Roshani Chokshi returns to the realm of whimsy and wonder with The Swan’s Daughter by Roshani Chokshi, a standalone fantasy romance that spins the traditional “princess competition” narrative into something altogether more complex and enchanting. Known for her lush prose in series like The Gilded Wolves, The Star-Touched Queen, and the middle-grade Aru Shah books, Chokshi brings her signature worldbuilding prowess to this tale of a cursed prince, a wingless swan maiden, and the impossible choices that love demands.
The premise sparkles with dark fairy tale logic: Prince Arris of the Isle of Malys faces certain death after marriage, thanks to an ancestral curse that transforms murdered heirs into sentient trees. His only hope for survival lies in finding true love before his wedding night. When his parents announce a tournament of eligible brides, the stage is set for political intrigue, romantic entanglements, and the kind of magical mayhem that Chokshi excels at crafting. Enter Demelza, the seventh daughter of the wizard Prava the Sly, born without the wings that mark her sisters as veritas swans—magical beings whose songs compel absolute truth. Fleeing her father’s sinister plans, she strikes a bargain with Arris: safe harbor in exchange for using her truth-telling abilities to identify which contestants genuinely love him and which seek only power.
The Alchemy of Characters and Chemistry
What elevates The Swan’s Daughter by Roshani Chokshi beyond typical romantic fantasy is the genuine complexity of its central relationship. Demelza and Arris are not archetypes but fully realized individuals grappling with autonomy, choice, and the terrifying vulnerability that love demands. Demelza’s yearning for purpose and recognition feels viscerally real—her entire existence has been defined by what she lacks rather than what she possesses. When her wings finally manifest, the moment carries weight precisely because Chokshi has spent hundreds of pages building Demelza’s sense of incompleteness.
Arris, meanwhile, subverts the “doomed prince” trope by refusing melancholy. His optimism isn’t naivety but a deliberate choice to find wonder in a life that promises brevity. He walks barefoot to feel grass beneath his feet, closes his eyes while listening to music, and experiments with bizarre fragrance combinations—small rebellions against the knowledge that his time is limited. The scenes where he and Demelza cook together in the palace kitchens, or sit in moonlight discussing their dreams, crackle with the kind of intimacy that makes their eventual conflict devastating.
The supporting cast brings depth and dimension to the narrative:
- Edmea, the fashion-obsessed contestant from the Vale of Sylke whose dresses literally change with magic, becomes an unexpected friend rather than a rival
- Ursula, the fierce chef from the Ulva Wylds who’d rather discuss proper cake architecture than romance
- Talvi, the ice maiden researching the mysterious sea witch from legend
- Princess Yvlle, Arris’s twin sister whose love manifests through creative torture and protective violence
Each contestant represents a different kingdom and magical tradition, and Chokshi wisely avoids making them one-dimensional obstacles. Some harbor genuine affection for Arris, others pursue political advantage, and a few (like the delightfully unhinged Cordelia from the Famishing) have more sinister intentions entirely.
Where the Enchantment Occasionally Falters
While The Swan’s Daughter by Roshani Chokshi delivers consistent entertainment, certain narrative choices prevent it from reaching the heights of her best work. The tournament structure, though initially engaging, follows a predictable pattern: trial, revelation, romantic development, repeat. Readers familiar with competition-based fantasies will anticipate most major plot beats, particularly regarding which contestants pose genuine threats versus those serving as comedic relief.
The worldbuilding, though imaginative in concept—daydream trees, pearl crocodiles, mushroom towers with vine-faced guardians—sometimes feels more decorative than integral. Chokshi excels at sensory details (the way fog roses smell, how ozorald caves glitter), but the magical systems governing the Isle of Malys remain frustratingly vague. How exactly does Rathe Castle’s sentience work? What are the limits of sylke magic versus veritas swan abilities? These questions linger unanswered, which may frustrate readers who prefer more structured fantasy worldbuilding.
