Excerpt from Fair Rosaline by Natasha Solomons, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Her father no longer looked at her but now turned to his abacus and his ledger. She was already dismissed. She ran from the room. Only twelve days to be part of the world. Twelve days of color and light and music. She would seize them all. She raced to the kitchen in search of Caterina, as she had since she was a child whenever trouble had found her and her mother was not to be had. But this was no skinned knee, and no sweet posset or candied apple could mend it.

Caterina was baking an eel pie. She did not see her come in but hummed to herself, kneading the crust. Rosaline stood on the threshold wordless, adrift. Watching Caterina, arms snowy with flour as they'd been a thousand times, she felt neither here nor there, as if this could be any moment during her fifteen years. But as soon as she told her that they were to part and heard Caterina cry out, the hourglass would turn and time must run again. She was not ready, not yet.

Rosaline waited a second more. She looked at the tapering slubs of eels on the wooden bench, their slime-­slick bodies, inhaled their river stink. The razor glint of the paring knife, globed with blood. The drift of flour, falling in whorls to the floor. She would eat this pie and perhaps the next, but for the one after, she would not be here. Rosaline cleared her throat.

Caterina stopped, pie forgotten, on seeing Rosaline's colorless cheeks, eyes brimful with tears. "What's happened? What is it, ladybird?"

As Rosaline spoke, Caterina cried out and wiped river mud and eel guts across her forehead. The two women clutched one another. Then Caterina pushed her away, pressing a rag into her hands to dab at her eyes. "Here, sit. Livia is safely delivered of her baby. A messenger arrived for your father. A boy."

"I am twice glad. For it is better to be a boy in this world."

"Already he eats and eats. Between him and his brother, they may have to hire a second wet nurse. Perhaps you can call on Livia tomorrow." Caterina opened the larder, rummaging for sweet treats. With a cluck of satisfaction, she pulled out a parcel of candied cherries and plums.

"You can have these. Don't spoil your appetite," she chided.

Rosaline took the sweets, grateful, swallowing down the lump in her throat along with the spittle and sugar. Caterina prattled on about the new babe to distract her.

Rosaline shoved more sugared plums in her mouth. When the children were big enough—­but not too big—­perhaps Livia would bring them to visit her at the convent one by one and pop them in the ruota barrel, and she would stow them in the nunnery for an hour or two. She could not hope for more.

Caterina was still chattering away like a sparrow. "There can't be a proper baptismal celebration because of your poor mother. But the neighbors have been sending gifts and your brother's been holding court like the Prince of Verona himself! But then the birth of a boy must be celebrated. Everyone has sent something. Well, almost everyone. The Montagues haven't, of course."

The Montagues. The name itself was like a foreign isle, distant and separate. Powerful and burdened with sin. The epitome of wickedness and awfulness. If ever Rosaline misbehaved, she would be threatened that the Montagues would get her. How was not made clear. Would she be sent to them packaged up as butcher's meat? Would they appear in her chamber, like devils conjured from a magic circle? She made the sign of the cross.

But like Lucifer himself, the Montagues had not always been wicked, and the Capulets had not always abhorred them. There was a time when the two great houses of Verona had been, if not friends, then they had agreed upon the wisdom in forming an alliance. There had been marriages between the families. However, many years before, during her grandfather's youth, a marriage had been promised and agreed, and then the Capulet bride cast aside. It seemed the groom had chosen the Church and love of God over his bride, rapidly rising to the rank of cardinal.

Excerpted from Fair Rosaline by Natasha Solomons. Copyright © 2023 by Natasha Solomons. Excerpted by permission of Sourcebooks. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.