About this book:

Forty thousand years ago, the last Neanderthal king holds his throne in a hidden valley heated by thermal vents, while ten thousand Sapiens spears gather on the southern passes. Between them walks Hanno—a diplomat who speaks the old tongue, carries no weapon, and has thirty days to turn a massacre into a treaty. But in the Great Cave, the King's own warlord demands blood for blood, and every hour the envoy survives is an hour the hawks on both sides sharpen their blades.

*The Last Neanderthal King* plunges you into a world built from ice, obsidian, and the weight of two hundred thousand years. Here, Neanderthals are not brutes but a people who paint their histories in deep caves, bury their dead with flowers, and calculate the cost of war in empty hearths. And the Sapiens are not heroes but a tidal wave of iron, numbers, and hungry lords who see the valley only as land to be cleared. The battle lines run through every conversation, every shared fire, every choice between pride and survival.

With the sweep of *Clan of the Cave Bear* and the political knife-work of *Game of Thrones*, this is prehistoric fiction at its most urgent and human. Two species. One valley. A single diplomat gambling everything on the radical notion that enemies can still speak before they slaughter. The twilight of kings has never burned this bright.