Chapter 7 SIX
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.
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.