere lamplight.
It’s too soon for them to be coming for me again. I expect them to pass, but they stop at my door. I don’t recognize either guard, but Warden Glavstone is always rotating them out—anyone who sticks around for too long might learn too much.
“Clara Graysword?” Graysword: the name given to all orphaned and unwanted children in Eclipse City. The name I gave when I was captured. The name that told the world I had no family to take down with me.
I lift my chin in answer.
“You’re requested for an audience.” The man raises his lantern higher as if trying to get a better look at me through the bars. Unfortunate for him, as I’ve been left to rot, and my visage reflects it.
“Sounds formal.” My voice cracks, my throat drier than yew ash. “With whom?” The guards don’t answer and instead slip a key into the heavy padlock on my door.
Usually, that lock is undone once per week, and they already came for me three days ago. I’m let out only to be taken to a hidden and cramped closet in Warden Glavstone’s office, where I ink tarot cards for him in exchange for what little comforts can be found in this tomb. But I would’ve done the work even without bartering. It has kept my mind sharp and hands skilled for when I get out of here.
Because, whether by my own skill or from my family coming for me, I am getting out. I refuse to die here.
The men step aside, and I slip into the space between them. Once my eyes adjust to the lamplight, I can see the place of my captivity with more clarity than ever before—more than I’d like, frankly.
By the Twenty Major Arcana, Halazar truly is horrendous.
The walls are thick with grime and blood and other substances I have willed myself not to think about. I can only imagine the stink that clouds the air—my nose has been so overwhelmed for so long that I can’t smell anything anymore.
My fellow prisoners hiss at us, then shrink away from the harsh glow of the lantern and back into the safety of their shadows. Reduced to animals, their clothes in tatters like mine, they crawl over the filth on hands and knees.
The minds and bodies of the incarcerated wither away in the darkness. This is the bleakest prison in the entirety of the Oricalis Kingdom, the place where the worst of the worst go. Murderers, rapists, abusers of innocents, and those like me . . . who would dare to use the arcana without being under the crown’s control.
I’m escorted down a passage I’m not familiar with and up a narrow flight of stairs. The guard behind me rests his hand on the pommel of his sword but doesn’t bother unsheathing it. There’s no need for overt threats. Where could you go? is the unasked question.
From a slit in the wall at the top of the stairs, a gust of icy wind batters my face. Through it I stare out at the churning river. It’s dusk, or perhaps dawn; it’s hard to tell, overcast as it is. Either way I can’t help but squint. All I see are mountains; we’re facing west, away from the city.
I inhale air so crisp that it burns my lungs. I’ve been reduced to a creature of squalor who doesn’t even know how to breathe clean air.
“Keep it moving.” The guard at my back shoves me. I stumble and grip the wall, snapping one of my brittle nails down to the bed. But my body has already suffered so many other abuses that the pain hardly registers.
We halt before an unfamiliar door. On it is carved a single sword emerging from a field of clouds. A crown caps its tip, and rose vines trellis down and around the blade.
The iconography is unmistakable—the Ace of Swords. First of the suit. Symbol of the royal family of Oricalis. Standing on either side of the door are two knights in silvered plate. Not city enforcers, or prison guards, but royal knights. Stellis, they’re called. An elite organization of the best of the best fighters in the kingdom, sworn to protect the crown and uphold its laws. The only thing that’s said to outmatch their skill and strength is their brutality. Dove-white and raven-black plumes extend from behind decorative fans of tiny swords carved into their helmets over their ears.
For a moment, I’m no longer in Halazar but back to my last hours in Eclipse City, when Stellis adorned in identical plate held me down before a judge from Clan Hanged Man. I remember the cold floor against my cheek. It contrasted with the searing heat of my shame—I’d been warned I was walking into a trap, and I did it anyway.
It takes every scrap of strength I have to remain calm. To keep my hands from shaking. To stay present even as the judge’s words echo in my mind: By decree of the crown, you are sentenced to life in Halazar.
“Your highness, we have the prisoner,” the Stellis knight calls through the door.
Highness? No. No, no, no. The urge to run nearly overwhelms me.
“Bring her in,” demands a voice that is little more than a whisper of shadow, and no warmer than the darkest night of winter.
The door swings open, revealing a lavish room that should have no place in Halazar. On either side of the door are four cabinets made of yew—it’s a mark of luxury to use that wood for furniture rather than burn it for inking powder. Heavy velvet curtains ward against the chill, barely letting in slivers of light.
The sheer opulence is jarring. A man dressed entirely in comparable finery dyed as black as pitch reclines in one of the two wingback chairs, his feet propped on the back of Warden Glavstone himself.
The warden’s muscular arms tremble under the weight of the other man’s heels—and from a thousand cuts covering his body. The pallor of his skin is in striking contrast to the blood, highlighting the brutality.
I would smile with delight at seeing the warden reduced to such a state if my every hair weren’t now standing on end. Danger, the very air around the man in the wingback seems to whisper. Even the light seems to fear him.
