Page 4 of The Huntsman's Heart
I sigh, trying to keep my voice gentle. “It does not. Go back to your rest, boy.”
I slow my steps as I approach Tharrok’s stall. He’s a feisty thing, prone to displays of temper should someone approach him the wrong way. Even if that someone is me.
He seems to be the only creature who isn’t afraid of me these days. He and the queen and her brat of a stepdaughter. Chainedas I am to her, Melantha has no need to fear me. Not unless I ever get my hands on my phylactery again. Then it will be a different story.
The horse has no justification for his confidence. Perhaps that’s why I like him.
As for the princess…
Best to keep my mind from the womanly curves which seem to have appeared overnight. That, after all, is why I came to the stables. Grooming Tharrok always calms my mind when nothing else works.
Guinevere
When my father is finally released to be taken back to his bed, I excuse myself from the table. His eyelids droop as the two footmen lift the chair, and I know he’s tired, but I must speak with him. He doesn’t understand what Melantha has done.
There is just no way he would agree to give me away to that haggard old man, the prince of Dolmire. I know he is barely in his right mind these days. The potion he takes daily dulls his senses as well as his pain.
I touch his arm lightly. “Father, may I help you to bed?”
“Oh, Guinny, I have servants for that.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
He says nothing more, and I take that for consent.
When the footmen set his chair down in his chamber I dismiss them with a nod, and though they glance at each other wordlessly, they obey my order.
When I look back at my father his eyes are closed, and I can’t tell if he has fallen asleep in his chair. Going to the large bed, I pull back the covers and remove the warming pan the servants left earlier, setting it by the fireplace. Then I take the blanket from his knee and bend to sling his arm around my neck. “Come on, Papa. Time for bed?”
It has been some time since I helped him to stand. Some time since I have been alone with him. He seems lighter, as if he would blow away in a strong breeze. The skin seems to hang from his bones like early drifts of snow on the pine trees of the forest.
Together we take the few shaky steps to the bed, and I lift his legs and tuck him in. He never wears more than a simple linen shift and overcoat these days, and it’s cold in the room, so I don’t remove any of the layers.
As I tuck the blanket up, I take his hand. “Papa, I can’t marry the prince of Dolmire. There must be some mistake. You wouldn’t want me to marry an old man.”
He blinks at me, fluffy white brows drawing into a crease. “Prince Kael is not an old man, Guinny. Why, he cannot be more than six and twenty.”
My heart wrenches in my chest. The prince is more like fifty. “Papa, are you thinking of the right prince?”
“Yes. I know him. A fine, strapping man. He was here not long ago to celebrate some occasion. I forget the event now. Remind me?”
I cannot recall the last time we invited foreign guests to Blackthorn Keep. Not since my mother died. Not since Melantha.
“Nevermind,” I tell him sadly. “Rest now.”
I blow out the candle beside his bed and slip from the room. I should have known there was no use talking to him. Not anymore. Once upon a time, he would have listened. He would have comforted my worries and told me everything would be OK. I don’t think there’s much left here of the man I used to love.
Not since Melantha got her claws into him. She seduced him so easily it was frightening. As if he had been waiting to be caught in her net like a rabbit that had given up the fight.
Then she stole his last years from me one at a time before I even realized what was happening. Now all that’s left is a shell of the man I remember.
Angrily, I brush away the tear that escaped to trickle down my cheek. I’m trapped here in the castle, in a life I don’t want. My only chance for escape is marriage, but if Melantha controls that, she will make sure it’s no escape for me. Just swapping one prison for another. A rotting cell of boredom and responsibility without any true freedom or love.
In a temper, I slam the door to my chamber shut. The thud echoes down the cold stone hall. The tears I was holding back run unimpeded down my face as I struggle fruitlessly with my corset, unable to loosen it for myself.
Gentle hands close over mine. “Shhhh, my lady. Let me help you.”
I let out a moan of frustration, but I still and let my maid do what I cannot. Soon she has me undressed to my shift and wrapped in my gown. I sit on the gilded stool before the mirror as she brushes my long dark hair soothingly.
