Blog Tour: Young King Arthur and The Round Table Knights (King Arthur #1) by Siryn Sueng

Welcome author Siryn Sueng and IndiGo Marketing on the final blog tour stop for Young King Arthur and The Round Table Knights (King Arthur #1)! The author invited fellow author Chase Conner to share about muses! Check it out and more info about the fantasy retelling today!

Title: Young King Arthur and the Round Table Knights

Series: King Arthur Series Book 1

Author: Siryn Sueng

Publisher: Deep Hearts YA

Release Date: September 18, 2020

Heat Level: 1 - No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 210 Pages

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Young Adult, King Arthur Retelling

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There was no reason for Arthur to think he would ever become king.

A peasant and son of a baker, Arthur grew up in the castle town of Camelot. When he attended the Choosing Ceremony, it was merely to see who would draw the Holy Sword, Excalibur—to see who would inherit the throne of the recently departed King Uther. He never expected the sword would choose him…

But it did.

Now, at the young age of fourteen, he has become King Arthur, and for all the power he has gained, he has made just as many enemies. Surrounded by the Knights of the Round Table, and led by the mysterious mage, Merlin, Arthur is grateful for his allies, though he would just as soon return to his old life. Surely, someone more worthy should be chosen as king.

Arthur is in the middle of chaos, a world where everyone wants more than they let on, where many hate the idea of a young boy with no noble background being crowned king; where cold stares and whispered words are just as sharp as an assassin’s blade.

As Arthur fends for his life, he must draw on the strength of his knights, especially fifteen-year-old Mordred, who becomes closer to him than the mere bounds of duty. He must become king, not just in name, but in his heart.

And he must do it quickly, because his enemies want more than just his crown…


“Did you hear?”


“They’re holding the Choosing Ceremony! Everyone is heading to the plaza.”

I listened to the conversations that rose up in the streets. Everyone was excited and the town was buzzing with the news.

It had been two weeks since King Uther Pendragon passed. They had finally begun the Choosing Ceremony.

My heart raced. How exciting to go see someone draw the Holy Sword Excalibur from the anvil!

I was in the middle of shopping for my mother when I heard the ruckus. If the Choosing was now, then I wanted to see it. I turned to the woman filling my basket with baking ingredients. Mrs. Lin was a usual stop when shopping for the bakery.

“Are you going, Arthur?” she asked.

“Yes, I want to see. It’s exciting to think of who might draw the blade,” I said.

“It can be scary too,” she said.

“Scary? How?”

“What if someone who is unsuited draws the blade? What should we do, then? The ceremony is final. No one can withdraw who takes that blade from the anvil. If a young, hot-headed boy draws the blade, then Camelot is doomed, don’t you agree?”

My smile wavered. I gave her a stiff laugh. “Oh, Mrs. Lin. The Holy Sword wouldn’t choose someone so unworthy. I bet it’ll choose one of the knights. Gawain would be a good choice, don’t you think?”

“I doubt the sword would choose one of the knights, my dear. Hurry along. You should go quickly if you wish to watch the Choosing. And tell your mother hello for me.”

I gathered up the rest of what I needed. After giving her my thanks, I rushed down the street and followed the crowd into the plaza.

I was astonished at how many people showed up to the Choosing. Up on the platform was the anvil and the Holy Sword protruding from it. The silver handle glinted in the afternoon sun. Gems that lined the handle glistened and only increased the beauty of the weapon that was stuck in the dull gray metal chunk.

Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by hushed whispers from some who gathered in the crowd. A group of people lined up to try their hand at pulling the sword from the anvil, but I was too far back to make out who they were. Ducking down, I wiggled my way forward, apologizing when some of the townspeople grumbled at me in anger for pushing too much, or stepping on toes. By the time I worked my way close enough to the anvil, one of the men up on the platform had started talking.

