You've heard the fairytale of Hansel and Gretel, but you've never heard it quite like this. Ashlee Latimer's debut young adult novel Witchkiller is about what happens after the siblings kill the witch that lured them into her home — and how the witches might not be the root of the trouble after all.
The story picks up five months after the witch's death, in a world where Gretel and her family are now rich. But their lives aren't necessarily better off: “Hansel has grown more and more like their monstrous father by the day," reads the synopsis. "The society she now inhabits has trapped her in an endless cycle of balls with nobles who sneer at her family's new money. And worst of all, her greedy father has issued his newest ploy to increase his wealth. Gretel must marry, and soon.” Meanwhile, Gretel is plagued with nightmares from the terrifying ordeal.
Enter: a fake dating plot with a prince, and a fortuitous meeting with a witch named Katharina, who makes Gretel realize the witches “aren't evil — they're healers, and Gretel is drawn to them … When information comes to light implicating her family's involvement in a traitorous plot and endangering the lives of herself and those she's grown to care about, Gretel must ask herself — did the wrong person die in that cottage? And can the Witchkiller become a witch?"
Latimer, an author, Tony-winning producer, and director from Knoxville, Tennessee, was drawn to retell this classic because of the undercurrent of desperation that runs through the story.
“How far can a young woman be pushed before she starts fighting back?” Latimer explains to Teen Vogue. “In the original story, the siblings' father is propelled by hunger; I decided to shift grief to the forefront, while maintaining the impact of poverty that underscores both the fairytale and Witchkiller. I also was eager to upend the dated portrayals of both the stepmother and the witch from the original. And, amidst a reckoning with increasing isolation in our world, it was really wonderful to sink into crafting the witches' community as an antidote to the loneliness of Gretel's life in her father's castle.”
Latimer learned a lot about themself during the writing and editing process, especially since this was their first young adult book.
“I learned that I'm much more capable of darkness and anger as an author than I previously believed,” she says. “The most difficult part of the process was probably starting line edits two days after the 2024 Presidential election. There are so many lines and scenes I first wrote during a season when I was hopeful we were moving in a better direction as a country that felt like a gut punch to revisit that week. At the same time, I was all the more motivated to push through that grief and bring this story about a teen girl discovering her own strength and fighting to take control of her own life into the world.”
Below, read an excerpt from Ashlee Latimer's forthcoming young adult novel, Witchkiller, now available for pre-order. Witchkiller's release date is Oct. 7, 2025.
Witchkiller
I rubbed my temples and took deep breaths, in through my nose and out through my mouth. I angled my body so one side of it pressed against the cool pane of the nearest floor-to-ceiling stained glass doors. My eyes fluttered closed. It was a unique kind of taxing, the onslaught of all these new people, new rules, new places.
After several moments, I opened my eyes again, steeling myself to enter back into the fray before my father had a chance to notice my absence from the center of everyone’s attention. But as I pushed off the glass, movement outside caught my eye.
At the edge of the woods bordering the palace, a young woman crept through the trees. Her bright red hair hung loose, catching the glint of the moon. She did not appear dressed for the ball, with a large shawl wrapped around what seemed to be a simple woven dress, the kind I wore in my previous life. A bright, russet fox who shared her coloring trotted alongside her. How was someone able to come so close to the palace without alerting the guards? Curious, I checked over my shoulder to be sure that no one was watching, then slipped quietly through the door and out into the night.
I took in a breath of fresh air. Removed from the newfound scrutiny of the nobility and the withering gaze of my own family, my chest loosened, despite my absurdly tight corset laces. I couldn’t linger on the sensation, however, if I wanted to investigate where the girl in the woods was going.
I wheeled around and made for the staircase that went down from the balcony.
Then found myself staring at the sternum of a very tall young man.
His hands clasped my shoulders, steadying me, before we sprang apart. We were not dancing; it was inappropriate for him to touch me. Yet if he hadn’t, I would have smashed my face into his ribs.
I gazed up into my barrier’s face and a soft gasp escaped me.
This was not just any very tall young man.
It was the face I’d seen dozens of painted variations on only hours ago. He was all the more captivating in person. Prince Wilfried had his mother’s warm, honey-blond coloring and his father’s angular features. He looked like a marriage between the sun and the moon, and I had never witnessed a lovelier union.
How is he not yet betrothed?
We stared at each other for a moment, neither of us blinking or breathing. His hands were still held aloft to prevent me from running into him, as if wary I might try for a second round. “Your Highness.” I dropped into a curtsy, remembering myself.
He held a finger to his lips. “Shh, shh, not too loud.” His bright ochre eyes were wide with entreaty.
As if I would disobey him.
I lowered my voice and my gaze. “I apologize, Your Highness, I did not intend to disturb you. I needed some fresh air.”
He placed a finger beneath my chin. Another inappropriate touch. My heart turned over as I reflexively steeled myself for a blow. When he lifted my face, however, the corners of his eyes were crinkled with mirth. “Would you believe me if I said I sought the same?”
How curious, to wish to avoid his own birthday party. All the boys and men of my acquaintance would never waste an opportunity to be celebrated.
“Do you dislike crowds, Your Highness?”
He smiled and I smiled back at him. This marriage mart business would have been much easier if he were the one asking me to dance.
“Please, call me Wilfried. Lady . . . ?” “Gretel. You may call me just Gretel.”
He tilted his head. “I am not convinced there is anything ‘just’ about you. Nevertheless, I shall be amenable to your wishes.”
I nodded, too stunned to speak. No one ever gave much thought to my wishes.
“Now, Just Gretel, might I entreat you to venture away from the windows? I am not eager to be seen by anyone—present company excluded, of course.” He moved toward the balcony’s railing before I could reply.
I followed without hesitation, enraptured. We leaned against the cold stone and I welcomed the cooling it provided. I did not dare stand close enough to touch him, but I looked. Away from the torchlight that filtered through from the ballroom, the con- trast in his features was thrown into even greater relief. His pale skin was almost silver beneath the moon, but his eyes and hair were all burnt honey and late summer.
He broke the silence. “To answer your question: Yes, I dislike crowds. I find it difficult to be myself around strangers, much to the chagrin of my mother’s advisers.”
“Perhaps your sense of reserve is a trait gifted from the queen?” I offered. After all, his mother was also once a com- moner, the daughter of a baker, and surely had also found the court overwhelming when she first arrived at the palace.
His grin widened. “I suppose it is, though she forgot to also gift me with her charm, for use on nights like these.”
“I do not think she did, sir,” I blurted. Heat flooded my cheeks. “My apologies, Your Hi—”
He raised a brow.
“I mean, Your Wilfri—that is, just . . . I apologize. Sir.” I stared at my shoes.
“Worry not, I am not so easily offended.” He bent at the waist and brought his mouth close to the shell of my ear, careful not to touch me. “Though perhaps I will endeavor to feign irritation, if it continues to make you blush so prettily.”
This close, he smelled of fresh sugared almonds, just like at Yuletide.
