Page 10 of The Huntsman's Heart
The footman’s nervous brown eyes dart to me as if to ask if he should answer. I give him a curt shake of my head.
“Fetch my maid. I shall see if I can talk him out of it.”
He shifts uncomfortably. “Ah, the prince has retired for the night, Your Majesty.”
“Oh very well. Tell her to wake me early in the morning. That will be all.”
The poor boy wrings his hands together. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but there is another matter.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. What?”
“The king’s condition has worsened. The physician thinks he may not last until morning.”
Melantha pauses, her cold features icing over completely for a moment. “I see. In that case do fetch my maid. I will go to him.”
The footman scurries off and Melantha turns back to me. I expect her to command me to get back on my knees, but instead she gives me a speculative look. “That little brat thinks she can ruin my plans for her, but she has miscalculated. She has yet to realize she is now disposable.”
Wisely I say nothing.
“I have no doubt she is whining at her father’s bedside. I want you to fetch her and bring her out into the Gloamwald.”
“Now?” I cannot keep the disbelief from my tone. “What for?”
Melantha scowls at me. “You heard me. Immediately. Make sure that she does not return.”
I blink. I have always known Melantha was ruthless, but I never imagined she would stoop to the cold-blooded murder of her stepdaughter.
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
“You have no heart, do you?”
She laughs. “I have yours. Come to think of it, perhaps I should add to my collection. Do the deed. Bring me the heart by morning. Let us see if virgin’s blood works the same miracles as beast blood.”
The ice in her expression creeps into my lifeless bones, and I shudder. Cut out the heart of the princess? If I still had a soul I would refuse. I shake my head. “If the gods were real, they would damn you to hell for this.”
She only laughs again.
With a sigh, I rise and depart the room. Compulsion already fills me at her orders. There’s no way to fight it.
I gather the supplies I’ll need for the princess and stow them in Tharrok’s saddle bags. We’ll travel light. Be gone before morning, before anyone else must learn of this unspeakable deed.
I’ll need the princess bound and silenced if I’m to get her out of the castle without raising a fuss. She’ll fight me every step of the way. Ordinarily I would scorn her stubborn nature, but in this case, I can hardly blame her for that.
If only there was a chance she could win.
Not that I intend to tell her the queen’s plans. That would only add to the cruelty.
When I find the princess in the king’s chamber, I spare a glance for the dying old man. He lies in the enormous bed, a tiny, withered skeleton under sheets of white. His shrunken frame looks ghastly against the sumptuous bedding. His chest rises and falls with a rattling breath, and his brows are knit tight over his closed eyes.
“Princess, a moment, please?”
Guinevere doesn’t even turn to look at me. “Leave me alone.”
It wrenches at the hole in my chest where my heart once beat to hear the bitter sadness in her tone.
Of all moments to do what must be done, now is the worst. Yet it aids no one to linger at the bedside of a corpse. The king was gone hours ago. All that remains is the shell of his body, stubbornly clinging to lifelong habits. His chest lifts and falls again, but there’s no soul within. “Her Majesty insists.”
Now she turns and fixes me with a fiery glare. “Her Majesty can go to hell. Where is she now when my father is dying?”
