Coming soon, a new historical romance from Lissa Bryan set in the
days of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, Under These
Restless Skies.
Synopsis:
Will Somers has always thought himself unlovable. When he
encounters a creature of myth and magic, he seizes the chance to finally have a
wife and family of his own. Emma is a selkie—one of the immortal fae-folk of
the sea—bound to Will by the magic of her kind, and eager to learn about life
on land. She has to learn to adapt quickly to human customs, because Will is
headed for the court of Henry VIII, to serve as the king’s fool. It’s a
glittering, dangerous world, where a careless word can lead to the scaffold and
the smallest of gestures is loaded with political implications. Anne Boleyn is
charmed by Emma’s naïveté and soothing selkie magic and wants Emma for her own
fool. Can Will protect his newfound love from the dangers that lurk in every
shadow? Circa regna tonat: around the throne, the thunder
rolls.
Release Date: February 20,
2014
And now, for the cover!
Made by Mayhem Cover
Creations
Excerpt:
They came to the doorway of the presence
chamber. Fermor gave his name to the steward.
The man flipped through a list. “Oh, aye.
Fermor.”
“Correct, my lord. I am come to bring His Majesty
a gift.”
“A fool, was it?”
Fermor gestured at Will. “And a fine one at
that.”
The steward did not seem impressed. “Go and come
again tomorrow. His Majesty is in a temper
today.”
The king’s visit with his sister must not
have ended well. Fermor sputtered, panicking as he saw his
chances slip away.
“ ’Twould seem the best time for him to be
regaled by a fool’s antics,” Will
noted.
The steward stared at Will for a moment and
then gave a slight smile. “This way.” He led them through a
tapestry-covered
door through the empty presence chamber. Will paused, awed
by the sight of the
throne—the symbol of the king’s power—wide and heavy, gilded
and jeweled, set
on a carpeted dais. Beside it was a smaller throne for the
queen, and over both
were canopies bearing the coat of arms of each. The steward
bowed to the empty
throne as they passed, and they copied him before continuing
out into a smaller
gallery.
“Tarry here,” the steward instructed. “The
king is at cards with the Lady Pembroke. You will be called
to him when he is
finished.”
Will’s stomach churned. He’d never felt less
amusing in his life, and his wits were logy. A horrifying
thought occurred to
him. If he was unable to persuade the king to take him on,
he wouldn’t be able
to keep Emma. He couldn’t take her with him if he returned
to the comedy
troupe. Panic made his mind blank for a moment, and he did
not hear his name
called. Fermor elbowed him, and Will stumbled to his feet
and followed the
steward into a chamber.
Will didn’t have much of a chance to survey
his surroundings. He had an impression of tapestries over
dark wood paneling
and the glitter of gold, but his eyes were on the floor in
front of two figures
seated in x-shaped chairs. He
knelt.
“Your Majesty, Lady Pembroke, if it pleases
Your Graces, I present Master Richard Fermor and Will
Somers.”
“Rise,” the king said. Will stole a glance
at him and saw a large, but still muscular man with thinning
reddish-blond
hair, dressed in a dark brown velvet doublet, ornamented
with pearls and gold
frogs. The king had gained weight in the last few years, and
to disguise it he
had widened the shoulders of his surcoats. Will had to admit
the effect was
powerful. His large codpiece jutted up from the center slit
of his doublet,
also meant to convey power, or at least, virility. His eyes
were small, a
piercing blue-gray. Will caught a glimpse of them before he lowered
his gaze to
the floor.
“So, Fermor, you have brought me a fool.”
The king’s voice was low and gruff, and he didn’t sound much
interested. The
lady seated at his side wore a French hood and an initial
pendant attached to
her strand of pearls, the letters “AB” twined together. She
was garbed in a
dressing gown of brilliant scarlet, trimmed in ermine. It
was casual raiment
only the highest nobility was entitled to wear outside their
own bedchamber,
but Anne Boleyn was now royal in all but name. Just weeks
ago, the king had
created her Marquess of Pembroke, the highest noble title in
the land. She
patted the small dog in her
lap.
