My Author Of The Week is Lavinia Collins. Her book is based on King Arthur's Guinevere and is by far one of the best takes on this legend I have ever heard of.
Please meet my amazing author and her great book!
When her people's army is destroyed in the war with King Arthur, Guinevere is horrified to discover that her conqueror has demanded to have her as his bride. She arrives at Camelot angry and resentful, but quickly finds that the king who defeated her people in battle is not the brute she expected. Slowly, she gains a fragile happiness in her new home, but this is threatened when war comes again. When her life is saved on the battlefield by a mysterious French knight, Guinevere finds herself caught between desire and duty, the longing for happiness in the new life she has, and her desire to be free and follow her heart.
This original re-imagining of a much-loved legend gives readers a new Guinevere; passionate, headstrong and fiercely independent. An immersive adventure through Arthurian legend, steeped in magic, passion and intrigue, this book won’t disappoint, ‘The Warrior Queen’ retells the classic narrative through the eyes of a queen determined to escape the bounds her society has placed on her, determined not to be ruled by the men who surround her, and determined to be master of her own destiny.
The soft light filtered between my flickering eyelashes, the lovely golden light dappling through the spring green leaves was blinking and dancing. I could smell the grass beneath me, feel it on the bare skin at the base of my back, hear my heart beating in my ears, still fast. I had the adrenaline of the hunt still rushing in my blood, and I was thinking of the men coming home from war, the same bright victory in their veins. I was lost in the same daydream I dreamed every day, back then. It will be soon, I told myself, it will be soon. The air around me smelled of the coming summer, and the breeze on my face was light and lovely as a kiss. Contentment, deep and soft, was upon me.
I sat up at the sound of my own name. One of my ladies was running towards me through the clearing, her dress torn from running through the woods. Through the thin silk tiny streams of blood, soft, white flesh showed. She must have been in a hurry, to run out here in her dress. I stood as she came towards me, pushing the thick, coarse red curls of my hair back from my face, running my fingers through them and twisting them back out of my way, tying them fast, and then I took up my bow.