Bestselling author J.R. Ward talks about "Crown of War and Shadow" with Club Calvi
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Author J.R. Ward launched a publishing phenomenon 20 years ago with her paranormal romance series "The Black Dagger Brotherhood." Many of them became New York Times bestsellers. Now she's released a new book, her romantasy debut, titled "Crown of War and Shadow." It's became an instant bestseller.
J.R. told Mary Calvi that the idea for her new book came to her two decades ago.
"I don't actually write my books," J.R. explained. "I have pictures in my head. My job as the author is to take those pictures and transcribe them so that when a reader reads the words on the page, they can approximate what I'm being shown. I had just pitched the Black Dagger Brotherhood and I was like, it's never gonna be picked up. It's never going to see the day because it's just so out there. So I thought, well, I should have something else just in case it doesn't work, when it doesn't work. I had a vision in this medieval tower of these four people sitting around a compass that was glowing. And I thought I need to find out the story here. So I outlined it. And then the Black Dagger Brotherhood took off."
J.R's first book in the "Black Dagger Brotherhood" series, "Dark Lover," was published in 2005. Since then, she has written more than 20 books in the Black Dagger universe which takes place in a fictional town in upstate New York.
J.R. says about two years ago, during a gap in her schedule, her agent asked her if she had anything that could pass as a romantasy. Ward found the computer floppy disc containing her outline, got an old computer program, flipped the story to first person, and created the "Crown of War and Shadow."
She told Mary that she's a practical, disciplined person who likes control. After graduating from law school, she worked in healthcare in Boston before her writing career took off.
"It's this dichotomy of structure versus complete chaos in my head," J.R. said. "It's brought a lot of wonderful things to my life that I'm grateful for.
J.R. says she writes at a desk in the room she sleeps in, and has been doing that since prep school.
"I don't cop to anything other than the discipline that I put my butt in my chair and I type every day, seven days a week. No excuses. No vacation. Very rarely a sick day. And I've been doing that since 1999."
She lives in 1920s stone house in Kentucky that she says is haunted.
"We actually have ghosts. They turn on lights. They shut doors. You hear footsteps. There are smells. We had a psychic come in. It was really odd when we first moved in here. It's now like living with roommates. I know, I realize that sounds crazy. It is what it is. I wouldn't have believed it until I started living in this house," she said.
J.R. says it took her nine months to write "Crown of War and Shadow." The male protagonist, Merc, was part of her initial vision.
"I knew that Merc was brooding and that he was a mercenary," J.R. says. "He's got the broadsword out the back. He's got black leather and chain mail. He's got medieval weapons all over. And I was like, yes please."
Mary asked J.R about her fans.
"I take very seriously the investment that readers make in these books," J.R. said. "They put their hard-earned money on the line for what is ultimately a commercial product... I put everything I got into every single book even after all of these years."
J.R. is appearing at the Barnes & Noble bookstore in Union Square on Wednesday, March 4, 2026.
"I can't wait," J.R. exclaimed. "I love New York City. I grew up in upstate New York, so I've been coming all of my life. I love being in the city and I can't wait to be at the Union Square Barnes and Noble.
You can read an excerpt from "Crown of War and Shadow" and get the book below.
The CBS New York Book Club focuses on books connected to the Tri-State Area in their plots and/or authors. The books may contain adult themes.
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"Crown of War and Shadow" by J.R. Ward
From the publisher: An outcast burdened with a curse. A mercenary out for himself. A kingdom that must be saved.
In the deep, dark, dead of night, passions rise, and empires fall…
The Fulcrum is failing, and demons are slipping into the mortal world.
No one is safe.
Especially not Sorrel. An orphan and an outcast within the walls of her small village because of her mystical abilities. She wants to survive…and find somewhere she can call her true home. But Fate has other plans.
Sorrel has been chosen. Cursed.
She must cross the Badlands to return the Queen's crown and convince the fearsome female to save their world from destruction.
Well aware she's no brave hero, Sorrel makes a dangerous deal with Merc, a brooding, commanding mercenary known only by his unscrupulous profession.
The deal? A night in his bed that she will never forget, in exchange for her safe passage.
But Merc has secrets of his own, and even though desire runs hot between them, adventure, danger, and betrayal lurk around every corner.
Crown of War and Shadow is the first book in the Kingdoms of the Compass series.
J.R. Ward lives in Kentucky.
"Crown of War and Shadow" by J.R. Ward (ThriftBooks) $25
Excerpt: "Crown of War and Shaw" by J.R. Ward
FOUR
A Stranger Arrives
The pub is especially loud. The village men are waving their tankards around, their heads flipping back as they project their laughter like cannonballs at what Mr. Cavenish's intrusion forced them to confront earlier. The air is thick with the stench of sour sweat and pungent ale, and as I skate over and pick up another empty tankard, I check the door. Since I returned, I've been able to sneak into my hovel under the stairs a couple of times and prepare more of the chews that will help Elly.
