Spotlight & Giveaway: Stay for a Spell by Amy Coombe

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Amy Coombe to HJ!

Hi Amy and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Stay for a Spell!

Hi!

Please summarize the book for the readers here:

Tandy is a princess who spends most of the year travelling the country, cutting ribbons and attending state dinners. But all she really wants is to do is curl up somewhere quiet with a good book. Or perhaps a lot of good books. On a routine visit to the tiny town of Little Pepperidge, she accidentally gets her wish when she unintentionally finds herself cursed… never to leave the local bookshop. At least, not until she unlocks her heart’s desire. Not remotely upset about this turn of events, Tandy turns her attention to the shop, trying to set it to rights while also dealing with the locals, including a grumpy teen goth dragonperson named Sasha and an irritatingly handsome local pirate with very sticky fingers. But Tandy’s parents aren’t going to sit idly by while their daughter cheerfully avoids her royal duties, and in desperation start sending princes up to Little Pepperidge to kiss the curse away. An ode to the magic of bookstores – and finding happy endings on your own terms – Stay For A Spell is a fairytale for every grownup who ever wished they could live in a bookstore.
 

Please share your favorite line(s) or quote from this book:

“How do you live?” Sasha asks him. “If you’re afraid of water. What do you drink? How are you still alive? What happens if it rains?”
“It’s worse the more water it is,” he says, his voice light. “A little water seems to cause a little tremor, but it’s nothing more than you’d feel walking the masts on a still day.” He looks at me as though I have any idea how frightening such a thing might or might not be. “You know. Manageable. The more water it is, the worse the fear.”
“But like, how much is more?” Sasha says. “What’s a puddle? For me, that isn’t much water but for a hedgehog, that’s a lot.”
“Good thing I’m not a hedgehog.”

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

The working title was “The Little Orcish Bookshop” – and then I learned that Travis Baldree’s followup to Legends & Lattes was about an orc running a bookshop, so I pivoted (even though Tandy’s not an orc). I wrote the first 35,000 words in about a week! Once I had the bit between my teeth with the idea, I just couldn’t stop writing. My final fun-fact is that I did write an explicit (and pretty long!) sex scene but then cut it… but my UK publishers (Harper Voyager UK) have it and have plans to do… something… with it!

What first attracts your Hero to the Heroine and vice versa?

Tandy is instantly attracted to Bash’s extreme good looks and very tight pants. Bash, meanwhile, finds Tandy’s good nature and steely determination to do things her own way astonishingly attractive.

Did any scene have you blushing, crying or laughing while writing it? And Why?

Is it just too embarrassing to admit that I laugh at my own book? I love Sasha (the teenaged dragonperson character) and writing her and her friends was a delight. There’s also a wizard character who shows up at the end and does things like taste the dust in the air; she made me giggle with every line I wrote.

Readers should read this book….

If they love bookstores, happy endings, and lots of gentle fairytale revisionism. And hot pirates.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have in the works?

I’m editing book 2 (I don’t want to spoil the title yet but I’ve had it in mind since I finished book 1) and I’m currently writing book 3.
 

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: One copy of STAY FOR A SPELL for one U.S. only winner.

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: Hello, lovely readers! If you could be cursed to live in any sort of store or shop for an undetermined amount of time, what would it be and why?

Excerpt from Stay for a Spell:

Chapter 1

I have it on pretty good authority that lots of children dream about being a princess: the crowns, the clothes, the enchanted gardens and royal balls and magical, well, life.

As an actual princess-Tanadelle de Courcy officially, Tandy to my friends, and faintly annoying to my mother-I can tell you that I spent my childhood dreaming about not being a princess: no crowns to slip off my head or get tangled in my hair; normal gardens to play in, not teeming with oversized flowers and excitable fairies (did you know they bite?); country dances instead of royal balls, which are honestly rather dull, as you have to stand in line and shake hands with every guest for the first four hours, then dance with an endless succession of heads of state, who step on your toes and ask what your royal parents really think of the new trade deal-and that’s if you’re old enough to be allowed to attend anyway. Unlike the stories, handsome young princes and mysterious strangers are few and far between at the average royal ball. I do like the clothes; I’ll admit that much: enormous gowns in a rainbow array of colors, made of incredible fabrics, decorated by the most skilled artisans in the modern world, positively dripping with gems and perfect, detailed embroidery . . . yes, that I do like. Of course, I also like slipping on a pair of breeches and running around wild. I don’t get to do that much these days, but at least I can remember it fondly, once in a while.