I didn’t listen to what he was saying. It was mostly about the meaning of the sword and about the responsibilities of who would draw the Holy Sword. Everyone knew that the holder of the blade would become the next King of Camelot. It was a story told to everyone since they were children, and it was something a lot of children often dreamed of, myself included.

Once I was closer to the front, the man who had spoken bowed and stepped back. My eyes went wide. It was Merlin!

I had the feeling it was the legendary mage only because of how he was dressed. It was so different from the others. He wore fitted robes that curved to his muscular body, and there was a pleasant demeanor to his handsome face. The robes were blue and purple in color and the way he wore them had the front opened so everyone could see the curve of his chest and the chiseled muscle there.

My heart leapt.

He was beautiful to look at. His steel gray eyes and dark hair that looked like a tumbled mess were all too attractive. I was captivated by him for quite some time, so much that I forgot to see who was trying to pull the sword from the anvil. When the crowd all groaned together, I looked up to see one man walking away with a frown on his face. I didn’t know who he was, but he was dressed finely.

Must be a lord from some place, I thought. I looked over to the next one in line and noted the armor this man wore. However, he wasn’t a knight of the Round Table. He seemed just a soldier or someone of noble birth. In fact, many of the people who tried were nobles of some sort from all around the kingdom.

I watched with bated breath every time a pair of hands wrapped around the hilt of the sparkling weapon. Each person who stepped up had my heart pounding. I leaned forward against the wooden fence that blocked off the Choosing Ceremony. One by one they shuffled by, each one no better than the last as they tried their hardest to pull the weapon from its steel prison.

As the line dwindled down, the people in the crowd began to murmur.

“Is the sword going to choose anyone? What if it chooses no one?”

“Impossible, the sword will choose someone.”

“But what if it doesn’t?”

Men and women went back and forth on the subject and the more they talked, the more insecure the tension in the crowd grew. I looked around at all the faces. There was worry and fear painting many of them while others just seemed unsure of it all. I returned my attention to the platform and gasped as I saw someone I never expected approaching the sword.

At first, I was frozen in shock. Why would my cousin be trying to draw the sword? Worst of all, he was dressed as a knight when I knew all too well he was not one.

Impersonating a knight was a high offense and depending on the ruler, it may be a death sentence.

I was moving before I knew it, the contents of my basket scattering to the ground. Ducking under the rail, I rushed up onto the platform, startling everyone. I could hear their gasps and some shouts for me to get down, but I ignored them.

“Illian! What are you doing?” I hissed as I got between him and the sword.

Illian glared at me. “Move, Arthur.”

“No! You can’t be up here, let alone impersonating a knight! Couldn’t you wait? The Choosing Ceremony is offered to all!”

“Fool! Why would I wait until after the nobles, knights, and royals got to try? If one of them pulled it…I would miss my chance!”


“What is the meaning of this?” It was Merlin who asked. I flinched back a little, but I didn’t move as the mage got close to us.

I turned to him and put my hands together. “Please, Sir Merlin, forgive my cousin, but he’s not a knight!”

“You!” Illian snarled at me and Merlin looked between the two of us.

“Impersonating a knight,” Merlin began, then his lips twisted into a rather devilish smile. “My, aren’t you brave. Or stupid.”

“Please! Forgive him! Illian, let’s go, please. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“You have no right, Arthur,” Illian snapped. He lunged forward, giving me a hard shove. Illian’s larger size worked to his advantage and his action threw me backwards. I yelped and reached out for something, anything, to stop my tumble off the platform.

I grasped the handle of the Holy Sword to try and stop my fall, but instead of stopping, I kept going. I flailed as I fell off the platform. I hit the ground hard and coughed as the air was knocked from my lungs.

I lay on the ground for a few moments trying to regain my senses. In my hand, I could feel something digging into my palm. A jewel from the sword, perhaps? Something had come free when I’d reached out. It made sense a jewel would snap off during my stumbling. Sitting upright, I looked down at what was in my hand. It was the Holy Sword! I was in so much shock that I dropped the weapon and scrambled away from it.