The pacing suffers occasional lulls in the middle sections where tournament trials feel repetitive. The “Trial of Talent” and subsequent challenges, while individually creative, extend the competition perhaps one round too long. The urgency that propels the opening chapters dissipates somewhat as Demelza settles into palace life, only to reignite dramatically in the final act.
The Heart of the Matter: Choice, Trust, and Terrifying Love
Where the novel truly excels is in its exploration of autonomy within romantic relationships. The central conflict—that loving Arris gives him complete control over Demelza’s physical form through her swan key—serves as potent metaphor for the vulnerabilities inherent in deep partnership. Chokshi refuses easy answers. Even after Arris returns Demelza’s key, the question remains: what prevents him from summoning it again whenever conflict arises?
The scene where Prava offers Demelza the glass knife, explaining she could kill Arris and survive the severance of their bond, crystallizes the novel’s thematic core. Love without choice becomes imprisonment. Trust without risk remains untested. The resolution doesn’t erase these dangers but instead embraces uncertainty—Arris and Demelza choose each other “not just today, but every day,” acknowledging that love requires continual recommitment rather than singular grand gestures.
This philosophical depth distinguishes Chokshi’s romance from lighter fare. The conversations between Arris and his tree-form grandfather Argento, or Demelza’s fraught exchanges with her mother Araminta (who knows intimately the prison of loving a manipulative man), add layers of generational wisdom and consequence. The novel posits that the bravest thing one can do isn’t merely protect one’s life but find courage to chase a life worth living—a theme that resonates beyond its fairy tale trappings.
Prose That Dances Between Whimsy and Darkness
Chokshi’s signature lyrical style suits this material perfectly. Her sentences shimmer with unexpected imagery: “fear that makes your toes curl and your stomach drop as if the ground beneath you might at any moment transform into sky.” She balances whimsy with genuine menace—the same book that features talking library wyverns and grumpy garden gnomes also includes moments of real horror, as when Cordelia attempts to murder Demelza for her bones.
The humor lands consistently, particularly in exchanges between Arris and Yvlle, or in Demelza’s bewildered reactions to palace etiquette. When Arris explains his dimple is actually a failed scar from trying to make himself more interesting, or when the palace vines form a disapproving uncle-face to lecture him about propriety, Chokshi demonstrates her gift for character-driven comedy that never undermines emotional stakes.
Final Verdict: A Flawed but Enchanting Romance
The Swan’s Daughter by Roshani Chokshi won’t convert readers who typically avoid YA fantasy romance, and its structural predictability may disappoint those seeking narrative innovation. However, for readers who appreciate thoughtful explorations of autonomy within love, lush prose that borders on prose poetry, and characters who grapple genuinely with impossible choices, this standalone delivers considerable rewards.
The novel works best when read as a meditation on vulnerability and choice rather than a plot-driven fantasy thriller. Those approaching it expecting the heist complexity of The Gilded Wolves or the mythological depth of Aru Shah may find it lighter fare. But readers who loved the romantic longing of The Star-Touched Queen or Diana Wynne Jones’s whimsical-yet-serious fantasies will find much to treasure here.
Chokshi’s greatest achievement lies in crafting a romance where the central question isn’t “will they end up together?” but rather “can they build something worth the terror of choosing each other?” The answer—complex, uncertain, hopeful—feels earned.
For Readers Who Enjoyed:
- Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson (magical libraries, enemies-to-lovers, sentient settings)
- A Curse So Dark and Lonely by Brigid Kemmerer (fairy tale retellings with agency themes)
- Howl’s Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones (whimsical magic, unlikely romance, cursed protagonists)
- House of Salt and Sorrows by Erin A. Craig (dark fairy tale atmosphere, mystery competitions)
- To Kill a Kingdom by Alexandra Christo (siren/swan mythology, enemies-to-lovers, choice versus destiny)
