Roshani Chokshi has built her literary reputation on transforming mythology into sumptuous fantasy, from her Star-Touched Queen duology to The Gilded Wolves trilogy. With The Swan’s Daughter by Roshani Chokshi, she crafts something distinctly different—a standalone romantic fantasy that reads like a Grimm Brothers tale filtered through contemporary wit, where the phrase “til death do us part” takes on genuinely lethal implications.
The premise alone is deliciously macabre: Prince Arris knows his wedding day will also be his death day. Thanks to an ancient curse involving his ancestor Enzo the Fool and a scorned sea witch, whoever possesses the “hand and heart” of the Isle’s heir gains control of the kingdom—and historically, ambitious brides have interpreted this quite literally. Marriage equals murder, and Arris’s family tree is populated by sentient trees who were once his murdered ancestors. Enter Demelza, a wingless veritas swan fleeing her wizard father, who strikes a bargain with the doomed prince: her truth-telling song in exchange for his protection. What could possibly go wrong?
The Architecture of Truth and Deception
The Swan’s Daughter by Roshani Chokshi operates on multiple levels of deception and revelation. At its surface, it’s a bridal tournament where contestants compete through trials of beauty, talent, and power. Beneath that glittering exterior lies a murder mystery where every kiss could be poisoned and every smile might conceal a blade. Chokshi structures the narrative with playful chapter titles—”A Litany of Poor Choices,” “A Scarcity of Carnal Mischief,” “Woe, Woe, Woe Shall Cry the Men Who Know You!”—that echo fairytale traditions while subverting expectations at every turn.
The magic system centers on the veritas swans, mythical beings whose songs compel truth and whose transformations are bound to love itself. Demelza represents an anomaly: born without wings, cursed with a singing voice that sounds like “a cat trying to expel a cursed bell from its throat,” yet possessing the same truth magic as her sisters. This deviation from expectation becomes the novel’s thematic backbone. Chokshi explores what it means to have power when you lack the traditional trappings of it, to seek purpose when the world has deemed you purposeless.
The worldbuilding shimmers with inventive detail. Rathe Castle is sentient and opinionated, occasionally rearranging its architecture to suit the plot—or simply because it can. Glass wyvern boats sail across lakes, daydream trees grow in menageries, and clouds have decided to retire from the sky to become solid ground. These whimsical elements never feel frivolous; rather, they create a landscape where the impossible feels inevitable, where magic operates by rules both strict and wonderfully absurd.
Characters Who Refuse Simplicity
Demelza emerges as a protagonist defined by her appetites—for knowledge, recognition, belonging, and most dangerously, for want itself. Raised by Prava the Sly, a wizard whose love functions as both devotion and cage, she understands that affection can imprison as thoroughly as any spell. Her sisters have been bartered off to distant kingdoms, powerful weapons in their father’s quest for immortality. Demelza, the wingless anomaly, has been overlooked until she becomes useful—and it’s this relegation to afterthought that fuels her desperate bid for agency.
Prince Arris defies the tragic romantic hero archetype by being genuinely thoughtful, funny, and invested in his own survival. He’s not resigned to death but actively strategizing against it, even as he maintains elaborate morning rituals involving olfactory journeys and constitutional walks. His sister Yvlle, a one-eyed scientist who wears exclusively black and courts several female contestants, provides both comic relief and narrative grounding. The supporting cast—from Talvi, an ice doll brought to life who writes romance novels, to Ursula, a culinarily-gifted bear shapeshifter—feels fully realized rather than decorative.
What elevates these characterizations is Chokshi’s refusal to separate love from fear, devotion from danger. Prava loves his daughters and uses them ruthlessly. Araminta, Demelza’s mother, loves her child enough to prepare her for a brutal world. Even the romantic arc between Demelza and Arris acknowledges that love doesn’t erase the capacity for harm—it amplifies the stakes of trust.
Where Fairytales Meet Philosophy
The novel’s examination of power deserves particular attention. During the tournament’s feast, contestants debate what power truly means: observation, strength, knowledge, beauty, love, perception. Chokshi doesn’t offer easy answers. Instead, she demonstrates how power shifts based on context and belief. Demelza’s truth-telling seems powerful until she faces someone who’s plugged their ears with wax. Arris controls the Isle’s magic through his bloodline, yet remains fundamentally powerless against the curse that will kill him.