I looked around. Everyone’s faces were filled with shock. The silence was so heavy it hurt my ears. I was panting, fear clutching my chest as I sat there on the ground beneath all those astonished looks. It wasn’t until someone knelt before me that I pulled away from the agonizing scrutiny of the townspeople.

“Stand up.” The order was kind, despite being hard on my hearing. “Come on, I need to test this.”

I turned to see who’d spoken. Merlin stood over me. “Sir Merlin…”

He offered his free hand to me. In the other he had the blade that I’d fearfully tossed away from me.

I took his hand and he hauled me up to my feet. His grip tightened as he led me back up onto the platform. I was certain he held so firmly because he didn’t want me to run away. If not for that, I would have run from the plaza and probably farther.

Merlin had me stand in front of the anvil. He slid the blade back in. Once it clicked, he gave a testing tug and the weapon remained locked inside.

He looked behind me and I turned to see who he had set his eyes upon. Illian was being held by two knights who I recognized, since they patrolled the castle town. And of course, everyone knew who the Knights of the Round Table were. Lancelot was on Illian’s right and Tristan was on his left. Both knights held each of my cousin’s arms tightly.

Merlin beckoned with his fingers. “Come here, impersonator. If you so wish to take the sword, then by all means do try.”

To me, Merlin’s smile was mocking.

Illian pulled free of the two knights and stepped forward, a scowl on his face. I moved, letting my cousin step up to the anvil. For a moment, he hesitated as he gazed at the sword. He reached out slowly and wrapped his hands around the hilt. He took a deep breath, then pulled. I knew he put every ounce of his strength behind it, and yet the Holy Sword was stuck fast in its prison once more.

He might have continued to pull all day, but Merlin put his hand on Illian’s shoulder and forced him back, away from the sword. The mage looked at me and motioned toward the sword. I swallowed dryly but moved to take the spot before the decorated hilt. My hands trembled as I gingerly gripped the Holy Sword.

It took no effort at all, like pulling a kitchen knife from warm butter. The blade slid free and I stood in awe with it.

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Author Visit

See today's guest post from Siryn’s friend and fellow author Chase Conner below!

Summoning the Muse

Have you ever noticed how all different artistic mediums tend to overlap in some way? For example, the music—instrumental or otherwise—that accompanies a scene in a movie can elevate it? In Pulp Fiction, Vincent Vega and Mia Wallace could have danced to any song at Jack Rabbit Slim’s, but Chuck Berry’s You Never Can Tell was perfection. The entire band, the Band Aids, everyone, singing Tiny Dancer by Elton John on the bus in Almost Famous? Brilliant. These scenes paired perfectly with the songs and created nothing short of magic.

Those are scenes everyone remembers, even if they never saw the films.

I’ve written blog posts before about coaxing the muse. I’ve also written about how I curate playlists for each project that I’m working on. Lately, I’ve wondered if the two things are not intertwined.

When I play just the right music for the project I’m working on, the words seem to flow from my brain, down to my fingertips, and onto the computer screen as I tap away furiously at my keyboard. It’s like I couldn’t even stop myself if I wanted to—but that’s obviously the last thing on my mind. Those moments are pure magic, as though I’m not even writing. It’s as if the thoughts in my brain are seeping out of me and into the computer.

Like much dryer osmosis.

During writing sessions when this happens—when the magic flows—it occurs to me that maybe a writer can actually summon the muse. We don’t always have to wait for them to show up whenever they feel like it. It’s possible that setting the scene will coax that elusive little gremlin out of hiding and into our workspace. It’s almost like seducing a lover. A little candlelight, some champagne, roses, chocolates…and the mood is set.

Except the writer is trying to get lucky in a different way.

