Page 8 of The Huntsman's Heart
Men glance anxiously behind as I stalk past, searching the great hall for the raven hair of the princess. She’s nowhere to be seen. Melantha meets my gaze across the room, her jaw tight and her expression icy. She jerks her head and I sigh.
Of course it’s left to me to track down the unruly princess.
I retreat further into the castle, making for Guinevere’s room. I do not expect to find her there. If I know her, she’s hiding somewhere far more difficult to locate. I’m pleasantly surprised, therefore, when she runs straight into me as she rushes out her door in a hurry. That is until I catch a whiff of her.
Unlike her usual sweet scent, the princess stinks like sour milk. I recoil and she almost gets away from me. Clamping my hand over her upper arm, I hold her in place. “What on earth is that smell?”
She flushes and looks away. “What smell?”
I narrow my eyes. Why is she behaving this way?
She wriggles, trying to escape my grip. “I must go. I cannot keep the prince waiting.”
“Not so fast.”
She struggles, but I am stronger. Her movements make the stench catch in my nostrils, and I finally realize what she’s about.
“You are trying to sabotage this match.”
She lifts her chin in the air hastily. “I am doing no such thing. If you must know, this is a new hair ointment I am trying to make my hair shiny. How rude of you to comment.”
I don’t believe a word of it, but it makes no difference. The queen has tasked me with fetching Guinevere and so I shall. It’s not my problem if she is determined to play with fire.
I turn us toward the great hall and lean close so I can breathe the words into her ear. “Be careful, princess. What would your stepmother do if she found you were up to no good?”
She shoots me an angry look. “Are you going to tell on me? Ugh. Of course you will carry stories to her like her little dog. Well I wonder what she will say when I tell her you are not training the hunters properly.”
I almost laugh aloud. Melantha could care less how many silly young men I throw to the monsters. It’s my own conscience that has me train them well. What would a spoiled brat like Guinevere know about it? “Oh, and pray tell me just how you think I should train warriors to fight monsters, then, princess, with your wealth of experience.”
“Well you could start by training them instead of making them chop wood all day.”
We round a corner, and now there are people around, servants hurrying to and fro with platters and cloth. A dumpy middle-aged woman who works in the kitchens eyes the grip I have on the princess, but I’m not quite ready to release her.
Hauling her up on her toes, I snarl. “Perhaps it will be no bad thing if you manage to send this prince on his way. It seems that you belong more in the nursery than a marriage bed, my lady.” I push her forward roughly and she trips, darting a foul look back at me before straightening and brushing her skirts.
I retreat into the shadows as the musicians begin to play, wishing I resented her disapproval less, wishing I could put the thought of her in that old man’s bed out of my mind.
Guinevere
I hate that Alaric’s warning still sounds in my mind as I lift my head and march into the great hall to meet my ancient fiancé. God, the prince really is as bad as I imagined. Worse. He can barely stand up straight without the use of his stick, and his skin looks thin and flaky as if it might break off in the slightest breeze.
I fight the urge to shudder as he bends over my hand when I’m presented to him, stepping back as quickly as I am able. Only to realize I must keep close to give him the opportunity to smell me. After all the days hoarding sour milk and butter, the stench wafting from the large wooden trunk has been enough to keep me up at night and make my maid search frantically for a dead mouse she never found.
The smell now that I’ve smeared it all over my body is enough to turn my stomach, but I paste on a smile and put my hand into Prince Kael’s and let him present me to his courtiers. The looks on their faces as he introduces me to this duke and that lady are almost enough to have me in fits of giggles. The Countess of Sarchforth snaps open her fan and wafts it in front of her face hurriedly. “What an unusual perfume.” She coughs delicately.
I smile innocently at her. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I’m not wearing any perfume.”
The countess turns away to whisper to the count, and before I can say anything more, my stepmother claps her hands and the eyes of the room turn to her. “My friends, what a wonderful day we are celebrating today. I cannot tell you how much pleasure it gives me to think of joining our two lands in the union of the noble prince with my lovely stepdaughter. Now that we are all together, let us have music and dancing. Let us make merry.”
The musicians in the upper balcony strike up a harmony and the prince turns to me. “Shall we?”
I drop into a brief curtsy, following him into the center of the floor, hoping my plan is working. But as we move through thesomber steps of the initial dance, his polite smile remains fixed in place. There’s no indication that he’s noticed the awful smell at all.
Each time he must pass me to the courtier on his right or left I’m met with odd looks and tight, forced smiles, but the prince is perfectly impassive.
The only thing that affects him seems to be the exercise. The pavane is a stately dance, the slowest of the courtly dances, yet even this seems to be too much for the prince whose limp is more pronounced with every beat.
When the steady rhythm transitions to the sprightly flourish of the galliard, Prince Kael winces and hands me off to the Duke of Westbough, who shoots his prince a resentful glare.