The romantic development between Demelza and Arris unfolds with surprising nuance. Their initial transaction—truth for protection—gradually transforms as they recognize themselves in each other. Both possess “a rare appetite for existence,” both feel wingless in different ways, both want lives worth living rather than merely surviving. Chokshi captures the terrifying vulnerability of falling in love when trust itself becomes an act of courage. The moment Arris asks Demelza, “What if we entrusted our hearts to one another not because we had to… but because we want to?” crystallizes the novel’s central philosophy: choice, not certainty, defines love.
Literary Craftsmanship and Minor Turbulence
In The Swan’s Daughter, Roshani Chokshi‘s prose glitters with inventive metaphors and playful asides. She describes Prava’s hair as looking “like blood and rust,” captures the “fugue state of newborn hours” in her acknowledgments, and populates her world with details like books made of mist that write themselves on moors for only a week per decade. The narrative voice maintains consistent wit without sacrificing emotional depth, particularly in quieter moments between Demelza and her mother, or Arris and his grandfather-turned-tree.
However, the pacing occasionally stumbles. The tournament trials—beauty, talent, power—provide structure but sometimes feel mechanically imposed rather than organically developed. The middle section, while rich in character interaction, meanders when clarity might better serve the momentum. Additionally, some contestants remain sketched rather than fully painted, though this partially stems from Demelza’s perspective as an outsider learning the social landscape.
The climax hinges on choices about love and agency that readers will either find deeply satisfying or frustratingly ambiguous. Chokshi refuses neat resolutions, instead offering an ending that acknowledges uncertainty as an inevitable companion to happiness. Whether this constitutes sophisticated storytelling or narrative evasion will depend on reader expectations.
A Verdict Wrapped in Silk and Thorns
The Swan’s Daughter by Roshani Chokshi succeeds as both a subversive fairytale and a meditation on what we owe ourselves versus what we owe others. It’s a novel about being overlooked and demanding to be seen, about the difference between being useful and being valued, about trusting someone when trust itself could prove fatal. The romance satisfies without sacrificing complexity, the magic system delights while serving thematic purposes, and the prose sparkles with intelligence and playfulness in equal measure.
Readers familiar with Chokshi’s previous work—particularly her Star-Touched Queen series or The Gilded Wolves trilogy—will recognize her signature lushness here, though the tone skews lighter despite the dark premise. Those seeking straightforward romance might find the philosophical tangents distracting, while readers who prefer unambiguous heroism may struggle with characters who love imperfectly and choose survival over nobility.
Yet for those willing to embrace a fairytale that questions its own conventions, that treats marriage as a negotiation of power rather than a destiny, that insists characters can be terrified of each other and still choose love—The Swan’s Daughter by Roshani Chokshi offers a rare treat. It’s the kind of story that whispers uncomfortable truths about affection and agency while wrapping them in glass boats and daydream trees, that makes you laugh at a prince’s elaborate morning routines while contemplating the prison of parental love.
In an author’s note, Chokshi mentions wanting to write something “joyous” but “still macabre.” She’s succeeded brilliantly, crafting a tale where happiness and horror dance together, where the bravest act isn’t protecting your life but finding the courage to chase a life worth living.
If You Loved This, Try These
For readers enchanted by The Swan’s Daughter by Roshani Chokshi, consider these similar journeys:
A Crown of Wishes by Roshani Chokshi – The author’s own sequel to The Star-Touched Queen, featuring a tournament with magical challenges and a slow-burn romance built on bargains
House of Salt and Sorrows by Erin A. Craig – A darker fairytale retelling with sisters, curses, and a romance that unfolds amid mystery and magic
The Cruel Prince by Holly Black – Political intrigue in a faerie court where love and betrayal intertwine, featuring a protagonist who demands power rather than waiting for it
Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson – A fantasy romance with sentient magical objects, witty banter, and a heroine who proves capability matters more than conventional power
Daughter of the Moon Goddess by Sue Lynn Tan – Lush Chinese mythology-inspired fantasy with a fierce heroine, impossible choices, and romance that complicates rather than solves