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DOWNFALL OF CORNWALL by Tracy Cooper-Posey

Once and Future Hearts. Book 8.0

Ancient Historical Fantasy Romance

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Can Anwen help Sagramore find a way out of the darkness?

Sagramore and Tristan are closer than brothers, sharing wine, women and an affinity for feral, furious fighting. As heir to both the King of the Magyars and the Eastern Roman throne, Sagramore is an outsider who has never been fully accepted by King Arthur’s court, or King Mark’s either.

Calm, composed Anwen Idria, oldest daughter of the King of Strathclyde, is adored by all of Camelot the moment she arrives. She refuses the attention of the passionate, fiery Sagramore, for his wildness and blistering emotions remind her too much of her father, a former slave called Idris the Slayer, who terrifies her.

When Tristan becomes obsessed with his uncle’s new Queen, Iseult, and sinks into a black maw of hate and bitterness, Sagramore must avoid being pulled in with him, for Tristan’s attachment to Iseult, a Princess of Ireland, threatens the peace of Arthur’s Britain. Can Anwen help Sagramore find a way out of the darkness? Or will the shadows which loom over Britain consume them all?

This story is part of the historical fantasy romance series, Once and Future Hearts, set in Britain during the time of King Arthur.

1.0 Born of No Man
2.0 Dragon Kin
3.0 Pendragon Rises
3.5 Once and Future Hearts Box One
4.0 War Duke of Britain
5.0 High King of Britain
6.0 Battle of Mount Badon
6.5 Once and Future Hearts Box Two
7.0 Abduction of Guenivere
8.0 Downfall of Cornwall
8.1 Touch by Maen Llia
9.0 Vengeance of Arthur
9.5 Once and Future Hearts Box Three
10.0 Grace of Lancelot
11.0 The Grail and Glory
12.0 Camlann

A Historical Fantasy Romance/Ancient Historical Romance series

This series is also available as a Special Bundle
{Also see: Fantasy, Historical Fantasy, Historical Romance, Fantasy Romance, Romance, Novels}

~ Maps for the Series ~

Who’s Who and What’s What for the Series

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Excerpt

EXCERPT FROM DOWNFALL OF CORNWALL
COPYRIGHT © TRACY COOPER-POSEY 2020
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Dinadan was matching Tristan cup for cup. Normally, Sagramore would have tried his best to do the same. It was a matter of pride to drink as much as Tristan, the adored son of Kernow.

But not tonight.

He sat at his usual seat, uninterested in eating but not drawn to drinking, either.

Tristan slapped his cup upon the table, sloshing the contents. “The red head. That one. At the Lothian table. He keeps staring at me.”

“They’re all red heads from Lothian,” Dinadan pointed out. “Makes one wonder what they have in the waters there, hmm? Which one is staring at you?”

“That one with the baby face.”

“That’s Gareth. Really? He’s is the youngest…”

“No, not the one who grins all the time. The one with the beard.”

“Agravaine,” Dinadan supplied. “He’s mean when in his cups, I hear tell.”

Tristan snorted. “I could take him.”

“You could,” Dinadan said judiciously. “Would you care to, though?”

Sagramore recognized that Dinadan was rousing Tristan’s temper, hoping to see Tristan launch himself into action. Dinadan was clever in that way. He knew exactly the right words to stir a man. He was also bored, sitting here in Camelot day after day. He spent his time coaxing others into providing him with entertainment and distraction.

Sagramore ignored the two bantering beside him. He checked the level of the wine in his cup, thinking to distract himself for another empty moment by sorting through the flasks upon the table for the fullest, the one with the darker wine that reminded him somewhat of the wines in his father’s kingdom. Only his cup was already full.

The woman in green—blue, he corrected himself—was speaking with Arthur now, in an easy manner which reminded Sagramore of the way she had spoken to the three of them on the road this morning. She knew her own mind and did not bother to dissemble.

And why was he thinking of that ignominious moment again?

Anwen of Strathclyde, daughter of King Idris. Sagramore had learned her name just by asking a woman at the next table for the name of the color she wore, as Anwen and her family approached the High King.

A daughter of Strathclyde is the last woman you should look at twice, my friend, Tristan had said and although he had mostly been in jest, he had been more correct than any of them had guessed.

Dinadan bumped his shoulder against Sagramore’s, to snag his attention. “You watch her rather too closely,” he murmured.

“I’ve no intention of watching you. She is at least easy on the eyes.”

“Very,” Dinadan said, smiling. “But only from a distance. You have learned who she is, now?”

Sagramore lifted his cup. “I have.” He took a mouthful he did not want.

“Yet still you watch.” Dinadan’s voice remained low. Despite his love of jest and laughter and his penchant for stirring mischief at every turn, Dinadan could be remarkably sensitive to the mood of others. Or perhaps that was why he was so good at coaxing people into trouble for his own entertainment.

“Yet, still I watch,” Sagramore said in agreement. Only, why did he watch? He could not answer that question even for himself.

Dinadan drank deeply and reached for a jug to refill his cup. “Her father was a slave, did you know?”

Sagramore drew in a startled breath and glanced at Dinadan, betraying his surprise.

Dinadan nodded. “The Saxons captured him when he was a babe. Even he cannot remember where he came from, except that it was somewhere in the south, where the Saxons constantly roamed back then. Lot of Lothian bought him from the Saxons when he was a child, kept him enslaved and made him fight for Lothian. He was their champion, the Slayer, until Arthur learned of his status and freed him, and made him one of his own captains and sent him north. As soon as Arthur was crowned, the first thing he did was make Idris King of Strathclyde.”

Sagramore did not ask where Dinadan had learned this, or if it was true or even if the facts had been embroidered in order to make a good story. Dinadan had a way of finding out the bone-deep truth of things.

Dinadan took a mouthful of his freshened drink. “If Idris has any interest in preserving his family’s elevated status, he’ll be looking for a match for his daughter with one of the old tribes.” His tone was conversational. “The more venerable and celebrated the clan, the better.”

“And I am a foreigner from the east,” Sagramore concluded. He shrugged. “All I do is look. There is no harm in that.”

Yet he felt bitterness pooling in his belly, anyway. He made himself look away from the King’s table and the pretty blue color which kept drawing his gaze each time she moved.