By and large, life as a princess is not actually exciting. It is, in fact, boring.

Very boring.

I spend most of the year in carriages, going from town to town, doing things like laying cornerstones and dedicating fountains and officially opening local parks. Attending long-very long-dinners. Cutting ribbons. Kissing babies. (I don’t mind that, either.) The only real upside is that I have a lot of spare time to read.

Which is how I find myself in Little Pepperidge, a small town on the outskirts of Crannymete, one of the more far-flung counties in my country. Crannymete is, as the name suggests, full of gullies and crannies and dramatic outcroppings of rocks, set amidst verdant green hills, and those hills are awash with lovely fluffy sheep. Little Pepperidge is similarly lovely; the local stone is a buttery yellow color, which, of all things, turns pink if burned, so the local stonemasons burn half their output and the town is filled with buildings built out of soft pastel-colored stones. It is, in a word, adorable. Greater Pepperidge, which is on the other side of the Pepperidge Gap, is a little less atmospheric, being bigger and busier. But Little Pepperidge is about as cute and peaceful as it gets.

Anyway, Little Pepperidge has just rebuilt their market square, and I’ve been sent off as representative of the royal family to officially dedicate this new market square to the betterment of modern life, or something. It’s one of a long string of royal appearances I’m scheduled to make over the course of the next month, following five months of the same already, I’ve dedicated one cemetery; laid four cornerstones; given my royal blessing to a new cathedral, three churches, and a sacred sapling; and inspected a unicorn colt (unicorns, being rare, are the property of the Crown, and thus any newborn unicorn must be inspected by a royal personage; this is another of my favorite duties).

I show up on a cool, overcast, late-summer’s day in Little Pepperidge in my carriage, drawn by four perfectly matched gray chargers, with a few trunks full of my gowns of state tied up at the back, and my secretary, Honeyrose, scribbling away in her ledger-and me, on the last page of the last book in my stack for the entire trip.

I clearly underpacked.

I flip my book closed, sigh, and pull the curtain aside to gaze longingly out the window. At what, I don’t really know. Maybe at a life where I’m not on the road thirty weeks out of a year.

Across from me, Honeyrose clears her throat and starts speaking.

“Little Pepperidge was founded seven hundred and fifty years ago, give or take, by a family from Greater Pepperidge who took umbrage at the price of barley sold by their local grocer and decided to strike out for themselves.” This is Honeyrose’s job: to read up on wherever we’re going and fill me in on useful facts that I can drop into conversation at high table with the mayor after I’ve finished cutting ribbons for the day. She also chivies me into writing my speeches and then tsks over the edits.

“Barley,” I repeat.

“Barley,” Honeyrose says, not looking up from her dossier. “Unfortunately, the soil in this area isn’t especially conducive to barley farming, but the family-the Samish’ets-had a sideline going in sheep, and discovered that the local area was, and remains, excellent for grazing.”

“I don’t see any sheep,” I say, in a sad attempt at humor. The hills are positively alive with sheep. A nearby sheep bleats loudly after my bad joke. Honeyrose shoots me a look and returns to her dossier. “The descendants of those Samish’et homesteaders continue to live in Little Pepperidge today; they’re draconae, so the town’s population overindexes in draconae, relative to the kingdom at large. It is, let’s see”-she flips a page-“twenty percent draconae, twelve percent fairy, forty percent dwarf, eighteen percent human, ten percent other. Oh, there’s a creeping horror!” She smiles a little fondly. Honey’s always had a weakness for unusual people. “You’ll be meeting the Lord Mayor, Sideran Samish’et; her husband; her deputy . . .”

Honeyrose keeps speaking, listing the names and occupations of the town’s great and good, and I know I should pay attention, but I can’t seem to concentrate. The book I just finished was a romance about a shepherdess and an air-pirate, and those beautiful green hills look like a glorious place for a romp, surrounded by sheep, dreaming about air-pirates . . . Whatever an air-pirate might be. Something about a ship enchanted to fly, though the details were fuzzy.

“Local business tends to revolve around sheep-farming and quarrying,” Honeyrose continues, and I wrench my attention away from the lovely green hills and try to focus on what she’s saying.

