Kerri Maniscalco's Prince of Sin series continues to absolutely dazzle us as she brings us back with another standalone fantasy romance. And now with the upcoming release of Throne of Nightmares, we're awaiting to see what she has in store when it comes to Prince Sloth as we finally get his story told.

Cosmopolitan has an exclusive look at Throne of Nightmares by Kerri Maniscalco, which is set to be released on February 10, 2026. Prince Sloth and Lore Brimstone are transported to familiar stories with darker twists and they are forced to work together to find their way back home and defeat the magic behind the Book of Nightmares before the Goddess of Night takes over. Here's some more info from our friends at Little, Brown, and Company:

In this action-packed standalone fantasy romance from New York Times bestselling sensation Kerri Maniscalco, a book of dangerous magic draws two readers into a perilous quest to find it—and their own happy ending.

“Beware of waking the gods, their dreams are often our nightmares …”

A prince who prefers games of the head to those of the heart.

Prince Sloth hates leaving his enchanted library, but when a forgotten deity threatens the very fabric of the Underworld, he’s thrust into a race against time. He must find the Book of Nightmares—an ancient artifact that has the power to break worlds—before it unleashes a deadly game to free its master, the Goddess of Night. When a betrayal leaves him marked, and desperate, his path collides with a young woman who possesses the legendary Phoenix Tear—a portal stone unlike any other.

A librarian who is all sweet sunshine … until she burns.

Lore Brimstone has always loved getting lost in a book—but she never meant literally. Yet, after visiting a traveling caravan, she quickly finds herself transported to a terrifying but oddly familiar world—with the worst, twisted prince at her side. Realizing they are living out her favorite novels one by one, they face off against an increasingly dark magic as they try to survive the story.

A twisted tale that means they can’t trust themselves—or their hearts.

As Lore and Sloth navigate the pages of her beloved novels gone wrong, she must channel her inner main character to defeat the Book of Nightmares before the wall between the gods and mortals comes crashing down, dooming them all.

"When I drafted Throne of Nightmares, my hope was to make it my love letter to the readers who’ve been with me over these last ten years, the readers who are new to my stories, and the readers who simply love romance novels and wish they could visit their favorite bookish worlds," Kerri told Cosmopolitan.

And while we're still waiting to see what happens in Throne of Nightmares, she also has a special announcement up her sleeve very soon.

"Readers state their cases for why they think their favorite should be the next one to get their happily ever after, and I have to admit, they all make very compelling arguments. I love how excited they get, and it’s that excitement that fuels me and my creativity. Not a day goes by where I’m not so grateful for my readers and how invested they are in their favorite characters' lives," she said. "I can’t say much until February 19th, but I can share that my editor and I are working very hard to make each of their dreams come true."

You're going to want to watch her Instagram account to see what she has to say next. Until then, at least you can check out an exclusive excerpt below. Just make sure to pre-order Throne of Nightmares and check out some of her other books to make the wait a bit easier!

An Excerpt From Throne of Nightmares
By Kerri Maniscalco

NINE

Lore

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the strong, tattooed arm draped over me. Which was rather disturbing since I had no recollection of falling asleep or, more importantly, falling asleep with a man possessively holding on to me, even in slumber.

I blinked until the early morning bleariness faded, wondering if I was somehow dreaming.

Had I finally had an unforgettable night of passion and lost my memory of it?

That seemed like the sort of thing that could happen to me. Well, maybe not the night of incredible passion, unfortunately. Or maybe this was a trap and at any moment I’d have to free myself from this captor. Luckily, I’d been preparing for this twisted scenario for years. I was almost excited. I didn’t dare hope it was the beginning of my own reverse harem story and that there might be more heavily muscled — and tattooed — men lying around nearby.

Honestly, it could be a scene out of a dark fantasy or romance, and I was slowly realizing I might have questionable taste in fiction.

At least the members of my book club were on the same dark descent to literary hell — the novel we’d voted to read next was so wrong it was right. Agatha and Blake would positively lose their minds if I managed my own harem. Needless to say, our monthly discussions were very fun. I made a mental note to have some Team Morally Gray & Fictionally

Depraved tunics embroidered for our meeting the following month.