Often, us writers sit around, twiddling our thumbs, getting increasingly frustrated, as we wait for our muse to show up and inspire us. It’s enough to make a writer pound their head against their desk, hoping an idea will dislodge, rattle around, and fall into the right place in their brain to get them writing. Of course, banging your head against a desk is a terrible idea and will result in a trip to the emergency room instead of hitting your word count for the day. I don’t recommend it.

However, the muse, for me, tends to really enjoy music. She likes it when the music I’m listening to matches the mood of the scene I’m writing. She really likes it when the playlist seems like it could be the soundtrack to the book if it ever got made into a movie.

For example, when I was writing A SURPLUS OF LIGHT, songs such as First Aid Kit’s version of America, In Need by Sheryl Crow, Big Love by Fleetwood Mac, and You Turn Me On, I’m A Radio by Joni Mitchell were played often.

When I wrote GINJUH, Florence + the Machine, Ed Sheeran, Tori Amos, Tom Waits, Nick Cave, The Smiths, Ryan Adams, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Landon Pigg, and—again—Joni Mitchell, got played a lot. That’s what the muse enjoyed for that book.

The JUST A DUMB SURFER DUDE trilogy had me playing a lot of Kimya Dawson, Night Terrors of 1927, Sick Puppies, Ruse, Sleeper Agent, Bombay Bicycle Club, and Gran Ronde. Those bands/artists and the songs by them just fit the mood in a way that made the muse want to come out and play.

“Okay.” She seemed to say. “I’m feeling what you’re doing here. I’ll play.”

Look, I won’t lie to anyone. Some writers can sit down and pound out a thousand words without even batting an eye. Just roll out of bed, stumble to the computer, and go to town. The rest of us…struggle. It’s not that we don’t want to write, that we don’t know what we want to write, or that we don’t have plenty of ideas. Sometimes the words just can’t get from Point A (our brains) to Point B (the page) easily. We need some help.

We need the muse.

So, if I was going to offer advice to other writers about how to summon their muse, it would be to set the mood. Seduce them. Treat them like they deserve to be treated. Put on some mood music, get them in the mood of the story, and see if they show up quicker.

We all know the muse is really just our inspiration aligning with our skills and desire to create art. A perfect storm for the act of creating. It’s not really a being of some kind hovering over our shoulder, whispering in our ear. Sometimes you have to pretend, though. Treat the muse like it’s a real person, treat it how you’d want to be treated, and the rest will come.

Chase Connor currently lives in Des Moines, Iowa with his husband, his dog, Rimbaud, and spends his days writing about the people who live (loudly and rent-free) in his head when he’s not busy being enthusiastic about naps and Pad Thai. Chase started his writing career as a confused gay teen looking for an escape from reality. Ten years later, one of the books he wrote during those years, Just A Dumb Surfer Dude: A Gay Coming-of-Age Tale, was published independently. Now with The Lion Fish Press (and almost 20 books later), Chase has numerous projects in various stages of completion and lined up for publishing. Chase is a multi-genre author, but always with a healthy dollop of gay. Chase can be reached at

Meet the Author

Siryn Sueng is a writer of fantasy, paranormal, and even Sci-Fi genres. She’s married to a wonderful husband with a minion of two years. They have a full house with three adorable fur babies, Anubis -the mighty cat hunter- Kida -the momma bear- and Mishka -the loveable husky-.

Siryn is a lover of games on a wide range of platforms. She plays on the PC, console, and hand-held devices including the phone. Japan is where she would love to visit sometime and is a huge inspiration to many of her projects. She’s a huge fan of Japan, including manga and anime. Siryn has even begun to dabble in comic/manga script writing. Future works in this will be posted on WebToon. Find Siryn on Twitter or send her an eMail.

Tour Schedule

12/16 Bayou Book Junkie

12/17 MM Good Book Reviews

12/18 Love Bytes

12/19 My Fiction Nook

12/20 Boy Meets Boy Reviews

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