That husband of hers better show.
Grimly turning away, I weed back through the tables and chairs, which take up most of the floor. The bar runs down the far side, and I go to the end of its pitted, stained counter, adding my lot to the dozen or so I will have to clean before the end of the night-
There's a shout, and a crash of chairs falling over. Then an explosion of laughter, as three men who can't walk straight start to navigate toward the exit.
"Don't just stand there, get the mop," Mr. Lewis says.
He's emerging from the doorway in the corner, the one that opens into his private quarters. In all his grumpy disapproval, he is the opposite of the wife he lost a couple of years ago. I tried to save her, but didn't catch the timing right. I might believe he resents me for this, but the truth was, he didn't like me even before he became a widower.
"Yes, Mr. Lewis."
The mop and bucket are behind the bar, and the tender, who's yanking at the barrel pulls like he wants to tear his arm out of its socket, glares at me as I enter his territory. He is the one person I take no offense at when he shuns me. He doesn't like his job, doesn't like the pub, doesn't like Mr. Lewis. Doesn't like anybody or anything.
There's a water pump and a drain right by our employer's private door, and I steer the bucket with the mop into place under the spigot. The iron grip is warm as my hand as I throw my shoulder into the work of-"
Aye! Do it!"
"Do it-"
"-it!"
A chant starts up, and then the chatter calms a little. Sallae Mae casts a flirty glance at the sweaty, bearded man who's called out to her the loudest. She's wearing a sky-blue dress that's so low-cut, a deep breath would fully expose the top half of what she barters with, and that long blond hair of hers is a peekaboo shawl around her bare shoulders.
"A copper, then," she taunts as she goes over to him, lifts her skirting and plants an arched, stocking foot between his legs on his chair seat.
When the coin is in her hand, she holds it up and the customers hush into murmurs. With every eye in the place on her, she tucks the penny into her cleavage and sashays over to the bar. The tender looks as though he's about to quit, but he ducks under the counter and produces a thin glass on a slender stem.
"Thank you," she says with an exaggerated curtsy.
"Those aren't cheap," Mr. Lewis mutters.
Sallae Mae holds the flute high as she sits herself up on the bar. "Neither am I."
I've seen this parlor trick before-well, we all have, but the men like to watch her take a deep breath and I don't care about her respiration-so as she clears her throat, I take advantage of the crowd settling. Pushing my bucket over to where those drunken departures spilled several tankards, I flop my dirty mop on the floorboards. Over on the bar, Sallae Mae opens her mouth and projects a high note at the glass. The tone pierces like a knife into the ear, and she goes even higher and louder. Higher. Louder. Higher-
The glass shatters with a spray that shimmers in the lantern light. The gasps and cheers are loud and prolonged, as if she'd lifted a plow horse up over her shoulder. Sallae Mae is delighted with the attention and stays right where she is, holding the slender stem while she fluffs her hair-
The front entrance opens.
What comes inside sucks all the sound and air out of the pub.
The man of war stands over six lengths high, at least. His heavily muscled upper body is clad in a drape of corroded mesh and a padded black leather surcoat, and his thick legs are wrapped in black leather as well. He has a dirk at his hip, a dagger upon his opposite thigh, and over his shoulder, the thick handle of a broadsword is within ready reach.
Nobody moves, not even Sallae Mae to slip off the bar.
He takes a single step forward and shuts the cold out with a clap. His hair is long and black, a braid on both sides keeping it out of his face. He's clean-shaven, his jaw square and pronounced, his nose straight as an arrow. I'm careful not to meet his eyes directly, but my peripheral vision tells me that one has been lost to battle, a scar slashing down through his brow and continuing to his temple, an opaque whiteness staring out into the world. The injury does nothing to diminish the power and authority of him, however-or the sexual charge that rolls off him like lightning.
He possesses . . . a brutal beauty.
And the working women clearly recognize the virility of him. All around at the tables, they plume in a way that has nothing to do with their profession. The men, on the other hand, don't seem to be breathing at all.
Mr. Lewis loops his suspenders, which have been hanging loose, up onto his shoulders. His voice is tense as he says, "Well, what d'ya want, then."
Like he's very much done with that door opening up to bad surprises tonight.
The warrior scans the pub slowly, and the drunks shift in their seats, making me think of a restless herd aware that a hungry predator has entered the grazing pasture.
As we all wait for the man to speak, I wager that most are thinking what I am: No royal insignia. So he's a mercenary looking for somebody, and when he finds them? There's going to be bloodshed.
"A room," he says in a low, resonant voice. "And some food."
Copyright © 2026 by J.R. Ward. Reprinted with permission from Tor Publishing Group.