EP van Gelder's latest book: One Knight Under Her Spell is a cozy cottagecore fantasy bubbling with humor and steeped in romance. With found family, cat antics, and enough tea to drown a scandal, it is the perfect escape for fans of T. Kingfisher or Travis Baldree.PREORDER HERE
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Lord Thaddeus Perceval Vosswhythe was no longer a man—and Fedora was entirely to blame. Still, that didn’t mean it was acceptable that he’d stowed away in her handcart and was now flaunting his big fluffy tail around the market for every soul to see.“Cat!” she hissed when she saw him slink away. “What are you doing here?!”
With one rash spell, she tipped her peaceful world over like a cat swinging from her teacup shelf.Act first, think later. This wisdom always worked for her. But when a highborn dalliance turned out to be married, she discovered the flaw in her ways.Lord Thadeus Perceval Vosswhythe is now... a cat.
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About the Author
E.P. van Gelder has worked as an animator for video games, exhibited sculptures worldwide, and sold his soul making motion graphics for corporate TV behemoths—only to reclaim it by writing the books he loves.
He writes about flawed yet good-hearted characters who support each other through the struggles of being human—or orc, or dwarf. Now, more than ever, he believes that our only real power lies in togetherness.
In his spare time, he rides bikes, climbs mountains, and drinks an absurd amount of snob-coffee.
previous books by E.P. van Gelder
Lord Thaddeus Perceval Vosswhythe was no longer a man—and she was entirely to blame. Still, that didn’t mean it was acceptable that he’d stowed away in her handcart and was now flaunting his big fluffy tail around the market for every soul to see.“Cat!” she hissed when she saw him slink away. “What are you doing here?!”The tomcat ignored her and pranced toward the fish booth that was across from hers, tail upright, swishing leisurely. Panic seized her heart as she watched him weave between the muscled calves of a menacing-looking orc, waiting to buy fish.That cretin. That self-absorbed wretch! Why could he not have stayed on her windowsill? He spent every day there, refusing to move. She stomped her foot and hissed his name. “Lord Perceval! Come here! Now!”All she achieved was an odd look from one of the marketgoers waiting to buy fish. And the realization that shouting the name of a missing lord in the middle of a busy market was possibly not the best idea.She jolted upright. To them, she reminded herself; he was just a cat. And she was—hopefully—just a woman selling her wares.“Teas and medicines!” she croaked as loud as she could, trying to appear normal. This was fine. Everything was okay. And she better get to it.There were few things she detested more than calling out her wares. One of them was being hungry, though. Which is what would happen if she failed to sell anything to the townspeople.“Fish! Fresh from the harbor in Argenmeet!” the vendor across the narrow lane shouted in a voice rough enough to make a grindstone wince. The dull-eyed herring he had baking in the sun couldn’t be fresh when Argenmeet lay a two-day ride away. Yet, a steady stream of customers left the fishmonger’s stall with a wetcloth full of herring, and no one as much as glanced at her teas. This day was not going well.Tea made for poor slamming, so she made do by rearranging the packets fastidiously.When some of the fishmonger’s customers stepped away, they revealed her new feline companion standing on his hind legs, sniffing the fish. The fishmonger laughed and shooed Lord-Perceval-as-cat away. Even then, the Fiery Lord’s lightning did not strike her down, nor did the Seven Sisters’ wrath drown her.“Teas and medi—” she started, only to be interrupted.“Fish! Fresher than the queen’s socks!”The fish merchant cast her a merry smirk, seeing humor where there was none. Fedora glared back. She ground her heels into the gravel and took a deep breath. “Teas! And—”“Medicines, aye?” A burly man of middling years slid out in front of her stall, stroking his beard with stained fingers, each nail rimmed with dirt.“I do those,” she said too sharply, just before she got her voice under control. “What is ailing you?”“Oh, it’s for the wifey. She’s been having trouble getting excited, you know—” the man winked at her “—to do her wifely duties.”He let go of his beard, and it sprung out into a wiry bush. His mustache, she realized, was still tipped with the yellowing foam of whatever he’d been drinking on his way there.“Well, kind sir, I have just the thing for you,” she said, fixing him with a hard smile. “Nothing works better than what I am about to show you. Your wife will be ecstatic, happier than she’s been since your wedding day. Here, let me…”She opened a box and rummaged inside, longer than was necessary. When she straightened up, she held out a waxy bar that smelled of honey, sunpine, and cleanliness. “You know what they say, sir: a happy wife makes a happy husband.”The man stared at her hand, then cast a sour glare up at her.“Soap? What are you trying to say, lady?”“Oh? Would you like me to explain how it works?”His face twisted into a snarl. “Filthy witch!” He turned away, muttering at her as he went. Feeling better, Fedora watched him go.But where was the Celestia-cursed cursed cat? Her gaze darted back to the fish merchant’s booth, but found a new arrival instead.An older woman stood in front of her stall, straight as a ruler. Her gown was cut from an indigo fabric so stiff it might stand up on its own, even without the Guild’s High Witch in it. Her hair, no doubt as long as Fedora’s, was hidden in a matching cloth caul.The woman’s sour face was all too familiar to Fedora. “Velmora,” she said flatly.“Fedora.” The woman inclined her head, wrinkling her neck against her unbudging collar. “The tea business is going well, I see?” She let her eyes glide disdainfully over Fedora’s collection of herbs.“What are you doing here, Velmora? Need a tonic for your wifey too?”The woman snorted as she continued to survey Fedora’s wares, showing nothing but disinterest. “You know I don’t concern myself with quackery.”“Not quackery. All honest herb craft, the way my mother taught me.”“She should have taught you the real craft.”Fedora’s fist tightened around the bar of soap. For a moment, she imagined chucking it into the woman’s dour face. “I’ll be sure to tell her that when I see her in the next life. Now, have you come here to criticize my dead mother, or is there anything else I can help you with?”Without lifting her eyes from Fedora’s teas, she said, “It was brought to my attention that you wanted to meet me?”
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With one rash spell, she tipped her peaceful world over like a cat swinging from her teacup shelf.Act first, think later. This wisdom always worked for her. But when a highborn dalliance turned out to be married, she discovered the flaw in her ways.Lord Thadeus Perceval Vosswhythe is now... a cat.Fedora has no clue how to control magic, let alone reverse it. But she can’t let his lordship spend the rest of his days licking his paws in her woodland cottage. The solution? A spell from the Witches' Guild library. The problem? She’s spent years telling them to stuff their rules.Now, to get her spell, she has to fulfill their tea-leaf prophecy. Pretty steep, but... seduce the king? How hard can it be?Except, it’s not the king their magic guides to her door—it’s his unethically handsome jousting double, Fynn. A soldier who’d rather be a baker, Fynn feels honor-bound to help her, even if mishaps follow each other like spiced buns at a royal breakfast.And he's brought his oddball friends. Did she find love and the family she never had?Or has she invoked her own curse?“One Knight Under Her Spell” is a cozy cottagecore fantasy bubbling with humor and steeped in romance. With found family, cat antics, and enough tea to drown a scandal, it is the perfect escape for fans of T. Kingfisher or Travis Baldree.☕ Cozy: 4/5
🔥 Stakes: 2.5/5
🌶️ Spice: 3/5
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