Ry Herman’s This Princess Kills Monsters arrives like a breath of fresh air in the fantasy romance landscape, taking the familiar bones of the Brothers Grimm’s “The Twelve Huntsmen” and building something entirely new and unexpectedly profound. This isn’t your grandmother’s fairy tale—it’s sharper, queerer, and far more interested in examining the power structures that keep princesses locked in towers than in delivering easy happily-ever-afters.
The novel follows Princess Melilot of Skalla, a self-described “middle child” with what she considers mostly useless magical abilities, who finds herself commanded by her stepmother to marry King Gervase of Tailliz—a man she’s never met. When spider-wolf monsters attack her carriage en route to her wedding, she’s rescued by twelve mysteriously identical masked huntsmen who all bear an uncanny resemblance to someone else entirely. What unfolds is a labyrinthine plot involving assassination attempts, gender-bending disguises, talking lions with concerning opinions about biological essentialism, and a princess who discovers that sometimes the best way to save a kingdom is to refuse to play by its rules.
A Protagonist Worth Rooting For
Melilot emerges as one of the most refreshingly authentic fantasy protagonists in recent memory. Herman skillfully crafts a character who feels genuinely stuck between worlds—too magical for ordinary life, not magical enough for her sorceress stepmother’s expectations. Her voice carries a delightful blend of self-deprecating humor and growing confidence that makes even her most dramatic moments feel grounded in genuine emotion.
Unlike many fantasy heroines who discover hidden reserves of power just when the plot demands it, Melilot’s journey feels earned. Her magic—the ability to transform things into other things—seems almost deliberately unheroic at first, more useful for mending clothes than slaying dragons. Yet Herman uses this apparent limitation to explore deeper themes about how society values different types of strength and who gets to be considered “powerful.”
The supporting cast proves equally well-developed, particularly the twelve huntsmen who serve as both mystery and found family. Each develops distinct personality traits despite their identical appearances, and their gradual revelation provides some of the novel’s most emotionally resonant moments. Sam, in particular, emerges as a compelling love interest who challenges traditional gender roles while maintaining his own agency throughout the narrative.
Love in All Its Complicated Forms
The romantic elements of the story deliberately complicate traditional fairy tale expectations. Rather than rushing toward a predetermined happily-ever-after, Herman allows Melilot to explore attraction to multiple characters across gender lines. Her developing feelings for both Sam (one of the huntsmen) and Princess Angelique create genuine emotional stakes while avoiding the dreaded “love triangle” trap through honest character development.
The queer representation feels particularly authentic, emerging naturally from character relationships rather than feeling tokenistic or performative. Several of the huntsmen explore their own gender identities throughout the story, and the novel treats these revelations with the same matter-of-fact acceptance it grants to magical transformations. It’s refreshing to encounter a fantasy novel where queerness simply exists as part of the world-building rather than requiring elaborate justification.
Where the Magic Gets Messy
While Herman’s world-building generally succeeds, some elements feel less fully developed than others. The magic system, while thematically appropriate, sometimes lacks the internal consistency that helps ground fantasy narratives. Melilot’s abilities seem to expand and contract based on plot necessity rather than clearly established rules, which occasionally undermines the story’s internal logic.
The pacing also stumbles in places, particularly during the middle sections where political intrigue begins to overshadow character development. Several chapters focused on court machinations feel somewhat disconnected from Melilot’s emotional journey, creating occasional drag in an otherwise propulsive narrative.
The novel’s treatment of its villain, while thematically coherent, sometimes veers toward oversimplification. Princess Angelique’s motivations, while understandable, occasionally feel more like plot devices than genuine character development. Her transformation from potential ally to clear antagonist happens somewhat abruptly, robbing the story of some moral complexity that might have elevated the final confrontation.
A Fresh Take on Familiar Themes
Herman’s greatest strength lies in their ability to interrogate fairy tale conventions while still delivering the emotional satisfactions readers expect from the genre. The novel consistently asks uncomfortable questions about power, consent, and agency that many fantasy stories prefer to ignore. Why should princesses be traded like political pawns? What makes someone qualified to rule? How do societies determine whose voices matter and whose can be safely ignored?
These questions gain particular weight through Herman’s examination of gender roles and expectations. The talking lion’s “tests” to determine biological sex serve as pointed commentary on real-world debates about gender essentialism, while the huntsmen’s disguises explore themes of identity and self-determination with surprising nuance.
The novel’s humor deserves special mention—Herman maintains a light, often self-aware tone that prevents the story from taking itself too seriously while still allowing genuine emotional moments to land. Chapter titles like “Ask Not for Whom the Hamster Screams” and “I Am Greeted with a Toad to the Face” perfectly capture the book’s playful irreverence.
Writing Style That Serves the Story
Herman’s prose strikes an effective balance between accessibility and sophistication. The first-person narration allows Melilot’s personality to shine through every page, while the author’s background in theater creates dialogue that feels natural and character-specific. The embedded fairy tales—stories within the story that illuminate character backgrounds—demonstrate particular skill in matching tone to content.
The novel’s structure, divided into nine clearly delineated sections, helps manage what could have been an unwieldy plot while creating natural breathing spaces for character development. Herman shows particular skill in balancing action sequences with quieter character moments, ensuring that the emotional stakes remain as compelling as the physical ones.
Connections to Broader Fantasy Literature
This Princess Kills Monsters joins a growing movement of fantasy literature that deliberately interrogates and subverts traditional genre conventions. Readers of Patricia Briggs’ Mercy Thompson series will appreciate the protagonist’s practical approach to magical problems, while fans of T.J. Klune’s The Bones Beneath My Skin will recognize the emphasis on found family and authentic queer representation.
The novel’s approach to fairy tale retelling places it in conversation with works like Naomi Novik’s Buried Deep and Other Stories and Katherine Arden’s The Warm Hands of Ghosts, though Herman’s tone remains notably lighter and more humorous than either of those darker reimaginings.
For readers seeking similar books, consider:
- The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon – Epic fantasy with strong queer representation
- The Once and Future Witches by Alix E. Harrow – Feminist fairy tale retelling with political themes
- The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow – Portal fantasy with similar themes of agency and self-determination
- The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison – Court intrigue with genuine character development
- The Witch Haven Series by Sasha Peyton Smith – Magic and romance with feminist themes
Final Verdict
This Princess Kills Monsters succeeds as both entertainment and social commentary, delivering genuine surprises while maintaining emotional authenticity throughout. Herman has crafted a story that respects its fairy tale origins while fearlessly examining the assumptions built into those traditional narratives. While some elements of pacing and world-building could be stronger, the novel’s commitment to character development and thematic coherence creates a reading experience that feels both familiar and revolutionary.
The book works particularly well for readers seeking fantasy that doesn’t shy away from contemporary social issues while still providing the escapist pleasures the genre promises. Melilot’s journey from reluctant princess to self-determined sorceress offers hope for anyone who has ever felt trapped by others’ expectations, making this far more than just another fairy tale retelling.
For readers who appreciate fantasy that challenges conventions while delivering genuine emotional satisfaction, This Princess Kills Monsters represents time well spent. It’s a book that trusts its readers to handle complexity while never forgetting that the best fantasy literature should leave us both entertained and slightly changed by the experience of reading it.