A “masterful reimagining” (Publishers Weekly) of Lady Macbeth, Shakespeare’s most famous villainess, giving her a voice, a past, and a power that transforms the story men have written for her.
Domestic abuse, sexual assault.
The Lady knows the stories: how her eyes induce madness in men.
The Lady knows she will be wed to the Scottish brute, who does not leave his warrior ways behind when he comes to the marriage bed.
The Lady knows his hostile, suspicious court will be a game of strategy, requiring all of her wiles and hidden witchcraft to survive.
But the Lady does not know her husband has occult secrets of his own. She does not know that prophecy girds him like armor. She does not know that her magic is greater and more dangerous, and that it will threaten the order of the world.
She does not know this yet. But she will.
Don't just take our word for it...
“Reid masterfully balances the original narrative with fresh twists, making the familiar story feel new and exciting. . . . Whether you’re a Shakespeare enthusiast or simply a lover of well-crafted fantasy, this novel is sure to captivate and will leave readers yearning for more.”
– Booklist
“Ava Reid takes one of Shakespeare’s most interesting antiheroes and endows her with vulnerability, power, and depth in this darkly gorgeous feast of a book. I was spellbound from the very first page.”
– Freya Marske, internationally bestselling author of the Last Binding trilogy
“Hail, Queen! Scotland’s cold will seep into your bones as you watch the scheming, vulnerable Lady Roscille fight for her autonomy in a world that would define her in relation to men alone.”
– Vaishnavi Patel, New York Times bestselling author of Kaikeyi
Taste the very first page
“Lady?”
She looks up and out the window of the carriage; night has fallen with a swift and total blackness. She waits to see how she will be addressed.
For the first days of their journey, through the damp, twisting, dark-green trees of Breizh, she was Lady Roscille, the name pinned to her so long as she was in her homeland, all the way to the choky gray sea. They crossed safely, her father, Wrybeard, having beaten back the Northmen who once menaced the channel. The waves that brushed the ship’s hull were small and tight, like rolled parchment.
Then, to the shores of Bretaigne—a barbarian little place, this craggy island which looks, on maps, like a rotted piece of meat with bites taken out of it. Their carriage gained a new driver, who speaks in bizarre Saxon. Her name, then, vaguely Saxon: Lady Rosele?
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