Prince Kaelis, second of three sons of the Kingdom of Oricalis, reverse wielder, and headmaster of Arcana Academy. The prince who reduced an entire noble clan to rubble. A man whose name is synonymous in Oricalis with despair. Who I have every reason to believe killed my mother . . . And the man who put me in Halazar Prison.
“Clara Graysword.” He speaks slowly, as if it’s somehow painful to pronounce. If “Graysword” annoys him, I’d love to see him pronounce my birth name. But my true name is one of my most closely guarded secrets.
“Your royal highness.” I force my tone to be dull, bored, even. To pretend I haven’t spent every month of the past year cursing his name and plotting my revenge against him.
“Sit.” A smirk plays on his lips.
I want to spit in his face. But I do as I’m told, stepping into the room and around the puddle of blood under the warden. As I pass, I get a clearer picture of the warden’s wounds. Each of the hundreds of cuts results from a perfect slice—and each one is clean, penetrating even the warden’s thick leather jacket. I’ve heard about the destruction the Knight of Swords card can reap in the hands of a skilled Arcanist. But I’ve never seen its effects in person—and I’ve never hated anyone enough to want to use it against them.
That is, before I met Kaelis.
Seated opposite the prince, I assess him as openly as he does me.
Everything about Prince Kaelis is severe, as if an artist were challenged to render the most brutal interpretation of masculinity one could imagine. His black patent leather boots shine with a near-mirror finish. Fitted trousers skim his strong thighs. A collared black shirt is barely visible underneath an oversized coat that’s intricately embroidered with a thousand swords in silver threads. And from a chain around his neck, crafted out of a dark, flat gray steel hangs a sword with a crown on its pommel. Deep purple, nearly black hair falls around his face in messy waves, casting his eyes in perpetual shadow.
He exudes power and poise, a stark contrast to my own state: My bones protrude underneath my thin skin. My hair has never been particularly noteworthy in either texture or shade of dark brown, and now it’s been roughly chopped to my ears—it was impossible to keep untangled in the depths of Halazar. My prison uniform looks as if I’ve worn it since the day I arrived, which I have.
“If you know who I am, then you must suspect why I’m here.” Steepling his fingers, he presses them against his thin lips.
“I have my suspicions, your highness.” His title tastes bitter.
“Good. Even better that you’re still able to hold a conversation. Halazar has a way of making people . . . quiet,” he murmurs.
Quiet? He means broken. Shattered. Not that I have much sympathy for the majority of those in these accursed halls. But there are a good few, like me, who were punished for nothing more than daring to try to make a better life for themselves and those they loved.
Break or die. It’s one or the other in Halazar Prison. I refuse to do either.
Two guards approach my cell. The man in front is carrying an annoyingly efficient lantern. After nearly a year of not seeing the sun, I’m blinded by mere lamplight.
It’s too soon for them to be coming for me again. I expect them to pass, but they stop at my door. I don’t recognize either guard, but Warden Glavstone is always rotating them out—anyone who sticks around for too long might learn too much.
“Clara Graysword?” Graysword: the name given to all orphaned and unwanted children in Eclipse City. The name I gave when I was captured. The name that told the world I had no family to take down with me.
I lift my chin in answer.
“You’re requested for an audience.” The man raises his lantern higher as if trying to get a better look at me through the bars. Unfortunate for him, as I’ve been left to rot, and my visage reflects it.
“Sounds formal.” My voice cracks, my throat drier than yew ash. “With whom?” The guards don’t answer and instead slip a key into the heavy padlock on my door.
Usually, that lock is undone once per week, and they already came for me three days ago. I’m let out only to be taken to a hidden and cramped closet in Warden Glavstone’s office, where I ink tarot cards for him in exchange for what little comforts can be found in this tomb. But I would’ve done the work even without bartering. It has kept my mind sharp and hands skilled for when I get out of here.
Because, whether by my own skill or from my family coming for me, I am getting out. I refuse to die here.
The men step aside, and I slip into the space between them. Once my eyes adjust to the lamplight, I can see the place of my captivity with more clarity than ever before—more than I’d like, frankly.
By the Twenty Major Arcana, Halazar truly is horrendous.
The walls are thick with grime and blood and other substances I have willed myself not to think about. I can only imagine the stink that clouds the air—my nose has been so overwhelmed for so long that I can’t smell anything anymore.
My fellow prisoners hiss at us, then shrink away from the harsh glow of the lantern and back into the safety of their shadows. Reduced to animals, their clothes in tatters like mine, they crawl over the filth on hands and knees.
The minds and bodies of the incarcerated wither away in the darkness. This is the bleakest prison in the entirety of the Oricalis Kingdom, the place where the worst of the worst go. Murderers, rapists, abusers of innocents, and those like me . . . who would dare to use the arcana without being under the crown’s control.
I’m escorted down a passage I’m not familiar with and up a narrow flight of stairs. The guard behind me rests his hand on the pommel of his sword but doesn’t bother unsheathing it. There’s no need for overt threats. Where could you go? is the unasked question.
From a slit in the wall at the top of the stairs, a gust of icy wind batters my face. Through it I stare out at the churning river. It’s dusk, or perhaps dawn; it’s hard to tell, overcast as it is. Either way I can’t help but squint. All I see are mountains; we’re facing west, away from the city.