Gold ink shimmered in the darkness, drawing my attention back to the stranger’s arm.

It was no dream.

Before I completely panicked about who the arm belonged to and how I ended up tucked in beside him, the events of the previous day came crashing back.

The old woman and her quest from hell, the shadows, the giant spiders, the goblin cannibal.

And my strong, silent, reluctant partner in crime. If he didn’t tell me his name today, I’d have to give him a temporary one soon.

Maybe Zephyrus. Or Charles. Or even Bradford St. Germaine the third.

Obviously, I’d have to think on that more. Bradford wasn’t the sexiest name. He needed something befitting a supernatural villain archetype.

If he was uncooperative, I could always just call him Blondie. I smiled, imagining his scowl.

He would positively hate being called that.

Naturally, that was now his new name. At least until he started consistently calling me Lore; then we could revisit our stance on pet names.

I pumped an imaginary fist in the air, already claiming victory in our war. Long live my revenge for Peaches. I couldn’t wait to unveil it when he woke up.

Hopefully he’d be in a good mood and wouldn’t strangle me.

I peered at the ink on his arm through slitted lashes, admiring how lifelike the feathers were.

I wanted to see if they felt as downy soft as they looked but kept my hands to myself. The sociopath probably wouldn’t appreciate channeling his inner house cat, so I refrained from petting him like one.

His sparkling tattoo was one more glaring indicator that he was not exactly what he appeared to be.

I’d never seen glowing ink before; maybe he was the one who’d made a bargain.

Hope bloomed like a spring flower in my chest.

If a thundercloud like him could manifest a bit of magic, my deal had to be on the horizon.

Unless he was the one doling out bargains; then that might get tricky.

But I was positive we could work out something mutually favorable.

I closed my eyes again.

It was so warm I debated whether I should pretend to still be sleeping, or if I had to do the responsible adult thing and get up.

The thought of having to face the uncertain reality of this strange new world was a tad overwhelming. What little energy I’d recuperated over-night vanished and laziness won.

I burrowed against the assassin, seeking out more of that delicious warmth he radiated. For a stone-cold killer, he really was exceptional at cuddling.

I released a contented sigh as I wriggled into the perfect nook between his arm and body. Surprisingly, he didn’t protest.

He must be in a deep sleep; otherwise, I imagined he’d be grumbling as I fluffed his arm like a pillow and stuffed it under my head.

Today was already off to a much better start than yesterday.

I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the day like this, lost in my own little daydreaming bubble, far from all the creepy things that went bump in the night here. Alas, my drowsy stupor didn’t last.

The more I focused on trying to fall asleep again, the more my mind revolted. Someone needed to remind it we were on the same team and to stop internally fighting me.

My extremely valid argument with myself was simple: The more rest I had now, the more physically and mentally prepared I’d be to face whatever ghoulish delight awaited us. But my brain was a stubborn mule, and I slowly became aware of the other things it had been alerting me to.

Like the assassin’s hard, naked body pressed against mine.

That couldn’t be right. There was no chance Lord Serious slept nude. I shimmied against him, expecting to feel the leather of his trousers. But no . . . that was bare skin.

All thoughts emptied from my head when I realized I was also completely nude and was still rubbing up against him.

He might be asleep, but parts of him were now very much awake.

I should have been more scandalized, but I was honestly a little disappointed I couldn’t recall the details of him ripping his clothes off.

I imagined the assassin would be the type to set that brooding stare on me in challenge as he disrobed.

Confident but not arrogant that I would like what I saw.

He wouldn’t be wrong. Even being wildly unfriendly, he was physically attractive and knew it.

I gave myself a mental slap.

Drooling over him when I had more important issues to solve was absurd. I’d definitely need to evaluate my priorities once I returned to Bellington.

I had been with a few lovers before, but I always remembered the getting-naked part. Now I drew a complete blank on how we ended up in this . . . position.

I swallowed thickly, trying to calm my racing thoughts and think beyond the sensation of his body molded to mine.

