Nicola Zhang’s “Prince of Dawn” opens not with clashing swords or royal proclamations, but with an eight-year-old boy named River stumbling into a silent temple—and meeting Anden, a prince in exile. Eight years later, the real story begins, as Anden and River cross paths once more—this time as teenagers becoming men. The first book in the Celestia trilogy ditches familiar tropes for something more impactful, landing somewhere between the epic mythic scope of The Poppy War and the intimate writing style of The Ten Thousand Doors of January.
The story follows Anden, the exiled Crown Prince of Vindra, whose royal lineage is steeped in divine expectation more than divine right. Eight years after being cast out by his brother following a supposed maritime accident that claimed their father’s life, Anden lives in political limbo—raised under brutal training in a foreign court that distrusts and degrades him. Zhang wastes no time on exposition, throwing readers into a world of sword fights and power, where bloodlines are sacred burdens, and where magic is not a flashy escape from danger.
The political world Zhang constructs is genuinely unpredictable—its betrayals feel intimate rather than theatrical. Court intrigue emerges not from declarations in grand halls, but from smuggled letters, clandestine meetings, and broken conversations at temple gates. The kingdoms of Vindra, Flavia, and Berossus are culturally distinct and generally hostile toward one another, tied together by uneasy diplomacy and theological fracture. Zhang’s depiction of Berossus is especially memorable: a society where commoners are forbidden from writing.
Combat, when it comes, is often brutal. Anden’s fighting sequences aren’t really about spectacle—they’re about survival. What makes Zhang’s worldbuilding so rich is her use of celestial imagery not just as aesthetic dressing, but as an organizing force. In Vindra, dawn is more than a time of day—it’s a national mythos. This is a world where astronomy often replaces medieval folklore, and it makes the setting feel both ancient and pretty original.
There are a couple of tiny stumbles—especially in the middle third, where some of the political maneuvering temporarily slows the momentum. Several secondary characters could be more fully fleshed out. Colleen, Anden’s cousin and closest friend, is an exception, a very well-rendered character. This is a rare example of multi-POV storytelling done well. By shifting between River, Anden, and Colleen, the book allows us to grow attached to each of them. It’s refreshing to see truly rootable characters in fantasy for a change, rather than the usual parade of grim anti-heroes.
Overall, Zhang’s debut is a real achievement. She’s written a cast of characters defined by contradiction rather than archetype, and trust me, you’ll surely want to read on to see what happens. The final chapters do not tie everything into a neat bow. Instead, they pose new questions, setting the stage for what promises to be a powerful continuation in the next volume of the Celestia trilogy.
“Prince of Dawn” is a gripping novel that is a great read for anyone looking to get back into fantasy. Zhang’s characters feel like real people you could meet and not just fantasy stereotypes, and her world operates by rules that don’t bend for narrative convenience. Readers hungry for fantasy with an LGBT romantic edge will find plenty to devour here.
You can get your copy of “Prince of Dawn” here!
