They wrote her into history as a witch. They had the right woman and the wrong crime.

Anne Boleyn is a witch, trained in secret down the Howard line and deepened in the cold courts of France. But the one sorcery she is charged with, the bewitching of a king, is the single working she has refused all her life to do. She won Henry of England with nothing but her wit, and she means to hold him the same way.

Then her children begin to die before they can be born, and Anne discovers another witch reaching across the kingdom to empty her womb one child at a time, a grieving, untaught, unstoppable power that will not stop until Anne has nothing left.

To save the last daughter she has, Anne must work the greatest binding of her life, one that cannot be cast by a living hand, only sealed by a death freely given. The world will call it her execution.

She calls it the last working of her life.

In this reimagining of the fall of Anne Boleyn, every fact of the Tudor court is true, and the magic runs just beneath the record, drawn up from under the history itself.