Chapter Seventeen The King and I
Chapter Seventeen
The King and I
At first light, the other huntsmen filed into the stable.
Sam was swept away in a bustle of greetings and preparations.
Bows were strung, saddle pads were put in position, and everything was checked and rechecked to ensure a successful hunt without mishap or injury.
King Gervase came in last, a pair of large brown dogs panting at his heels.
The horses paid the dogs no mind, apparently long used to the commotion and noise of their smaller companions.
Somewhat to my surprise, Gervase strolled over to Poma’s stall, stopping to give her mane a ruffle. My intention was to learn more about my fiancé that day, but I hadn’t expected him to approach me so quickly or easily. I’d thought to observe him surreptitiously.
He did not speak for a few long moments.
I waited for him to begin any conversation; my history with my stepmother had left me cautious around monarchs.
I took the time to look him over as the seconds ticked by.
He had traded his sumptuous court robes for practical hunting gear.
It was expensive, rich leather and close-knit wool, and the bejeweled circlet remained perched on his head, but it was clear he took hunting seriously and expected dirt, damp, and blood to be part of it.
“I see you’ve met your horse,” he said. “Does she meet with your approval?”
“Very much so, Your Majesty. A fine animal. And well named.”
“That she is.”
He produced an apple of his own, and Poma leaned her head against him affectionately as she munched it. My horse was going to be too well fed to do more than waddle if anyone else came in with the same idea.
While Gervase appeared content to let the conversation end there, my need to give him a warning won out over my caution. “Listen. There’s something you should know.”
He regarded me curiously while I recounted the heavily fictionalized “oracular dream” that I’d already described to Sam—with both similar explanations and similar omissions.
Afterward, the king frowned. “If trying to interpret it is useless, and trying to avoid it is pointless, then I don’t see what’s to be done about it.”
I gave a helpless shrug. “Neither do I.”
“Then I suppose we should proceed as if—” He broke off as one of the dogs leapt on his leg in excitement. With an apologetic smile, he turned to bring it to heel, firmly but with no sign of impatience.
Fond of horses and dogs. There were worse recommendations for a future spouse.
“I’ve been wondering,” I said, “why you haven’t summoned me to discuss the wedding arrangements.”
His smile faltered for a moment. “Because I’ve been remiss in my duties.”
“I certainly didn’t mean to imply—”
He waved my objection aside. “I have. Your mistress will be here soon, I imagine?”
“Yes, I…suppose she will.”
Though I hadn’t been thinking about it when I brought the subject up, he had given me a reminder that there was only so long I could maintain my pretense.
Suspicions would surely arise if the princess didn’t make an appearance before the snow made the roads impassable. The truth would have to come out then.
“I should see to my own steed,” Gervase said. “But we’ll talk about this more. Both the wedding and your prophetic dream. I promise you that.” He gave me a stiff nod and strode toward the stall of a large chestnut courser.
I decided I had best get a saddle on Poma. She waited patiently while I went through the process, and I was just tightening the girth when I heard a frosty voice behind me.
“So,” it said, “you’re a witch after all.”
“A sorceress,” I said as I turned around. “Not the same thing.”
One of the masked hunters was standing so close I flinched away. He was watching me through narrowed eyes. No hat, two legs, and he hadn’t launched any frogs at me.
“Jack?” I hazarded.
He bowed his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment, his face remaining hard as a gravestone. “Sorceress, witch—what’s the difference?”
“That depends. Do you mean in an academic sense, a religious sense, or a folkloric sense?”
He blinked, taken aback. It was a tricky question, to be fair. If you’re not familiar with the professional jargon, the differences between a sorcerer, witch, magician, wizard, and warlock can be difficult to follow.
“For example, if you go by folklore,” I said, “witches eat people. I don’t.”
He shook off his confusion and resumed his narrow-eyed gaze. “Whether you do or you don’t, I find it interesting you failed to bring the matter up the day we rescued you. If,” he added, “we did, in fact, rescue you.”
I ground my teeth together, feeling foolish for not foreseeing this.
Jack had wondered from the beginning if I was deceiving him, and now that I’d admitted to being a sorceress, he had yet more reason to believe I’d been hiding other things as well.
