My Lady Viper
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Published by: Lake Union Publishing
Release Date: June 30, 2015
Pages: 456
ISBN13: 978-1477830901
Synopsis
When Anne Boleyn falls to the executioner’s ax on a cold spring morning in 1536, Anne Seymour knows her family faces peril. As alliances shift and conspiracies multiply, the Seymours plot to establish their place in the treacherous court of King Henry VIII, where a courtier’s fate is decided by the whims of a hot-tempered and fickle monarch.
Lady Anne’s own sister-in-law, Jane Seymour, soon takes Anne Boleyn’s place as queen. But if Jane cannot give King Henry a son, history portends that she, too, will be executed or set aside—and her family with her. In desperation, Lady Anne throws herself into the intoxicating intrigue of the Tudor court, determined to ensure the success of the new queen’s marriage and the elevation of the Seymour family to a more powerful position. Soon her machinations earn her a reputation as a viper in a den of rabbits. In a game of betrayal and favor, will her family’s rise be worth the loss of her soul?
Add on GoodreadsPraise
“Knight breathes new life and new scandal into the Tudors. This is an engrossing historical fiction tale that readers will love!”
—Meg Wessel, A Bookish Affair
“A brilliant illustration of a capricious monarch and the nest of serpents that surrounded him, My Lady Viper is an absolute must. Intricately detailed, cleverly constructed, and utterly irresistible.”
—Erin Davies, Flashlight Commentary
“Schemes and scandalous trysts abound in My Lady Viper, making for a captivating read. Racy and deliciously sensual, once started I was hard-pressed to put the book down.”
—Amy Bruno, Passages to the Past
Excerpt
London, Court of Henry VIII
May 19, 1536
Dead.
The queen would soon be dead. Her head cropped short of her neck for a crowd on Tower Green to watch.
Poor, poor Anne.
The king’s pardon we’d heard whispers of had not yet come. But surely he must! There was no coffin prepared. Not even a discarded box. Rumors that the king’s secretary Cromwell had convinced King Henry VIII against a pardon ran rampant. A lack of coffin had to be evidence that Cromwell had not succeeded.
Even as Anne Boleyn emerged from the Tower, dressed in a gray gown, her red, quilted petticoat showing with each step she took, the genteel fabric swishing back and forth, I looked about frantically for the king’s man to say this was all a show, that she would be spared. Her skin was pale, her lips red. Her black as night eyes calmly scanned the crowd, searching for something—perhaps the king himself. My heart went out to her. That she could put on such a façade at the time of her execution only proved she was indeed a queen and of noble birth. Four of her ladies-in-waiting walked with her to the four-foot-tall scaffold. She passed out alms to the poor along the way, her movements slow and deliberate. Her last queenly duty. A shiver stole over my body.
Those who’d shunned her in life now greedily accepted her coin. How backward people were. Even I felt remorse for the events that would take place. For even though not a friend of mine, she did not deserve this.
