‘Kissed by the Gods' by Caty Rogan Is the Romantasy That Will Steal Your Heart This Summer - Read an Excerpt and See the Gorgeous New Art (Exclusive)

Caty Rogan quickly found her following in 2025, when she self-published Kissed by the Gods. It's the first in The Eternal Wars series, garnering millions of digital page reads and thousands of five-star ratings.

Now it's time for the traditional publishing treatment! Kissed by the Gods has been picked up by Requited, and that brings a beautifully redesigned cover, gorgeous artwork on the hard cover beneath the dust jacket, exquisite sprayed edges, and limited edition designed endpapers.

There's more for those who are on the fence after reading the first novel when it was originally released. There are two never-before-seen bonus scenes within this new deluxe edition, making it the romantasy you need this month!

Didn't hear about it when it first came out? Don't feel too bad. It's great that self-published romantasy authors are finally getting their due when it comes to being traditionally published. Kissed by the Gods is no exception, and it follows Leina, who has found herself a prisoner-turned-prize.

After a lifetime of submitting, Leina couldn't help but fight back after soldiers came for her brother. Rather than executng her, godsworn warrior, Ryot, decides to drag her into a world that she was never meant to be in. A world where people can fly horses, and one full of sacred power and royal secrets.

After a kiss from a goddess, Leina becomes the one all powerful men want, and all she wants is freedom for her people. Is she willing to trade herself for that?

The novel is packed with tropes romance and fantasy readers love, from forbidden romance, spicy slow burns, and trial by combat.

The end pages offer a beautiful look at the world imagined by Rogan as she created it. It perfectly matches the description from the novel, which you can see for yourself!

Still not convinced? We have an exclusive excerpt from Kissed by the Gods to give you just a hint of Leina and the journey she is about to go on.

Alden used to marvel at flying creatures. He would often stop his work- be it hauling water, plowing, sowing, threshing- and stare up at the sky as a flock of birds winged high overhead or a butterfly danced on the breeze. To Alden, flying was the epitome of freedom.

What he wouldn't give to be here now with a faravar, a beast of myth and legend, about to launch into the sky. Grief settles deep in my chest, and Ryot whips his gaze around from where he's readying his small pack of supplies. He raises an eyebrow in question, but I resolutely ignore him, refusing to meet his eyes. Despite what he may think, he's not entitled to a single piece of me. Not my past, not my present, not my future. He may sense my grief, but he doesn't get to know about it.

He returns his attention to his pack. He straps it to his back with brisk efficiency, and then he secures my scythe to it, too. Interesting that he doesn't attach either to the massive faravar, though I should have realized Einarr is not a beast of burden. He doesn't even bear a saddle or reins.

"How do we hold on?" I turn back to Ryot, and his mocking smirk rankles. My hands ball into fists, and his eyes dart down to catch the motion. His smile only widens. I force every muscle in my body to relax. He gets too much enjoyment out of my frustration.

Ignoring my question, he jerks his head toward his beast. "Let's get this over with."

"Where am I to sit, exactly?"

Pure amusement spreads across his face, and he barks out a laugh. I fight not to growl. "On my lap, rebel girl. You'll sit on my lap," he says, finally answering my question. But his eyes are gleaming, as if he's waiting for me to fight him and, moreover, looking forward to it. I'll sit in his lap without a word, if for no other reason than to defy his expectations. Well, that and having no clue how to ride a horse, much less fly one.

I turn until I'm mostly facing Einarr. I get perverse satisfaction from seeing Ryot's surprised eyebrow lift from my periphery. I wait for him to mount Einarr, a feat I'm actually very interested to watch. But he just . . .vaults on, effortlessly. I'm sure it's a move he's completed countless times, but Einarr still whinnies and dances to the side, shaking out his wings as he moves to adjust to Ryot's weight astride him. The earth quakes beneath my feet from the pounding of Einarr's hooves, and the slight flutter of his wings creates a wind that wasn't there before. The trees sway and bend from the force of it.

I'm grounded to the spot by sheer terror and quaking legs. We forgot to imagine this part, Alden and I, when we dreamed of flying. We didn't consider that humans aren't meant to fly, that our feet aren't made to leave the ground. There's something supernatural, something fundamentally inhuman, about taking flight. It has me paralyzed. I'm dizzy.

I've forgotten to breathe.

Ryot urges Einarr forward, until his black leather boots fill my view.

I can't do this.

I raise my gaze to Ryot's, expecting that same taunting look he's shot me all evening. Instead, there's a keen understanding reflected in his eyes and he opens himself up. I feel his emotions, and they nearly mirror mine. Mind-numbing terror. Body- racking nerves. Fear of the unknown. Overwhelming incompetence. But other emotions come through, too, and once I sense them from him, I recognize them in myself. Anticipation. Exhilaration. Near-intoxication from the adrenaline.

"Before my first ride," he says. My eyes widen as I realize what he did. He shared his emotions with me-from the past.

