French Historical Fiction Novels & Stories

NOTE BEFORE YOU READ….. Note before you read… The next few chapters are written in the Carolingian Renaissance and the Vikings era but don't stick to the fact. You will find a few things that have been added to fit into the story. So if you find anything strange or unusual, then remember the next few chapters are based on historical fantasy fiction books. Do add or check the other book of the author. Revenge on the Mafia lord. .. .. .. YEAR 956 AD. It was a loud night, one where the sounds of crickets chirping could not be heard and the clouds smothered the moon and stars.

“I heard about your conflict, but I hope you are aware that he loves you so much, no less than Patrick’s father.” “What are you talking about?” Mike just joined them. “I was just telling Jack about the history of the Château de Fontaine-Henry. It is interesting that the owners of the castle were the same family for over ten centuries.” Jo tried to make a story that he won’t be suspicious about their dismissed conversation. “Hm…” “The castle is fully furnished and still inhabited, houses a remarkable collection of paintings, which were created during the French Revolution. The paintings of Nicolas Mignard, Rubens, Correggio and many more adorn the walls of the specious halls. And we are goin

Alana DuChene had been as lovely as always and dressed in the finest gown made of scarlet adorned via silver trim and jewels galore as she approached her water-weary son and limping sickly husband. Alain nearly fell into Casimir's arms as the older lad pulled him into a hug that caught him off balance and smiled realizing that he had kept his promise to his older brother to return in one piece. They had their worries here at home, more so due to the wars going on involving England in the New World against the French and the onset of conflict following the Spanish attempt to invade Portugal. Information was scarce and even more worrisome with Alain and Alfred among the thick of things as host

The host spoke excitedly about the history of this rare treasure. His voice was annoying, so I covered one ear with my finger and muttered, “Whose is it? The wife of Henry II? Isn’t that the one who got executed? That thing is bad luck.” “The one who got executed was Louis XVI,” Zach corrected me. “Isn’t Louis XVI a type of brandy?” “That’s Louis XIII.” He looked at me like I was stupid. “Wait, which Henry is he talking about? Why is he suddenly talking about Charles IX? Isn’t that guy from a children’s sci-fi novel?” That book was pretty good. Oliver read it when he was younger, and I ended up reading the whole series too.

There is a sign on a wall in Chateau Duras which says: During the Hundred Years War the entire inhabitants of Duras were pitilessly slaughtered by the English. Slowly, as in the ages of time all things must move, the centuries bestowed both better and worse until eventually, a concorde was signed, a handshake across La Manche, and after the shedding of so much blood during the two great wars, French and English brothers and sisters could only dream of peace. Since the 1960s and 70s the tourists arrived in a benign invasion, and many stayed, falling in love with that lush region of France once ruled by the English crown for 300 years, an era nearly long as the Romans ruled Great Britain.

The quick ride in the hired car—because even steady and sure in her heels, she annot walk the streets—is a time for her to calm and center myself. She practiced her ready-to-go speech of her style, design aesthetic, and hopes for her future in the fashion industry. Monica reviews the growing number of French phrases she have learned. In between, she looks around at the sights of Paris, still in disbelief in some ways that she was here, that this is my life after starting out in little old Newton. As the thought of Julien with his mistress passes her brain and makes her feel awful for a bit. If only her mom could see her now! Soon, they come upon the site of tonight’s event, a Seventeenth-Cen

No longer able to slip my finger over the backs of the books for fear I might touch something else I didn’t want to know about, I tried to read some of the titles, but I could see these books had been handled a lot. I wondered where they would have been stored in the library and who would have spent so much time reading them. I found one that had to do with the history of the first beast and made sure the cover was animal before I pulled it out. I could deal with animal leather. Finding a seat, I made myself comfortable and started reading the account of one of the royal council members. “September 15th, 1789

During the years, they worked tirelessly, transforming the castle into a stunning and luxurious place. In time, Maria and Raphael became the new kings of the castle, and lived happily ever happily ever after, creating their own love stories that echoed through the walls of the castle that echoed through the castle walls, always remembering the story of the princess and the knight who fell in love there, many years ago. It may be silly, and I don't even know if it is true, but it stuck in my mind when I researched the history of this castle. The Château de Saint Michel is one of France's most iconic buildings, with a fascinating history dating back to the Middle Ages.

And definitely not a romance. Wedging the book back between its friends, she stood. Stopped. Rose on tiptoe and reached, bringing down a larger book. This one bound in creased red leather. Beneath the dust the title was French. The words—and, with zero illustrations, it was nothing but words—all French. Her French sucked. She skimmed the story about a woman in a city—Paris?—trusting a man, a kind stranger. Following him? Elle le suivit. She—elle—followed—suivit—him—le.

answered Marianne, surprised to see that Francois is reading about the roman coin. “You seem interested in that,” she told him. “How did you know of this coin? Was it part of a history lesson?” asked Francois. “Well, sort of. I was interested in the past history. My friend and I oftens went to museums or old castles before. It’s how I recognised this,” answered Marianne.