Excerpts Young Adult Read an Excerpt From All We Hunger For by Anna Mercier A young woman sneaks her way into a magical baking contest but gets pulled into an elusive aristocrat’s lavish world and his nefarious plan… By Anna Mercier | Published on May 26, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from All We Hunger For by Anna Mercier, a new young adult fantasy novel out from Henry Holt and Co. on June 23rd. In Anespérer, where magic comes alive through artistic skill, Elara Rousseau knows she’ll never be selected for the Objet d’Art. The high-stakes baking competition will elect a new Souverain to join the ruling council, and someone from the slums would never be considered. But when a brooding figure from her past sneaks her into the Objet, Elara has the chance to compete for a better future… as long as no one uncovers her traitorous secret.Nikolas Dupont will do whatever it takes to impress his powerful father, a Souverain who hasn’t officially recognized his son—like handpick a contestant to win and become his father’s political pawn. But Elara is more than he bargained for, and she ignites his own subdued passions.Against all odds, Elara excels and becomes a hero to the city’s poor, all while Nik’s faith in his father crumbles and the sparks between them burn brighter. As the competition heats up, Elara and Nik must choose: fight to win the competition and secure a future of safety for them both, or use the power of Elara’s art to spark a revolution. Elara had never seen the Souverains before. Not in person. They never visited the Restes before the uprising, and they sure as hell steered clear after. Only their likenesses had been captured on propaganda plastered to brick walls. The real subjects were haunting. While each Souverain was different in skin color and size, they were all . . . perfect. Not a blemish or scar, not a blush or a dark shadow beneath their eyes. It was if some delicate hand had sculpted each of them from the purest stone and polished their features to ethereal smoothness. Some, like Souverain Gabriel of Arts Manufacturiers, looked ageless despite their white hair, but the eyes gave them away. Each of them looked down at her with indifference, gargoyles upon a parapet. Of time and beyond it. One of the people and nothing like them. A final seat at the end remained open: a somber prize. Elara approached. “Please state your name clearly for the Counseil,” Souverain Lafontaine called. Elara’s mouth dried. She couldn’t fail. In order to help her mother’s recipes live on, she needed to let her name go. “I . . . I am Elouise Auclair.” She didn’t know her heart could beat so loud until Souverain Lafontaine muttered a terse thank-you. He turned over a crisp paper filled with very few words: Auclair’s acceptance into Arts Culinaires. “You are quite the mystery. We’ve checked with the board of Arts Culinaires’ Directeurs, and none recognize your name.” “I doubt they remember everyone they’ve ever admitted.” The line she’d practiced with Fernand came easy. “Did you not find my name in the records?” “Indeed we did.” Lafontaine’s fingers stroked the paper in thought. “How did your name come to be in the pool of Favored? A Restes Aspirant in the Objet d’Art? Quite uncommon.” “That abysmal place across the river?” The comment came from someone in a brilliant yellow dress flapping an annoyingly loud fan. “The poor thing!” Some snickered. Worse, others pitied her. “Chef?” Lafontaine prompted. She released her fists. “I was just as stunned when the coat arrived. Perhaps my Professionnelle recommended me to the board of Directeurs?” “So you have formal training?” Souverain Tremblay of Arts Visuels asked. “Enough to have earned my Aspirant colors.” She indicated her brown skirts. “Unfortunately, Professionnelle Prevel passed recently, and I was let go from my newest position.” Buy the Book All We Hunger For Anna Mercier Buy Book All We Hunger For Anna Mercier Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget “Whatever for?” “My innovation, Souverain.” Fernand was ready near the doorway to the foyer. Showtime. Elara ascended the dais and laid her porcelain dish upon the table. Any other party would lean forward to inspect the sweet dessert. The Counseil were as statues, barely letting their eyes swoop down as she scooped the still-bubbling cherry and custard mixture onto individual plates. Elara made sure each Souverain had enough crunchy topping because texture was just as important as taste. “What is this?” Souverain Gabriel asked. “Clafoutis,” Elara replied. “Cherries marinated in—” “You’re dishing it out like we’re hogs to a trough,” Souverain Cormier sneered. She managed to smile through clenched teeth. “I intended to feed you like I would anyone else