“. . . Friendly town, known for its quirky shops, diverse population, and beautiful scenery, as well as the famous yellow and pink stones,” she continues, and I tune out again. Every town I’ve passed through recently has been about the same. Minus the yellow and pink stones.

We’re rolling through the town proper now, and I let my gaze settle on the pink and yellow stone buildings. There do seem to be a number of quirky shops: Madam Milligan’s Green Groceries; a store selling, it would seem, baby clothes; a coffee shop with a luscious-looking slice of cake painted on its sign; a bookstore . . .

A bookstore.

“Wait, wait,” I squeak out. “Stop the coach!”

Honeyrose shoots me a withering glance, then yanks on a bellpull; I hear the faint answering tinkle of the bell outside, beside my coachman, and the coach slows to a halt.

“Bookstore,” I say, smiling. “There’s a bookstore! Right there!”

“We only have an hour before the dedication, Your Highness,” Honeyrose says, severity lining her voice. Despite the fact that I’ve known her for a decade, she refuses to call me by my proper name if she thinks I’m acting contrary to my royal duties. Like now, it would seem. But I need a book. I really need a new book.

“I just finished this,” I say, flapping my last book at her as though it’ll punctuate my desperation. “I’ll just dash in and grab something to tide myself over until . . .”

“Crofar,” Honeyrose supplies. “Tomorrow. You’re opening the new bridge they’ve built.”

“Crofar,” I agree. “Just one book!”

Honeyrose sighs.

“You don’t need to come,” I add.

She rolls her eyes. Of course she needs to come. I’m not meant to handle money. As in, I’m legally forbidden to handle money. Honeyrose carries my purse and buys whatever I want at my direction so that no coin crosses my palm.

This is, of course, an immensely stupid rule, and one I plan to do something about when my parents finally decide to step down and pass the crown on to my older sister. It’s always possible the worst could happen, and my sister could go totally mad and pass on the crown, leaving me on the throne . . . but no, she would never. She’s been looking forward to taking over since the moment she was born. If I were to become regent, however, I’d change the law. It’s extremely inconvenient. Not to mention terribly out of date. The crown prince of Corscan raises his own sheep and sells the wool at stalls he himself runs at local markets, for crying out loud. If he can handle money, surely I can.

“Ten minutes,” Honeyrose says.

“Oh, Honey, thank you!” I push the door open without waiting for the footman to do it for me and leap down onto the cobblestone-lined street with a little splash. Of course; it rained earlier, and I’m standing in a puddle. Well, no matter; I’m in traveling clothes anyway and I’ll have time to change before I open the market later. Even with a quick stop in a bookstore.

I skip across the cobbles without waiting for Honey, put my hand on the handle, and take a deep breath. Bookstores: the only places in the entire kingdom that promise something besides dull conversations about economics and local politics and whatever else I’m meant to be thinking about.

Books promise you that your life can change in an instant. And bookstores? Bookstores offer refuge, a home away from home. No matter how far you travel, you can always find a little piece of home inside a bookstore.

Excerpted from Stay for a Spell by Amy Coombe Copyright © 2026 by Amy Coombe. Excerpted by permission of Ace. All rights reserved.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

A cursed princess must discover what her heart truly longs for in this charmingly cozy romantic fantasy for everyone who’s ever lost – or found – themselves in a bookshop.

Princess Tanadelle of the Widdenmar is disillusioned with life as a princess. She longs for real conversation, the chance to build a life of her own making, and uninterrupted reading time.

During a routine royal visit to the town of Little Pepperidge, Tandy’s dream comes true when she finds herself cursed to remain in a run-down bookshop until she unlocks her heart’s desire. Certain that someone will figure out how to break the curse eventually, and delighted by the prospect of an entire bookstore of her own, Tandy settles into life among the stacks. She finds it easy to exchange balls and endless state dinners for teetering piles of books and an irritatingly handsome pirate who seems bent on stealing her stock.

She even starts to believe she’s stumbled into her very own happily ever after.

There’s just one, minor problem: as Tandy’s royal duties go unfulfilled, her frantic parents start sending princes to woo her, each one of them certain their kiss will break the curse. After all, what more could a princess want but a prince?
 
 

Meet the Author:

Amy Coombe grew up in California and lived in Chicago and New Haven before moving to the UK, where she puts her degrees in law and modern history to good use by doing something else entirely. She lives in London with her family and three cats. Stay for a Spell is her first novel.