Chapter Twelve Blodwyn
Chapter Twelve
Blodwyn
Wood cracks as I send my ball flying. It sails through the air and lands with a violent bounce near several unsuspecting courtiers, who startle like flocks of brightly plumed birds.
“Oh,” one of the young women in my group, Lady Isabel, exclaims. “That was…enthusiastic, Your Highness.”
“Yes,” another, Lady Constance, adds cautiously. “What interesting technique.”
She offers me a polite smile, but I don’t bother to return it.
I only joined their group so that I could have an excuse to hit something.
And I’ve found it highly satisfying to imagine that each of these balls is Ayleth’s head.
Our argument still crackles inside me, her words digging beneath my skin—especially those about Papa.
How often have you even been to see him?
Ayleth was correct: just the once. Because there hasn’t been time.
Between preparing for the trials and the endless court engagements, I’ve barely had a moment to breathe, much less visit Papa.
Besides, winning the trials is the best thing I can do for him.
But even as I repeat that logic to myself, a deeper truth lurks in my heart, one I haven’t fully admitted to myself: that I haven’t wanted to return to Papa’s chambers.
Worse, that part of me wasn’t sad to see him in his current state.
That I was relieved to know I wouldn’t have to deal with his shifting moods and unpredictable temper.
Even that he deserved such a fate considering the way he treated Mother.
How many times had I discovered her crying in her rooms following one of their arguments?
Or after she endured one of his countless humiliations?
That deep, hungry anger churns inside me again and I strike my ball as hard as I possibly can.
It barrels across the yard, bounces, and knocks the beak off a swan-shaped ice sculpture.
“Well,” Isabel comments with a nervous laugh. “With that strength, you must not be concerned about the hunt at all.”
“Quite,” another agrees. “I’d be an absolute mess, of course. Even the mere idea of those challenges would keep me up at night. Competing against all those men?”
As if I needed a reminder about what lies ahead of me. Aunt Margaret was right: The number of claimants has doubled in the past few days. At this rate, I might be pitted against every man in Riven.
And they all want you to fail, a small voice whispers.
“Constance.” Isabel nudges the other young woman. “Don’t be unkind. The princess will manage perfectly. You have our full support, Highness.”
Constance appears puzzled. “Then why did your family put forth a claimant?”
Isabel’s white skin flushes scarlet. “Yes, well. I’m sure the princess understands. Since the trials are open…we all just want what’s best for the realm.”
I grip my mallet tighter. “And that doesn’t include me?”
Her eyes widen. “No—I mean, yes, of course it does. In fact, my brother is quite complimentary of you, Highness. He’s often remarked upon your beauty.”
“What does my appearance have to do with anything?”
“Just that…” She pauses, awkward. “Well, should he win, my brother would be honored to offer you his hand in marriage. Not every claimant would be so generous, given the rumors of—”
Constance elbows Isabel and she stops herself, but I can guess what she was going to say. What they’re all muttering behind my back.
Cursed.
Anger surges up from the pit of my stomach. I hate being here again. Being treated like I’m on display—like I’m the curse itself come to life. My pulse thuds against the handle of my mallet. I want to do something. Want to—
“Look out!” Constance yells.
A blur of bright green careens toward us and I barely manage to dodge out of the way. Isabel isn’t as swift. She loses her balance and topples to the ground. The end of her mallet snaps off and pinwheels in the other direction.
“Sorry about that!” A young woman with coppery-brown hair and tawny skin waves at us from another wicket. “But you are in the way. It’s a course? The idea is to keep moving.”
“You could have killed me!” Isabel fumes, accepting Constance’s help to rise. Her skirts are stained and a feather in her hat droops at a pathetic angle.
The offending young woman picks up another ball and weighs it in her hand. “Do you really think so? I’m not sure it’s heavy enough. But we could test it.”
Isabel glares at her and I hide my smirk as she and the rest of her party storm off in the opposite direction. Good riddance.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell the young woman as she approaches.
She blinks at me, her brown eyes wide. “I have no idea what you’re insinuating.”
I laugh, then realize that it’s the first time I have laughed since returning to the White Palace. Some of the tension I’ve been carrying relaxes.
“I’m—” I start to introduce myself.
“Her Highness, the Princess Blodwyn,” she finishes, bobbing a curtsy. But I don’t get the sense that she’s mocking me. “I’m Verity. My mother is Countess Talbot.”
She sticks out her hand and I take it, mentally trying to place her family.
“Never heard of us?” Verity asks, evidently reading my expression. “That’s all right. We’re one of the more recent appointments to court. Which is why people like Lady Isabel can’t stand us. We’re too common for her taste.”
Isabel and the others have retreated to the area set up with refreshments. A handful of servants fusses around her, attempting to repair the damage to her gown.
“Evidently, she doesn’t think I deserve it, either,” I comment.
“Don’t pay her any mind,” Verity says. “It’s the best way to insult her. She adores it when people are thinking about her.”
My lips twitch in a smile. Verity lifts her mallet and waggles her eyebrows at me. “As for us—what do you say we keep hitting things?”
“I’d love nothing more.”
—
For the next half hour or so, Verity and I invent our own game. Instead of the wickets, we aim for the ice sculptures, tables of food, or even clusters of courtiers. It goes against every one of Aunt Margaret’s lessons regarding propriety and etiquette, but I don’t care. Not tonight.