at my table. My apologies if such compassion isn’t custom here in Galerie.” Gasps whispered around her, followed by the person in yellow muttering, “Oh, I like her.” They were probably alone in that. Elara placed each helping before the Souverains. “I present cherry clafoutis made with umber rum and almond crumble. Enjoy.” She’d been wrong to think they’d tuck in. Instead, they ate as if forced, dipping the prongs of their forks into the liquid before begrudgingly going back for a granule of crumble. That didn’t stop her from holding her breath. Restes or not, food was food. They’d either love it or hate it, and the truth would be in their reactions. Even the most powerful people couldn’t deny their tongues. The Souverains’ eyes dilated, their nostrils flared, and their expressions took on that of children consuming their first taste of sugar—wonderment. The simple truth of knowing they’d enjoyed it would have been enough, but they surprised her by taking more. It wasn’t the ravenous hunger of the Restes, but the slow, savoring enjoyment the rich could afford. “A unique marriage of flavors,” Cormier said. “And the textures are interesting to explore,” Faucher added. All said as if they were performing for a packed audience rather than offering feedback. Lafontaine, the only Souverain who let his wrinkles show, patted his mouth with a napkin. “And the magie?” Elara couldn’t contain her smile when the audience burst into giggles. “You tell me, Souverain,” she replied. He turned his head down the line and recoiled. Six different Elaras stared back at her, each stretched or narrowed to fit the original owner’s body. Their faces, though, were entirely her, from the smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks to the little scar at her eyebrow from when she’d sloshed a drop of hot oil on herself. Perfectly imperfect, just the way she liked it. One of the Elaras glared into the crowd. The moment they locked eyes with someone else, Elara’s dark hair extended into beautiful scarlet locks, her full cheeks caved inward, and her eyes sparkled brilliant hazel. “My goodness!” The chaos began. The Souverains broke into cackles, taking turns to gaze at one another, changing their forms. They found ways to entertain themselves, winking, flirting, and picking at hard-to-reach body parts. As planned, the audience moved in, eager to be the next face the Counseil impersonated. Curious servants collected from other rooms, and the police gravitated closer to protect the Counseil. Fernand saluted from the darkened foyer and darted upstairs, out of sight. Done. All he had to do was get out without being caught. When Elara turned back to the revelry, she felt . . . different. With her part of the deal finished, she could enjoy this moment. For all their pomp and authority, the Counseil were laughing like children. Deep belly laughter and rolling giggles as they played and delighted in the magie, eating more bites to keep their games going. This was what Elara wanted to do for the rest of her life. She wanted to bring the joy of food to everyone. Tonight, she could start that journey again with a clean slate—her job for Fernand now complete. Hell, someone here could invest in her. Offer her an apprenticeship on her way out. It was more than she’d ever allowed herself to hope for before. “Amusing,” Lafontaine said. Elara choked back a gasp. He wasn’t himself. He was a boy with dark hair slicked back, perfectly controlled save for the little curls at the base of his neck. His nose was wider and cheekbones fuller, with eyes like shards of glass. Striking. Elara could think of no other word to describe him. She turned back to find the original boy in the crowd, and warmth flooded her body. All that intensity in those blue eyes was narrowed on her. Not the powerful Souverains. Not the chattering aristocracy. Her. His brow ticked, eyes darting over her shoulder. She spun back to Lafontaine, who was himself again. “Unfortunately,” Elara said, “the effect doesn’t last long.” “While your trick is amusing, we cannot ignore the potential of this magie,” Lafontaine murmured to his colleagues, who hummed in response, all the joy replaced by business. Elara waited for someone else to speak. Anyone else. Time to make a graceful exit. She did her best to look dismayed as she collected the plates. “Thank you for the opportunity—” Lafontaine stabbed his fork onto the porcelain, pinning it to the table. His face was close enough to see the age he refused to hide, the little scar at his hairline, a blemish on his cheek. “That was not a dismissal.” Excerpted from All We Hunger For, copyright © 2026 by Anna Mercier. The post Read an Excerpt From <i>All We Hunger For</i> by Anna Mercier appeared first on Reactor.