We’re thrilled to share the cover and preview an excerpt from Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore, a cozy fantasy romance from debut author Emily Krempholtz—publishing November 18, 2025 with Ace, an imprint of Penguin Random House.
A powerful plant witch and grumpy alchemist must work together to save their quiet town from a magical plague in this debut cozy fantasy romance about starting over, redemption, and what it really means to be a good person.
Guy Shadowfade is dead, and after a lifetime as the dark sorcerer’s right-hand, Violet Thistlewaite is determined to start over—not as the fearsome Thornwitch, but as someone kind. Someone better. Someone good.
The quaint town of Dragon’s Rest, Violet decides, will be her second chance—she’ll set down roots, open a flower shop, keep her sentient (mildly homicidal) houseplant in check, and prune dark magic from the twisted boughs of her life.
Violet’s vibrant bouquets and cheerful enchantments soon charm the welcoming townsfolk, though nothing seems to impress the prickly yet dashingly handsome Nathaniel Marsh, an alchemist sharing her greenhouse. With a struggling business and his own second chance seemingly out of reach, Nathaniel has no time for flowers or frippery—and certainly none for the intriguing witch next door.
When a mysterious blight threatens every living plant in Dragon’s Rest, Violet and Nathaniel must work together through their fears, pasts, and growing feelings for one another to save their community. But with a figure from her past knocking at her door and her secrets threatening to uproot everything she’s worked so hard to grow, Violet can’t help but wonder…does a former villain truly deserve a happily-ever-after?
Emily Krempholtz has never quit her day job to go open a flower shop, but that might be because she’s already doing what she loves. As a bestselling ghostwriter, editor, and book coach, Emily has worked with hundreds of writers as they write and publish their books—and she’s delighted to finally send one out into the world with her own name on the cover. When she’s not writing or reading, Emily bakes cakes that look like the books she reads and changes her hair color like it’s some kind of mood ring. She lives in sunny Colorado, where you’ll often find her in the mountains—either hiking (and pretending to be a character in a novel) or curled up in a hammock with a good book (and also pretending to be a character in a novel). She’s on a lifelong quest to discover the magic in the world and has a sneaking suspicion that the written word is where she’ll find it.
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Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore
Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore
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Be Good
Until very recently (eight minutes ago, in fact), the blood spattering the outside of Karina’s brand-new tunic had pulsed inside the heart of the dark sorcerer known as Shadowfade. Brock, the knight she traveled with who did most of the laundry, would be appalled when he saw it. But Karina the Tempest, Protector of the Queen’s Realm of Mereth, chose to think of the stain as a rather dashing and intimidating addition to her look as she strode through the castle grounds, blade in hand.
Karina searched for movement atop the black stone battlements that stood watch like hulking sentinels over the expansive gardens. The carefully groomed paths flanked by topiaries and flowerbeds were full of poisonous blooms, no doubt, but greener and more cheerful than she would have expected from a villain like Shadowfade.
None of this was as she expected. With as fearsome a reputation as Guy Shadowfade had amassed, vanquishing him should have been much more of a trial. Her lingering concern whispered that this had been some elaborate trick.
But Karina would have time for those thoughts later. One way or another, the sorcerer was finally defeated and his minions scattered, meaning it was up to Karina and her companions to make sure they could cause no further harm to the Merethi people.
“She went into the hedge maze!” Maggie cried, her long legs a blur as she sprinted in the opposite direction, her staff in hand as she chased another foe—hopefully that dreadful alchemist who had burned through Karina’s favorite pair of boots with his poisons. “Brock and I will take care of the others!”
Karina nodded curtly, her eyes dragging on her partner’s form for only a second longer than necessary before she took off into the hedge maze, sword gripped tightly in her fist. As she navigated the twists and turns of the maze, she kept an eye out for danger. She wouldn’t have put it past Shadowfade to fill his grounds with tricks and traps, but the maze was strangely pleasant, its greenery on full display despite the late winter season, and its corners staged with cheerful pots of colorful flowers. Like everything else about today, it didn’t meet her expectations, and it only put Karina further on edge.
At the center of the maze, in a wide, round clearing, she found the one they called the Thornwitch.
To look upon the Thornwitch, it was said, was to look your death in the eye as it reached for you with vines that strangled and flowers that poisoned. The Thornwitch had destroyed the crops of an entire county with a single wave of her hand, dooming them to famine. She had torn buildings from their foundations by roiling the roots beneath them and disrupted trade routes by tearing apart roadways and growing impenetrable forests of the poisonous thorny vines for which she’d been named. She could command anything that grew and twist it to her dark purposes.
She was a monster, or so Karina had always heard. Hideous and deformed, some said, though others swore she was a temptress more beautiful than Evry, fearsome goddess of the second moon. When she’d fought her back at the castle, Karina had gotten only an impression of thorns, spiny like the quills of a porcupine, and eyes glowing like fox fire.