I inhale air so crisp that it burns my lungs. I’ve been reduced to a creature of squalor who doesn’t even know how to breathe clean air.
“Keep it moving.” The guard at my back shoves me. I stumble and grip the wall, snapping one of my brittle nails down to the bed. But my body has already suffered so many other abuses that the pain hardly registers.
We halt before an unfamiliar door. On it is carved a single sword emerging from a field of clouds. A crown caps its tip, and rose vines trellis down and around the blade.
The iconography is unmistakable—the Ace of Swords. First of the suit. Symbol of the royal family of Oricalis. Standing on either side of the door are two knights in silvered plate. Not city enforcers, or prison guards, but royal knights. Stellis, they’re called. An elite organization of the best of the best fighters in the kingdom, sworn to protect the crown and uphold its laws. The only thing that’s said to outmatch their skill and strength is their brutality. Dove-white and raven-black plumes extend from behind decorative fans of tiny swords carved into their helmets over their ears.
For a moment, I’m no longer in Halazar but back to my last hours in Eclipse City, when Stellis adorned in identical plate held me down before a judge from Clan Hanged Man. I remember the cold floor against my cheek. It contrasted with the searing heat of my shame—I’d been warned I was walking into a trap, and I did it anyway.
It takes every scrap of strength I have to remain calm. To keep my hands from shaking. To stay present even as the judge’s words echo in my mind: By decree of the crown, you are sentenced to life in Halazar.
“Your highness, we have the prisoner,” the Stellis knight calls through the door.
Highness? No. No, no, no. The urge to run nearly overwhelms me.
“Bring her in,” demands a voice that is little more than a whisper of shadow, and no warmer than the darkest night of winter.
The door swings open, revealing a lavish room that should have no place in Halazar. On either side of the door are four cabinets made of yew—it’s a mark of luxury to use that wood for furniture rather than burn it for inking powder. Heavy velvet curtains ward against the chill, barely letting in slivers of light.
The sheer opulence is jarring. A man dressed entirely in comparable finery dyed as black as pitch reclines in one of the two wingback chairs, his feet propped on the back of Warden Glavstone himself.
The warden’s muscular arms tremble under the weight of the other man’s heels—and from a thousand cuts covering his body. The pallor of his skin is in striking contrast to the blood, highlighting the brutality.
I would smile with delight at seeing the warden reduced to such a state if my every hair weren’t now standing on end. Danger, the very air around the man in the wingback seems to whisper. Even the light seems to fear him.
Prince Kaelis, second of three sons of the Kingdom of Oricalis, reverse wielder, and headmaster of Arcana Academy. The prince who reduced an entire noble clan to rubble. A man whose name is synonymous in Oricalis with despair. Who I have every reason to believe killed my mother . . . And the man who put me in Halazar Prison.
“Clara Graysword.” He speaks slowly, as if it’s somehow painful to pronounce. If “Graysword” annoys him, I’d love to see him pronounce my birth name. But my true name is one of my most closely guarded secrets.
“Your royal highness.” I force my tone to be dull, bored, even. To pretend I haven’t spent every month of the past year cursing his name and plotting my revenge against him.
“Sit.” A smirk plays on his lips.
I want to spit in his face. But I do as I’m told, stepping into the room and around the puddle of blood under the warden. As I pass, I get a clearer picture of the warden’s wounds. Each of the hundreds of cuts results from a perfect slice—and each one is clean, penetrating even the warden’s thick leather jacket. I’ve heard about the destruction the Knight of Swords card can reap in the hands of a skilled Arcanist. But I’ve never seen its effects in person—and I’ve never hated anyone enough to want to use it against them.
That is, before I met Kaelis.
Seated opposite the prince, I assess him as openly as he does me.
Everything about Prince Kaelis is severe, as if an artist were challenged to render the most brutal interpretation of masculinity one could imagine. His black patent leather boots shine with a near-mirror finish. Fitted trousers skim his strong thighs. A collared black shirt is barely visible underneath an oversized coat that’s intricately embroidered with a thousand swords in silver threads. And from a chain around his neck, crafted out of a dark, flat gray steel hangs a sword with a crown on its pommel. Deep purple, nearly black hair falls around his face in messy waves, casting his eyes in perpetual shadow.
He exudes power and poise, a stark contrast to my own state: My bones protrude underneath my thin skin. My hair has never been particularly noteworthy in either texture or shade of dark brown, and now it’s been roughly chopped to my ears—it was impossible to keep untangled in the depths of Halazar. My prison uniform looks as if I’ve worn it since the day I arrived, which I have.
“If you know who I am, then you must suspect why I’m here.” Steepling his fingers, he presses them against his thin lips.
“I have my suspicions, your highness.” His title tastes bitter.
“Good. Even better that you’re still able to hold a conversation. Halazar has a way of making people . . . quiet,” he murmurs.
Quiet? He means broken. Shattered. Not that I have much sympathy for the majority of those in these accursed halls. But there are a good few, like me, who were punished for nothing more than daring to try to make a better life for themselves and those they loved.
