Page 62 of Heart of Snow
Margaretha
The hunting party was abustle.Huntsmen ordered dog keepers, whose hounds bayed in their eagerness for the chase. Servants collected discarded food and dirtied plates, shaking blankets free of crumbs before repacking them in trunks.
I’d tried, but failed, to catch Egmont’s eye during the entirety of the Gathering’s repast, but as nobles dispersed to mount their horses, I found my chance to separate from the ladies-of-honor and approach Egmont.
“I missed you at the chess table last night,” I said.
He continued adjusting the strap of his stirrup without looking up. “You couldn’t find another partner?”
“I didn’t seek another partner.”
He cast the briefest of glances at me before again tugging the stirrup belt. I let the silence play out, let him feel the discomfort of it until he was compelled to speak.
“Is that because I’m so easily bested?” He sounded testy.
“It’s because I enjoy your company.” I moved a step toward him, and he froze but did not retreat. “I should like your company now, if you care to ride by me during the hunt.”
Egmont barely nodded, but after straightening, he gave a more certain nod, and I smiled to see it. He was mounting his horse when another rider approached. The morning sun lit the newcomer from behind, casting his face in shadow, but I didn’t need to see him to know who he was.
“There you are,mea columba. I’m glad to have found you. Won’t you ride with me for the day’s hunt?”
I gritted my teeth, annoyed by the prince’s forwardness in calling me “his dove.” This precise thing would be my undoing with Egmont. Still, I offered the prince a low bow. “I wishnothing more than to please Your Grace, but I’m afraid I just promised the day to Comitem Egmont.”
“Oh, thecomitemshan’t mind. Shall you, Egmont?”
The two men stared at each other astride their battle chargers, with me poised between them, small and insignificant. I drew closer to Egmont, petting his horse’s neck as I looked up pleadingly.
“You said you were persistent,” I whispered to him.
Egmont continued to glare at the prince, but eventually he dropped his gaze to me, his brows lowering in defeat. He gave me a sad smile, and in his eyes, I could see his goodbye. All my efforts at enticing him, all my hopes of him saving Samuel, withered when he clucked to his horse, twisting the reins to lead the brute away. I stared after him, willing him back, while behind me the prince’s saddle creaked, and his feet thumped to the earth.
“Very good,” he said. “Let’s get you mounted. Where is your page?”
I took a deep breath and turned to face him, painting a smile across my face. And if not a smile, at least not the angry scowl I worked hard to conceal.
“My page was sent home. Family concerns,” I answered.
“But surely you have another.”
“I expect a replacement whenever my father can spare a man.”
“Spare a man?” The prince looked surprised. “Just how impoverished is your county? Gah! Never mind. You may borrow one of my pages. Patricio!” He called behind him to a boy standing at a respectful distance. “The lady’s horse, please.”
I pointed the boy to my palfrey, a gift from Lord Krell. The dutiful page did not move until his master waved two fingers forward, and then he worked with impressive skill and speed for one so young, retrieving the horse and bringing a mounting stool. I gathered my skirts to climb the first step, but PrinceFelipe captured my hand, guiding me up the stool until I was settled atop my palfrey. Mounting his charger, he led us past the other ladies-of-honor with their surprised looks, past Egmont, whose interest was suddenly claimed by his horse’s reins, and to the head of the hunting party. Queen Mary glanced twice when she noticed my presence.
“Comtess de Waldeck. What a surprise to have you here.” She eyed her nephew, though she spoke to me.
“I invited her,” the prince answered without hesitation, either oblivious to his aunt’s raised brow or intentionally ignoring it. Steering his horse left and pushing mine along with his, he moved us until we were effectively sequestered from the rest of the group.
“You ride well,” the prince said when we were alone.
“I thank you, Your Grace.”
“Comitissa, please, we cannot be friends if you are always bowing and speaking with formality. Call me Felipe.”
“As it pleases you, Felipe.” I had to force out the name, which felt strange and foreign on my tongue. The prince must have noticed for he laughed.
“And another thing, Margaretha—I may call you that, may I not?—I cannot enjoy real discourse with you if you insist on speaking with obeisance. Express your true thoughts with openness.”
