Hi, I’m K. E. Andersen—historical fantasy author, and proud parent to a cast of emotionally unstable fictional characters.

I write myth-drenched, emotionally devastating epics full of political betrayal, ancient curses, morally questionable hotties, and at least one character who absolutely should be in therapy (but isn’t, because ancient Greece said “suck it up or die in battle”).

When I’m not sobbing over a death I personally wrote, I’m deep in research rabbit holes like “how long does it take to bleed out from a gut wound?” or “did Spartans have skincare routines?” Spoiler: the internet now thinks I’m a danger to society.

My writing routine involves equal parts caffeine, chaos, and crying. I believe in plot twists that ruin lives, characters who make terrible decisions for hot reasons, and prose that hits like a dagger dipped in poetry. If you enjoy beautiful suffering, and yelling “what the fuck?!” at a book at 2 a.m.—you’re home.

Welcome to my lair. There’s no escape, but at least there’s wine.