He shuts off the connection, and I'm left to wade through my own emotions and the remnants of his. Then he holds out his hand, and my gaze drops. Scars zigzag his palm. Some are white and faded with time. Others are much newer, almost raw. I reach out and grip his hand. The new scars are rough under my palm.

I raise my eyes back to his, and his lips slowly curl into the first real smile I've seen-no taunting, no smirking. Just pure, genuine satisfaction, like he's taking pleasure in experiencing this with me. And that's when I realize-Ryot is beautiful. Not like Alden. He's not pretty, like the sunrise. He's alluring and magnetic, like the stars.

Then he moves. One moment, my feet are planted solidly on the ground, and the next I've been pulled into his lap. That is all the cue Einarr needs, apparently: Instantly he's running and launching us from the little clearing. The world careens wildly as we go near- vertical, barely clearing the tops of the trees.

My stomach heaves and my breath catches as the ground slips away. I'm surrounded by Ryot. His firm chest braces my back, his thighs are my seat, and his arms wrap around my body as he reaches across my stomach to grip Einarr's mane. It is oddly comforting, but it's not enough to feel secure. I fist my own sweaty palms in Einarr's mane, too.

In a matter of seconds, we've soared beyond the treetops of the Weeping Forest. Einarr's great wings beat the air with brutal grace, each stroke a surge in my spine, in the pit of my stomach. Moonlight slips across his feathers. My breath catches-half-scream, half-laugh-and I clutch tighter to his mane. I shut my eyes against the rush, then crack them open wide as if Alden whispered a dare into my ear.

It's night, and the moon casts a faint silver light across the landscape. To the east is Selencia, the land where I was born. It's mostly hills and farmland, cut through by rivers that reflect the moonlight in broken lines. It's my homeland, but it's also not. At the core, in every way that matters, Selencia is Faraengard's. They took it long ago.

I drag my eyes away from Selencia, from the roads I once walked barefoot and the villages I know by name, and turn west.

To face Faraengard. It's not visible yet, but it presses closer with every beat of Einarr's wings. Faraengard is a kingdom that rules by strength alone. Its cities are built from stone and are governed with iron, or so we're told by the boys who survive the mines.

To the south is another kingdom, one where it's hot and never rains. I've never been there, and I don't remember what it's called. I just know that when the winds blow from the south, they're dry.

To the north is nothing but ice and endless winter. I've heard stories about it, too, of people who somehow live under the ice, but that's all they are. Stories.

All of it-the rolling hills of Selencia, the jagged cliffs of Faraengard, the burning south, and the frozen north-makes up Aesgroth, a continent eternally on the brink of destruction thanks to the demons that haunt it.

And right now, I'm flying over it.

My back is snug against Ryot's chest-there's no room for any space between us-but he leans even farther forward until the heat of him nearly burns and his mouth brushes against my ear.

I shiver, and it has nothing to do with fear.

No way. No. Absolutely not. I'm not attracted to my kidnapper. That would be insanity. I try to scoot farther from him, but there's nowhere to go.

"Look up," Ryot whispers.

I tear my eyes from the rapidly retreating ground as Einarr ascends even higher, and I find myself breathless from something other than pain, fear, or anxiety. It's from pure reverence for the immensity of the heavens. The stars are infinitely bright. They glimmer and shine in ways I couldn't have imagined.

For the first time in months, I'm not overwhelmed by a barrage of sensations. There's a soothing silence in this ethereal space between the gods' domain and the humans' tenement. The one interruption-the constant beat of Einarr's wings on the wind-is calming. It's meant to be here. The crisp air is invigorating and pure, and the chill of it acts like a balm against my sore and cracked skin.

Flying does not make me feel free, though, despite Alden's imaginings. Even here, in this indescribable space with the clouds and the stars and the wind as my neighbors, I'm nothing but a prisoner; that's not something I can forget. But Alden was on to something. Taking flight brings peace. It's better than anything you could find in Rene's temple, I have no doubt.

Ryot chuckles softly behind me, and the sound is a low rumble.

"Not so bad, right?" Ryot asks.

Not so bad? It's everything.

For now, I'm content to revel in what I know is a fleeting feeling. I allow everything else to fall away and spend the rest of our flight basking in the immense glow of the stars. Ryot doesn't utter another word, even as the stars and the darkness begin to fade, overcome by the blazing oranges and yellows of the rising sun. I bask in that sense of stolen peace. Until we break through the clouds to find the landscape completely changed.

I've heard stories about the mountains and the ocean, of course. They've been described in simple terms. Mountains are like towering hills, the few who've ever traveled to Edessa say, but imagine that the hills are reaching up to touch the sky. The ocean, they tell us, smells of salt and is so vast you can't see the end.

Now I know why they struggled to describe this to Selencians whose only points of reference were rolling hills and rivers that wind gently through the trees. There are no words that can paint this picture, not if you've never seen a single mountain, much less a line of them rising in a jagged row. Not if you have no concept of a curved horizon uninterrupted by trees or rocks or hills.