Logically, I knew he had to have a good reason for undressing us.

He didn’t strike me as the kind of person who did something extreme without exhausting all viable options first.

Which didn’t necessarily ease my worries.

I inhaled and slowly exhaled, attempting to calm myself.

If we were in a romance novel, he’d undoubtedly nuzzle into my neck, unaware of what he was doing, then jolt backward as he woke up and realized he was a little too happy, given the circumstances.

Or maybe not, depending on what sort of romance we were in.

If it was a dark romance, maybe this would be the dubious consent scene and we’d both pretend we didn’t want to give in to our desires while absolutely giving in to them.

Because avoiding reality for another minute seemed like the best path to take, and I was on the verge of completely shutting down, I amused myself by analyzing why that worked in some books but not others, finally settling on whether the characters were openly attracted before the questionable antics began.

I froze, recalling the strange details from yesterday.

After all the weird, magical things that happened, I couldn’t stop wondering if I’d accidentally transported us into one such romance novel.

Maybe that was one of the things the portal stone did.

I’d definitely been the one to bring us to Jessa Maya’s book. The assassin hadn’t read it. And if I did somehow use the portal stone to bring that story to life, then I could be in a new book now.

Maybe this was a dark romance.

I tried to figure out if my heart was pounding in excitement or concern. Or maybe both.

Would I pretend to still be sleeping and bite my lip to keep from making any noise if the sociopath’s hands suddenly strayed?

I suspected I knew the answer. I was a hussy through and through.

I needed to start designing a tattoo — maybe Ruined by Romance in pretty script with peach anemone flowers woven around my wrist like a cuff, letting the world know I’d happily be chained to the genre for life.

A few minutes passed with no questionable groping, and I released a breath.

At least that was settled.

Since we were not in a dark romance, he didn’t stir.

Which was a good thing — I needed one less complication in my world until I figured out what the hells had happened.

Bits and pieces of the previous night slowly came back. Being strapped to a tree, the icy rain, the cold. The wolves. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

Were there wolves aside from the nightmare creature Jessa Maya rode? And if there had been, how did we end up in this . . . my attention swept around the dark chamber.

The primitive fire pit, small stack of twigs, the animal scat in the far corner.

The naked murderer had brought us to a cave.

I vaguely recalled him scouting the area for a warm, dry place to shelter for the night.

Given my memory of feeling frozen to the core, I imagined I’d been hypothermic, which finally explained the lack of clothing.

Something aside from the obvious — waking up naked in a cavern with a stranger who probably had an entire graveyard of dead bodies he was responsible for and being a little turned on anyway — was bothering me.

It took another second to realize what: my companion hadn’t moved or spoken.

By now he should have definitely figured out I was awake and might have some questions about how we ended up twined together like two longtime lovers in this fine establishment.

Gods. I sincerely hoped neither the cannibal nor hypothermia had gotten to him. If I was cuddling with a corpse, I might lose my mind.

Horny horror was a genre I did not want to know existed or accidentally create.

I twisted in his arms, which proved to be exceptionally difficult. His weight was leaden.

I elbowed him a little, fighting the frantic feeling building inside me. He couldn’t be dead. Could he?

“Wake up, Blondie.”

He didn’t. Another oddity. From our limited time together, he didn’t seem like the type who would be a heavy sleeper.

Now that I was fully awake and alert, I listened closely, noticing the wet rasp of his shallow breaths for the first time.

As carefully as I could manage, I moved his arm off me and slipped out from under it, making sure to keep the blanket in place over his lower half.

Modesty was clearly important in a potential life-or-death situation.

I turned around and finally got my first good look at him since last night. I stilled as I discovered why my spider-killing-savior was silent.

Above his ribs the blanket tented out.

I must have made some sound of alarm, because the assassin’s eyes slowly blinked open, and I nearly collapsed with relief.

That cool, beautiful stare narrowed on me, and I got all warm and fuzzy inside. Lord Stoic would live to torment giant spiders another day.

Praise be to the gods who watched over sinners.