But the woman in front of her was sitting serenely on a garden bench like a young lady enjoying afternoon tea, not like an infamous trafficker of cruel poisons and punishments for the sorcerer’s enemies. Gone were the thorns that sprung from her skin like spines and harshened her facial structure. Gone was the unearthly glow from her eyes and the vines that sprouted from her back like wings, slinging clouds of toxic pollen. If not for the iconic purple cloak puddled at her feet, Karina wouldn’t have recognized her at all.
She was young, late twenties if Karina had to guess, and without the thorns that she had been named for, her face was soft and round. Pretty, in a homespun sort of way, with pale, freckled skin, thick brown hair that tumbled over her shoulders like vines reaching for a hold, and honey-tinted eyes beneath soft-angled brows. A white scar, perhaps the length of Karina’s thumb, tracked down her face just to the right of her nose, slightly puckered where it bisected the edge of her lips and tugged one side of her mouth upward in a permanent smirk.
She would have been popular in a tavern, Karina judged, though of course she had nothing on Maggie’s elegant beauty. Still, there was little to liken her to the monster of the stories or the villain she’d seen just minutes ago.
“Hello,” the witch said softly, her voice high and clear.
Karina raised Flamebright, putting the sword between her and the witch, though she was realizing now, too late, that she was surrounded by plants. Here, the Thornwitch could incapacitate her with a twitch of her fingers, which were covered in dirt and curled tight around a long, sharp branch, still filthy with blood from the fight. The Thornwitch followed her gaze and allowed the branch to crumble to dust, leaving dark stains on her fingertips that matched the black silk of her tight clothing.
“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Karina asked, her voice like brittle steel.
The witch only blinked her long lashes. “Should I have?”
“We’re surrounded by plants.”
“Well, yes. This is my garden, after all.” The witch paused. “Are you here to kill me now?”
Karina paused. If anyone had asked her even twenty minutes ago, her answer would have been a resounding yes. “I don’t know. Do you want to die?”
She lowered her gaze. “I don’t deserve to live.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
The Thornwitch’s chin trembled, though she quickly got herself under control. Karina hid her surprise. The witch in the stories felt no fear, only anger and hatred. But stories—she knew well, being one herself—were just stories in the end. Made of equal parts truth and lies, and it was often impossible to be certain which was which.
There was more to the Thornwitch than Karina could fathom, and more still she didn’t understand. She had fled to the hedge maze, but why did she stop here? Why wasn’t she fighting back? Her mind snagged on something the witch had said. Karina looked around at the center of the maze—the ivy-covered bench where the Thornwitch sat beneath a large flowering shrub heavy with pink flowers, the koi pond edged with round, smooth stones, the lush flower beds filled with buttery daffodils and the tall jut of foxgloves. “This is your garden?”
The Thornwitch looked around, fondness shining in her eyes. “Yes.”
Karina remembered the tidy room she’d found in the castle, with a small bed and potted flowers and leafy vines crowded in the doorway to the balcony.
And a lock—on the outside of the door.
“You made all of this.”
The witch did twitch her fingers then, but instead of carnivorous plants or thorny vines, a flower burst from the ground next to Karina. From amidst its splayed, fingerlike leaves sprung several clusters of vibrant purple flowers.
“It’s gorgeous,” Karina murmured, her fingers stretching toward a flower, half afraid it would sprout teeth and sever her fingers.
The witch tossed her head back and laughed. “It’s monkshood. Incredibly toxic.”
Karina snatched her hand back.
“All of this is poison.” The witch gestured at her garden. Bitterness stained her words. “Nightshade. Foxglove.
Oleander. Even the ivy—it might look pretty but all it does is destroy.”
“But what else could you do?” A thought bloomed in Karina’s mind, tickling her with the gentle press of a hunch. “With Shadowfade gone, you could create something good.”
“Good is not in the Thornwitch’s nature.” The witch’s words were scornful, but there was curiosity in her brown eyes.
“And the woman behind the Thornwitch?”
She jerked back as though Karina had drawn her sword, her jaw tight. The hero studied the villain whose name was spoken at a whisper throughout the countryside. There was something in her expression, behind that angry, suspicious mask, that looked a lot like wistfulness. Uncertainty. Hope. Karina thought back to the castle, to Shadowfade’s final moments. The words on his lips with his final breaths.
Truth and lies, she thought. Both stand before me, but which is which?
Karina decided. “The Thornwitch dies here today. But you—whoever you are without her—don’t have to. You could do so much better. You could be good.”
The Thornwitch looked confused as Karina sheathed her weapon. The ivy on the bench detached itself to curl gently around the witch’s ankle in what looked like a gesture of comfort.
“Just be good,” Karina told her. “And don’t make me regret this.”
Excerpted from Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore, copyright © 2025 by Emily Krempholtz