“Aye, your majesty,” Fermor said. “If it
pleases Your Grace.”
“Well, fool, what can you
do?”
Will was startled. He hadn’t expected the
king to speak to him. “I—I can juggle, Your Majesty,” he
croaked. “I can make
jests, tumble, and sing a
little.”
“Let us see it, then.”
Will’s hands trembled as he withdrew the
balls from his bag. “If it pleases Your Majesty,” he
started. He straightened
his shoulders as best he could, and said in his haughtiest
tone, “I, Will
Somers, am the best juggler in
England.”
The king snorted and Will hoped it was from
amusement. He fell into his act, bragging about his
abilities while seeming to
lose track of his juggling and keeping the balls in the air
seemingly by
accident alone. He was grateful he had performed this
particular act so many
times, because he thought he’d completely forgotten his
lines, but they slipped
from his mouth of their own accord, and his limbs seemed to
move themselves.
The king guffawed a couple of times, and he thought he heard
Anne laugh at one
point. Will ended with one of the balls balanced on the tip
of his nose, before
dropping it into his hands and sweeping low into a bow.
“Well done, Master Fool,” the king said, and
he seemed a bit more jovial than he had when Will first
entered the room. Or
perhaps it was wishful thinking on Will’s part. “But tell me
this: I have fools
already who can juggle and make jests. Why would I wish to
have you at my
court? What have you to offer that they do
not?”
The answer popped from Will’s mouth as
though he had rehearsed it. “Because I will do something
none of your council,
lords and ladies, nor servants will
do.”
The king lifted an eyebrow. “And what might
that be?”
“I will tell you the truth, Your
Majesty.”
Fermor gasped. Anne burst into laughter.
“Oh, I do like him.”
The king cast an amused glance at her. “Is
that so, Master Fool? Then perhaps you are worth it, after
all.”
“But you must make an oath to me,” Will
said.
The king’s eyes narrowed a bit, but he
calmed when Anne giggled at Will’s audacity. “What?”
“You must swear it, as the word of a
Christian king.” Will’s mouth was as dry as paper and his
heart thudded in his
chest, but he continued. “You must swear to me, on your
honor, you will never
hold it against me when I tell you the
truth.”
The king stared at Will, his mouth agape,
and then he burst into laughter. He slapped his knee and
elbowed Anne, who gave
him a sharp glance at being prodded by his arm, before she
laughed along with
him as a courtier trained to echo the king’s
mirth.
“You have my word,” the king said, as he
accepted a perfumed handkerchief from one of his serving
lords to wipe away the
tears seeping from his eyes. “Or must I write it out and put
my royal seal to
it?”
“Your word is sufficient for me,” Will
replied.
“I am flattered at your trust, Master Fool,”
the king said in solemn tones and burst into guffaws once
again. “Go and have
my steward find you rooms. Have you a
wife?”
“I do.” Will’s mind whirled. He hadn’t
expected this, and he didn’t want Emma to live at court, but
there was nothing
he could do. Refusing lodgings offered by the king would be
a gross insult.
“Bring her tomorrow,” the king commanded. “I
wish to see what the wife of a fool looks
like.”
“Much like every other wife in England,”
Will said, and that sent the king into laughter once
more.
“Go, and come back on the morrow.” The king
waved a hand at the steward. “Find him some decent garb, and
some for Milady
Fool as well.”
Will bowed deeply and followed the steward
from the room. “And for you, Fermor,” he heard the king
begin before the door
was shut behind them. Will’s knees gave out and he collapsed
to the floor. His
head swam in sick circles. He sat back on his heels and
looked up at the
steward. “Pray, pardon,” he
rasped.
The steward gave a slight smile. “You are
not the first to react in such a manner.” He held out a hand
and Will stared at
it in surprise. The steward was a lord, and here he was,
offering a hand to a
baseborn commoner. Will took it, and the steward helped him
to his feet and
drew him near.
“If ever a man needed to hear the truth,”
the steward whispered, “ ’tis that man in there.”
He drew away again, and
his manner was once more brisk and officious. “Follow
me.”
~.~
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