He studied me for a silent moment, seeming to come to some satisfactory conclusion, then closed his eyes.

I might not be well-versed in medical thrillers but had read enough to know that I had to keep him conscious.

“Is that a dagger in your chest or are you just happy to see me?”

He groaned as if the joke pained him more than the blade in his ribs. But it served its purpose. He was now alert. Which was incredible and hard to fathom.

“Grab the hilt and pull it out at the angle it went in.” Correction, he was now alert and bossy.

I swallowed the lump in my throat at his command.

I was not equipped to remove deadly weapons. Mostly because blood made me squeamish.

Also due to the small fact that I had no medical background, and it seemed like the sort of thing where experience was required.

His pale gaze held mine.

“You’re stronger than you think, Peaches.” Sweet, delusional soul.

I wasn’t worried about my emotional strength.

I was concerned about possibly puking on him or passing out or worse, puking and passing out in it.

Since he’d assumed I was a damsel in distress for all the wrong reasons, he would have to find that out on his own.

Some lessons were best learned through experience, anyway. I imagined getting vomit in a wound would be an event not easily forgotten. One day he might even thank me for instilling such valuable insight in him.

“You’re just buttering me up to avoid the ‘cuddling naked in a cave without buying me dinner first’ discussion we’re about to have.”

I swore he almost grinned before his expression tightened again. “Next time you’re close to death, I’ll be sure to court you properly first.”

“See that you do.”

Channeling my best impression of a main character who wouldn’t pass out at the sight of blood, or care that she was butt naked with an assassin she’d accidentally dry-humped a few minutes before, I wrapped both hands around the hilt, closed my eyes, and tugged.

And tugged. And tugged.

I opened my eyes and glared at the dagger. It was really stuck in the bone.

“Wretched, cursed thing. Who stabbed you? The god of war?” “More like a goddess,” he mumbled.

I glanced up, pausing my very important work.

“Are you telling me you experienced a real-life knife-to-the-throat scene? And I missed it?”

“Lore . . .”

“Oh, my gods.” I leaned forward, mindful of not pushing the blade in.

The extraction was difficult enough as it was. “Did you like it?”

I assumed the combination of heightened emotions mixed with danger could be an intoxicating aphrodisiac in the right circumstances.

Personally, I wouldn’t be thinking sexy thoughts if some random lunatic accosted me with a blade in a shadowy location.

However, if my known enemy — who happened to look like a demigod — decided to lean in all slow and sensual . . . I might feel otherwise.

Briefly.

Then hate myself for it for at least a chapter or two until our next charged encounter.

I studied the assassin carefully, trying to dissect his thoughts.

His expression went completely blank. Not because he didn’t understand what I’d meant, but because he did enjoy it. The fiend!

I stared at him like I was seeing him for the first time.

The quiet ones really were freaks in the bedchamber.

Who would have thought Lord Stoic would be turned on by violence?

Actually, that sort of tracked, given his proficiency for killing.

Not to mention, he’d said the dagger was wielded by someone he’d called a goddess, so no wonder it had turned him on when she’d stabbed him.

I all but rolled my eyes at the predictability. Stupid, immortal were-god. Of course he’d fall for another inhumanly beautiful mate.

An uncomfortable feeling settled in my stomach. One I refused to analyze too closely.

“Well,” I said brightly, “I’m sure she was stunning, so a physical reaction makes sense.”

He looked at me like I might be a little crazy, but my answering look reminded him I wasn’t the one who’d gotten all hot and bothered while getting stabbed. I was simply being supportive of his obvious depravity.

Until we figured out how to get back to Bellington, we were stuck working together.

He wrapped one calloused hand around mine and nodded for me to pry the blade out again.

This time he helped.

“She looked like you.”

Excerpted from THRONE OF NIGHTMARES by Kerri Maniscalco. Copyright © 2026 by Kerri Maniscalco. Reprinted with permission of Little, Brown and Company. All rights reserved.

Throne of Nightmares, by Kerri Maniscalco will be released on February 10, 2026 from Little Brown and Company. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:

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