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Excerpt 1:
They’d
been so young, she and Alfonso. Sí,
he’d bedded plenty of women before her, but in matters of the heart they were
both utter innocents. He knew a lot about lust and desire. She did not. Neither
of them knew about love, about the absolute joy and devastating pain it could
bring.
Rarely
did they meet over the coming months. When they did, they danced like moths
around a flame. She did not think he set out to do more than seduce her, but
during those first few months, something happened, and what had begun as a
constant, aching desire had converted into something else, a sense of destiny,
of fate.
Leonor
grimaced. That sensation had faded quickly when he wed María, late in 1328. To
this day, she could recall the pain, the desolation, that had her bedridden for
days after he rode off to celebrate his nuptials. At the time, she’d been blind
to his pain, angry with him for betraying her. Now, she knew he’d had no
choice. He had to wed so as to strengthen the alliance with Portugal. Of
course, one could question if that had been a wise decision; Alfonso made no
secret of who had his heart, and the relationship with his father-in-law was a
thorny, dangerous thing.
Leonor
sighed. Loudly did King Afonso of Portugal complain about the treatment of his
daughter—so enraged he openly supported Don Juan Manuel and his fellow
rebels—just as loudly did some of the Castilian nobles grumble about the lack
of a second legitimate son, especially given Infante Fernando’s frailty. At
some point . . . No, no, she did not want to think about it! She tightened her
hold on her babe, causing him to utter an indignant wail.
“Mistress?”
Alma lifted Sancho out of Leonor’s arms and shushed him.
“It’s
nothing. Nothing.” Nothing? Her soul howled in despair. He is mine! Only
mine! But he wasn’t—not entirely. Most would say he was María’s. He would
say she had his heart, but María had a right to demand he do his duty.
Sometimes,
she wished she didn’t love Alfonso. Sometimes, she wondered what her life would
have been like if she’d never met him, this force of nature that so easily
dominated whatever room he entered, who rode as well as he fought, who was loud
and boisterous but also thoughtful and caring.
A
man easily dismissed as volatile and headstrong, who excelled at keeping his
own counsel and rarely revealed just what his intentions were before acting
upon them.
A
man ruthless enough to assassinate those he considered threats, but with
endless patience and gentleness towards those he loved.
As
if her thoughts had conjured him, Alfonso was suddenly at her door. He was
bareheaded, his light brown hair ruffled and messy. He brought with him the
scents of forest and sea, of water and sun. Tucked into his belt was his
falconer’s glove, and one of his favourite hounds came padding after him.
“A
good day?”
“Very.”
He leaned against the doorjamb and smiled at her. “Even better now.”
Six
years on, and he could still make her blush just by the tone of his voice.
“Alma?”
She did not look away from her man. “Take Sancho to his nurse.”
“Sí,
Doña Leonor.”
The young girl darted off, clutching her charge to her chest.
Leonor patted the
bed. “Come here, my love.”
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Queen of Shadows gets better and better with every chapter. Anna is a magician when it comes to putting pen on paper :)
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