In the past few months, “romantasy” fans have been getting their fair share of content with the announcement of a television adaptation of Rebecca Yarros’s popular book series, “Fourth Wing.” While fans of the books are waiting for the show’s development, they can turn to author Rachel Gillig’s latest gothic fantasy book, “The Knave and the Moon,” to fill the romantasy-shaped holes in their hearts.

The book is the sequel to Gillig’s 2025 book, “The Knight and the Moth,” and the last installment of her duology, “The Stonewater Kingdom.” But after a year of anticipation, readers may be sorely disappointed: The sequel hardly manages to wrap up the problems of the first book, whose loose ends were already partially unraveled by a questionable balance of high fantasy with corny romance.

The story picks up almost immediately from where the first book left off: The prophetic protagonist, Sybil Delling, has been taken hostage by the power-hungry boy-king Benedict Castor III, also known as Benji, and is forced to be his queen as well as a symbolic figure in his reign. In doing so, she is separated from those close to her — including her lover, the knight Rodrick “Rory” Myndacious — and must save Stonewater Kingdom’s faith and fate.

The fantasy elements, like in the first book, are extremely compelling. Although there are various struggles of power within the plot, one of the greatest questions the book poses revolves around mankind’s right and role when it comes to nature: Sprites are magical creatures who have supposedly been terrorizing the Kingdom’s five hamlets throughout its history. But as the story continues, the characters realize that the sprites have been undeserving victims of fear and violence.

The magic system in general is extremely enticing, but Gillig struggles to establish its breadth within her own universe. The duology introduced five sacred magical stone objects that belonged to each Omen, falsely deified figures who the main band of characters killed in the previous book: a coin, an inkwell, an oar, a chime and a loomstone.

The first book gushed about how powerful they were, only for them to be destroyed within a matter of seconds in the second book — the most ridiculous destruction of all being when Rory took the stone coin between his teeth and shattered it. This is a common trend in Gillig’s books: Readers are told something repeatedly, only for the author to contradict her earlier statements within a few lines.

The twist at the end of the first book reveals that Benji had been scheming against the heroes all along, a cliffhanger that was predictable but compelling enough to want more. “The Knight and the Moth” specifically made it a point to illustrate how clever Benji was, despite his youth and naivete. But the second book immediately shifts the alleged master-manipulator king into a bumbling drunk who barely thinks before acting and can’t seem to do anything right.

His character arc for revenge and power is not only lazy, it’s uninteresting. By the first few chapters of the book, readers won’t even remember why he’s so desperate for power in the first place, and his evil actions seem to occur simply because he’s capable of them. This blandness also plagues the other characters and their relationships.

The second book decides to take on the first-person perspective of both Sybil and Rory, as opposed to the first book’s method, which was only from the former’s point of view. Not only is the shift in perspectives completely confusing, with no labels indicating when the narrator changes, it also doesn’t add much depth to the story. All of Sybil’s thoughts narrate her vomiting or thinking about sacrificing herself, while all Rory talks about is Sybil, whether that be saving her or having sex with her.

Thanks to Rory and Sybil’s far-too-rushed coupling in the first book, their romance is simply boring and unconvincing. With too much plot, there’s no room for their relationship to build any further, and readers will find difficulty rooting for any development at all. The two are all over each other constantly, despite their relationship being “forbidden”; they have no problems kissing and moaning in carriages and corridors while their enemies are on the other side of the wall.

The other characters are similarly forgettable and shallow, as they are all either killed off or obviously on their way to being killed off. Rory and Sybil’s mentor and friend, Maude Bauer, who is a part of the main band of heroes, spends the entire book getting injured or delivering motivational monologues. And if that wasn’t enough to hint at her death, she is crowned the new king with almost 40 pages left to spare.

Like her armor-clad characters, Gillig shields her stories with protection in the form of plot armor. No matter how many times Sybil and Rory are speared, drowned or beaten, they simply will not die. And even when the latter does die at the beginning of the book, he is literally brought back to life and made immortal. Every other problem is similarly presented and then immediately fixed, creating little to no stakes for any of the characters.

In the face of the rising popularity of the “romantasy” genre, readers are often forced to consider which element they value more — the fantasy or the romance — when in reality, a truly good book would be able to carry both in equal measure. “The Knave and the Moon,” while attempting to find this balance on multiple occasions, teeters under the weight of its ambition.