“So,” Verity starts, after I knock the head off one of the ice dragons, “is there a reason you’re mutilating the decorations, or is this your way of threatening the competition?”
I laugh again. If only it were so easy to intimidate anyone.
But I hesitate before answering. I don’t generally trust courtiers—especially not anyone here.
Not after so many of them sided with Ayleth.
But Verity strikes me as being different.
Perhaps even like someone Mother would approve of.
As much as I trust Aunt Margaret, it would be nice to have a young woman my own age to confide in.
“I had an argument,” I admit. “With…”
My attention drifts to where Ayleth is standing with a few courtiers. Would that I could send one of these balls soaring in her direction.
“Ah,” Verity comments, noticing. “The queen. Was it about her decision to open the trials? I don’t blame you for being upset. It must have been a shock.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I mutter. “But I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised.”
“You two don’t get along?” Verity asks.
“We used to. Until she married my father.” And ruined my entire life. Wood cracks as I send another ball flying.
“I’m sorry,” Verity says and she sounds like she means it. “Family can be difficult. Most of mine doesn’t even speak to me anymore—or my mother.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re all a kettle of vultures,” she replies, rolling her eyes.
“When my grandfather died, his lands and titles should have gone to my uncle—even though Mother is older than him. But then the laws changed, allowing women to inherit in their own right. And so Grandfather’s fortune came to us instead.
The others were furious. Now we never hear from them.
No great loss, if you ask me, but it saddens Mother sometimes. ”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. But then my mind snags on a particular detail in her story. “Wait…you said the laws changed? Papa did that?”
“Oh, not him,” she clarifies. “By order of the queen.”
I blink, genuinely taken aback. “Ayleth? Are you certain?”
“Definitely. My uncle took the case to the queen herself, to petition her to overturn the decision. And she, in front of everyone, banished him from court. You should have seen the look on his face.”
She does some exaggerated and hilarious version of it, but I’m too focused on what she’s saying to laugh. Mother was always trying to convince Papa to rewrite the inheritance laws. Why had Ayleth been the one to do it? And why hadn’t she mentioned it in her letters?
“Here,” Verity says, toeing a ball toward me. “It’s your go.”
I return my focus to the game. Lord Warbeck lingers with a cluster of other men near a table of food.
Perhaps I’m not bold enough to aim for Ayleth, but that man is a different matter.
I set up my shot. But just as I begin to swing my mallet, a bird swoops low, diving close enough that the air from its wings brushes my face.
I jerk backward, sending the ball careening in the wrong direction.
“Are you all right?” Verity asks, steadying me before I fall. “That bird must be mad.”
My pulse pounds in my ears as I watch the creature land on a nearby sculpture. Another crow. Just like the one that flew into the window of my chambers.
Looking for you, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers.
But that’s not possible…is it?
“Yes,” I say, shaking off the unsettling question. “I’m just—”
“Excuse me.”
I turn at the other voice, one spoken right behind me. The last of my shock instantly evaporates as I register the courtier’s identity—a young man I preferred never to see again.
“You,” I snap at Gavin.
His brown eyes gleam in the night. This close, I can see that they’re spangled with golden flecks, like tiny stars. Not that it matters.
“Your Highness.” He offers a hasty bow, then holds out the ball. “I believe this belongs to you.”
“I’m surprised you’re returning it,” I say, snatching it from his hands, “instead of just invoking your right to take it.”
He reddens slightly and runs a hand through his hair. Good. I hope he’s dying of shame.
“I do owe you an apology,” he says, finally. “My announcement was undoubtedly a surprise and I should have—”
“Kept your mouth shut?” Verity asks. I like her even more.
“Warned you,” he corrects.
A moment of quiet passes.
“Warned me?”
He nods. “The trials should have been opened long ago. I appreciate that the situation must be difficult for you, but—”
“Don’t presume to guess my feelings,” I retort, adopting the most imperious tone I can muster. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Perhaps not,” he allows. “But I would remind you, Highness, that you don’t know much about us, either. You’ve been absent from court for three years. The people of Riven are strangers to you.”
“Oh, but you’re so well acquainted with everyone.”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” he replies, clipped. “I’ve cultivated relationships with the nobility, spent time among the people at my family’s estate.”
You could have asked to come home, Ayleth’s unwelcome words twist in my mind.
“And that gives you more of a right to rule than me?”
“With respect, Highness”—he gestures to the grounds—“I’m not the one spending the evening lobbing balls at the very court I hope to lead.”
A furious flush heats my cheeks. And it’s then that I notice the cut on Gavin’s brow, one presumably made by the ball I’d hit. It starts to bleed, slick crimson tracking down the side of his face. He touches the spot, red smearing on his fingers.
“Please excuse me,” he says. “Best of luck on the hunt, Princess.”
With that, he turns and strides away. I clench my fists so hard that I feel my pulse hammering in my veins. Like my very blood is on fire.
“Who does he think he is,” Verity asks, “lecturing you like that?”
I nod, willing myself to agree with her. But beneath that is something else. A deep, oily fear: that Mother wouldn’t have approved of my behavior tonight, either.
In fact, she’d be utterly ashamed of me.