The difficulty, of course, was that he was right.
It was just that the things I was hiding weren’t nefarious, sorcerous plans.
Or wickedly cannibalistic ones, for that matter.
“I’m a very minor sorceress,” I said. “It hardly seemed worth mentioning.”
“And how, pray tell, does one distinguish,” he asked coldly, “between a minor sorceress and a—” He stopped short as a tentative hand tapped him on his shoulder.
For some reason, I once again had no difficulty telling it was Sam.
“Jack. I, um…I thought we talked about this.”
Jack whirled to face his brother. “We did. And we agreed her behavior was suspicious.”
“Well, aye, that’s true,” Sam conceded. “But also…not. Evil masterminds don’t slip on a handful of peas and break their arm, do they?”
“It wasn’t broken,” I protested. “Only sprained.”
Jack ignored me. “You said you would follow my lead on these things.”
“On the mission.” Sam shifted uneasily under Jack’s glare. “Are you sure this is part of the mission?”
“Of course it is! She’s been keeping secrets—”
“And no one who keeps secrets,” Sam said to his masked sibling, “can ever be trusted, is that it?”
That did little to calm Jack down. “If you trust her, with everything that’s been happening, you’re a fool. A fool who’s fallen for a pretty face. I can’t believe you’d break faith with me over that!”
“No one’s breaking faith with anyone!” Sam insisted. “You’re still in charge here, Jack. It’s only, she’s been in the castle for days—”
“And now here she is on the hunt,” Jack replied, his face dark.
“We’ll see how safe that makes us. The last time she was with us is the last time we were attacked.
Stop acting like a mooncalf. Stay on your guard.
And don’t doubt I’ll be watching you, witch,” he threw at me as he stomped off, muttering to himself.
Sam gazed after him, looking distraught.
The argument had made Poma skittish; she pranced in place, and her ears flicked back and forth with anxiety. I stroked her across the withers to settle her. “A pretty face, am I?”
“Well, you…That is, I mean, er…” Sam coughed.
I smiled into Poma’s mane, where he couldn’t see. “Thanks for defending me. I know you don’t like going against your brother.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me whatever else you’ve been keeping from us?” he asked cautiously. “Or even why.”
“Maybe another time,” I said, echoing his words from earlier. If I ever decided to reveal my identity to someone, it wouldn’t be in a crowded stable where any would-be assassin could overhear.
“A plausible explanation might help smooth things over with Jack.”
I turned back around. “Would it? He seems intent on making me the villain.”
Sam rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “You’ll have to forgive him. Jack isn’t usually so unreasonable. But it’s been hard on him, all this. The constant threat, and…and everything else.”
“Surely it’s been difficult for everyone.” I thought about the crowded courtyard packed with terrified farmers.
“It has,” Sam agreed. “But Jack has a particular…He’s got a good excuse for being…”
I waited. Poma snorted into my hair.
The fanfare sounded with a blare of trumpets. “Time we were off,” Sam said, sketching a quick bow before he headed for his own horse. “Good hunting.”
“Good hunting.” I hooked my foot into the stirrup and swung astride, taking a moment to arrange my split skirt around the saddle.
We rode out into the courtyard, the packed masses making way before us.
It was odd, leaving with the hunt that day—being watched by the crowd instead of watching along with them from the balcony.
Had I caused a panic in the women’s wing when I wasn’t in my bed that morning? Well, they had to know where I was now.
If Princess Angelique was observing from above, I couldn’t see her behind the filigreed screen. It was just as likely it was one of her headache days, and she wasn’t there.
I found I was attracting more than my share of stares.
I wasn’t sure whether it was because I was a sorceress, simply because I was a woman, or both.
It felt peculiar to be garnering the most attention in a hunting party that included a bespectacled lion, prowling back and forth in the courtyard and making the nearby horses prance nervously away.
But I supposed the crowd was long used to the lion by then.
Across the bridge, the great ironclad doors opened, and the portcullis rose. Overhead, a dark bird circled. Something clutched in its talons glittered in the early dawn light. But we were thundering over the bridge before I had a chance to see more.
Cheers rang out from the assembly behind us as the doors swung closed again. Within minutes, we had galloped through the abandoned town and slowed to enter the woods.