And there, nestled against a backdrop of towering mountains-built into the mountain itself-is Edessa. The capital city of the Kingdom of Faraengard. All the rumors, all the gloating and boasting of the soldiers: None of it could have prepared me for the grandeur that is Edessa.

The base of the mountain enfolds the palace, grander and more immense than any overlord's house ever could be. The outer portion is made of a black, smooth material-marble, maybe?

Spread out before the palace is the city, which sprawls from one mountain to the next in a haphazard way, overtaking the entire valley. Most of the buildings are made of a dark stone I've never seen before. It's not smooth, but has a rougher texture, with bits of gray and white weaving throughout the nearly black core. Temples to the gods glow throughout the city as the morning sun touches their fine marble walls. The roads wind and crisscross in a bewildering tangle of pavement. There's not a single dirt path among them, and even at dawn they are already full of travelers.

I've never seen so many people all gathered in one place. Children with plump cheeks and the distinct bloom of health on their faces race carefree through the streets, laughing and smiling, all in identical clothes with daypacks on their backs. School. They are going to school. The soldiers have talked about this. Well, they've taunted about school, about how they know so much, and we know so little.

The adults rush about with fewer smiles and less laughter, but they are just as healthy. Many of them are dressed in wool or linen tunics, but the material is sturdier, cleaner, and far less worn than what we wear back home. Others wear even finer materials- things I've only glimpsed on the overlord and his family- leather, hemp, and even silk. And the colors of their clothes are so varied- blacks, blues, purples, pinks, greens, reds. It's all complemented with gold and silver brooches, fur trim, and the most intricate assortment of jewelry. Necklaces that swing on the chest, bracelets that wind up the arm, rings on all their fingers, earrings that dangle.

The stalls of the markets are packed with all manner of goods, and most of it . . . most of it is grown or raised by us. Beef, chicken, pork, grains, fruits, vegetables. It all comes here, and much more is stacked in these markets today alone than is needed to feed this entire city for weeks.

My peace is gone.

It is replaced with a furious rage. My gaze returns to the palace, and I let the anger simmer. I don't know how. I don't know when. But I want the entire royal family to pay.

My attention has been so focused on Edessa, I startle slightly when Ryot brings a hand up to my chin and raises my gaze from the palace at the base of the mountain to look higher, and higher still. I'd forgotten he was there.

"The city is not where you should be looking, rebel girl," he says. "It has nothing to do with you."

The sheer impossibility of where he draws my gaze is enough to make me forget my rage, at least for now. There, looming over the bustling valley, is what must be the Synod. This . . . this I've never heard described before. The soldiers have never talked about the Altor, not even in the simplest terms. Not even to gloat.

Where Edessa is the embodiment of luxurious opulence, the Synod is pure militaristic simplicity. Despite that, it is still majestic in its audacity.

It is a fortress, built on the tallest mountain of the range. It sits on the edge of a cliff about halfway up the mountain, jutting out at an impossible angle over the ocean below. A curtain wall surrounds the structure, which has dozens of towers of various heights in the center, some type of arena, and a central tower that dwarfs the others. The material looks to be a simple granite. The rustic gray and brown stone has been left bare of any adornments.

There's movement on that high tower, and I narrow my eyes. My vision wobbles before it focuses on the handful of men stationed there. They are all staring right at me, various expressions of confusion and indignation on their faces. The man in the center strides forward and seems to offer a sarcastic salute to us before blowing a massive, high- pitched horn that's attached to the very center of the tower. I wince from the gods- awful noise.

"F–king Maxim," Ryot mutters from behind me.

From all around the fortress, men emerge, running for the nearest square tower. Each one has a flat top and no guardrails.

Then a new sound reaches me, one so deep it reverberates through my very bones. I turn my head, searching for the source of the rhythmic beating sound-almost like drums, but not quite. I lift my eyes toward the summit of the peak, veiled in mist, as a swarm of black bats emerge. I squint, trying to re‑focus my wavering vision.

My mouth drops open. Not bats. Faravars.

The beasts fly for the Synod, the beat of their massive wings creating a gust of wind that ruffles my hair, even from this distance. They land in a well- choreographed formation, from tower to tower, and most are immediately mounted by a waiting Altor. The hardened gazes of the men scan the horizon for a threat but clearly find none. And then all those eyes fall on us.

Ryot leans slightly forward, and murmurs again in my ear, "Brace yourself, rebel girl, and offer your prayers to the gods." This time, the warmth in his voice from earlier in the ride is gone. He's not even taunting like he was in the forest. He's grim. I twist behind me to get a glance at his face. Tension lines his mouth, and his eyes are stormy. He nods forward, toward the Synod. "This is where the ride is going to get rough."

I turn back, taking in the now dozens of men staring at me, mouths agape. I reach for my powers, but find they're muted. I'm too drained to do something as simple as focus my eyes.

I try my best to shutter my emotions, square my shoulders, and brace for what's ahead.

Because I don't think Ryot is talking about our landing.

Kissed by the Gods will be released with the gorgeous deluxe cover and artwork on June 2, 2026.

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This story was originally published May 31, 2026 at 10:00 AM.