Captive Queen

For you dedicated readers, it comes as no surprise to hear I love Alison Weir's true account of Anne Boleyn's fall in her book, The Lady in the Tower. Whether my love is due to Ms. Weir's presentation of the material or my mild obsession with the Tudors and their barbaric behavior is indistinguishable. So when I stumbled across Ms. Weir's historical novel, Captive Queen, I was delighted to the point I started reading it in the store. I knew nothing of Eleanor of Aquitaine and was bursting inside - a miniature Fourth of July taking place in my chest - to find out more.

I gladly, eagerly dropped thirty dollars on the brand new hardcover.

I read aloud to my wife as we started our trip home from Santa Fe. We were both looking forward to Ms. Weir's story. My wife knew how I felt about The Lady in the Tower and, based on my recommendation, believed Captive Queen was a book we were going to immensely enjoy.

I didn't read far enough ahead in the bookstore.

When I read the phrase, erotic memory, my eyebrow raised. But I continued. Entwined bodies, rugged masculinity, flush with excitement soon followed. I could no longer deny what I had gotten myself into; it revealed itself page after page. Historical romance!? How I missed the true nature of the novel was unexplainable.

The novel has been cast aside and will, more than likely, never be finished.

This doesn't mean Captive Queen lacks merit. I have simply never been a fan of bulging packages, ripped muscles, or overt moisture. As much as I wanted to know more, I could not continue.

Still, I have no regrets. Captive Queen will sit on my bookshelf for years to come. And who knows. Maybe one afternoon I'll crack it open and give into the carnal pleasures Eleanor and Henry have to offer. But probably not. Because while Eleanor was imprisoned for a time, she got to keep her head.