Page 7 of The Huntsman's Heart
If only I could fall from my royal perch to float to the ground and to freedom. If only I could escape this marriage and my stepmother who orchestrated it. She is so hungry to be rid of me she would barter me to the next prince who asked regardless of what sort of match he would make for me.
She has always found me trying. She’s said as much, more than once.
Perhaps I could try harder to please her, but she’s always made that an impossible task. Every time I felt I came close to impressing her, the standard always seemed to grow higher.
Perhaps I can use my failure as a strength, though. If the prince finds me as trying as Melantha does, perhaps he will call off the wedding. She will be angry, but she always finds something to be angry with me about. It would not be the first time I’ve suffered through a long lecture or disapproving looks cast down the table.
I gather my skirts to climb up the three steps into the kitchen garden where herbs and medicinal plants grow. The more I think about this, the more I think it is the only way I’ll get any say in this. I may not be able to choose my husband, but perhaps there is a way for me to reject this man I do not want.
I’d rather die an old maid than live as a wife to the prince of Dolmire.
Mind made up, my steps crunch over the gravel of the courtyard and in through the servant’s entrance. The tarnished rose has given me an idea.
The corridors here are dark and narrow, but there is no one around, so no one stops me from brazenly walking into the kitchens and through them toward the cupboard where the expensive spices are stored. Thankfully the tiny cabinet drawersare unlocked, and I root around searching for something truly pungent. I bend and sniff several of the tiny compartments containing spices I don’t recognize, but nothing has quite the scent I’m looking for. Nothing will be bad enough to put off the prince.
I hear footsteps in the kitchen before I’ve found anything. I just need a few more minutes, but voices outside the storeroom make me jump. Hastily I shove the tiny drawers back where they came from and spin as the old cook strides through the door to the storeroom and pauses there, eyes wide with shock. “Princess!”
I brush my hands over my skirt guiltily to brush the last traces of spices from my fingers, though I have every right to be here. I am the princess after all!
I would hate my stepmother to catch wind of what I’m planning, though. I cough. “Ah, I was looking for something. We have so many spices in here.”
The older woman looks in surprise between the spice cabinet and me. “Yes, my lady, we do. Might I help you find something? Perhaps you were looking for some spiced wine? Is your stomach unsettled?”
“No, it is only that I—” I’m searching for a reason for me to be here when I strike on something. “Would you have some fresh milk brought to my chamber? And some butter?”
“Certainly, my lady. Shall I send some bread as well? Or a little cake?”
No doubt she thinks my request is strange. I could have sent my maid down to the kitchens for this. “Yes. That will do nicely.”
I try to step past her, and she moves out of my way, but calls, “Is there anything else, my lady?”
“No. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
I straighten my back and walk out through the kitchens past the two kitchen girls who stare at me and share a look when I stride past, ignoring them.
I only hope this works and I’ve been subtle enough that Melantha does not get wind of it.
Alaric
I’m in the courtyard finishing another training session when the Dolmire train winds its slow way into the keep. The new lad drops his guard glancing behind him to watch the gilded carriage and the four snow-white horses. I use the opportunity to dart in and catch him on the chin with my wooden training sword. I don’t hit him as hard as I could. Just enough to teach the lesson.
Never let your guard down.
He stumbles, rubbing at his face, but the next moment his eyes are back on me and his sword is up. Good. I work him through three more sets of parries and attacks. While he works hard to fend me off, I have half my attention on the prince.
The carriage is led toward the grand bronze doors to the great hall. His servants and guards line up in neat rows to the left and the castle guards and servants on the other, facing each other and looking more like two opposing sides in a skirmish than allies.
Though I was disdainful of Guinevere’s dramatics, when the prince is handed down from his carriage I notice the way he moves—stiffly. As if his joints are sore. It’s not lost on me that he traveled this way rather than on horseback.
Soft.
He is not a terrible choice as a political match, but the princess is very beautiful. Her stepmother could have been more ambitious. Though perhaps she was wise to accept this aging prince from a faraway land after all. He is less likely to reject her once he gets a taste of her terrible attitude than a man from a more powerful principality would be.
Lazily I parry a thrust from the new recruit, darting in while he’s off balance to knock him off his feet. He’s up again quickly enough, which impresses me. At least he has toughened up over the last few weeks. Even if his skill is no greater. He has a lot to learn before I’m prepared to take him into the Gloamwald.Green boys like him die in the Gloamwald. And I cannot afford to babysit him out there. The queen’s thirst has grown lately. It seems as if it is taking more blood than it once did to maintain the spell.Perhaps that is only my impatience speaking. I would rather be almost anywhere else. There is one significant thing holding me here, though. The thing which ensures I cannot leave.
“Enough,” I tell Tomas. “Rest for two hours and then work through the drills I showed you again before supper. Then take your horse out and make sure he’s well exercised. Keep improving, and I will take you on next week’s hunt.” I’ll have to risk him eventually. I can’t baby the new recruits, much as I would like to. It sickens me to waste a life unnecessarily, though.
Distracted, I store my training weapon and stalk into the castle. I hail a servant and wash my hands and face, not bothering to change my weathered outfit. Keeping to the shadows, I wind my way through the servant’s corridors to lurk at the edges of the great hall where the prince is being officially welcomed to Blackthorn.
