Page 162 of Queen of Sherwood

He overtaxed the populace and was not beloved. He must have had a chip on his shoulder about that.

Though he had been too young to join in his brothers’ rebellion against his father King Henry, he seemed like type to welcome subterfuge and dishonesty among his ranks.

Father, Mama Joan, if only you could see me now.

Your daughter, speaking with the Prince of England.

My mother’s fabrics had once adorned the bodies of the nobility in England. They had been treasured by Henry’s court. Of course, that time had long passed, her garb had gone out of fashion, but that was the closest my family had ever got to touching royalty, even as lesser gentry ourselves.

“Your notoriety precedes you,” Prince John called out to us. “Though your actions have shaken the entire country. Have you no shame?”

We said nothing. No one knew who was supposed to speak—I supposed I was, as the leader. Yet I knew not to speak unless spoken to directly, and Prince John seemed ready to go on a rant. I wasn’t about to stop him.

The prince scoffed, shaking his head. “No, of course you don’t. You’re brigands, outlaws, and thieves. You’re no warriors of justice. You haven’t brought peace to your people—only the promise of bloodshed and generations of hate against the Royal Crown.”

I flared my nostrils. He couldn’t see. He was speaking to our group like we were all one person, rather than individuals fighting for a common cause.

“And yet,” he said, lifting a finger, “I do admire your audacity. Your battle has been hard-fought. Some might even say you’ve won!” He looked around as he said this, smiling, which drew out sneers and chuckling from his subordinates in a loud wave.

I felt we were about to be pelted by rotten vegetables. That we were already on our way to the gallows, this was just the first step to getting there.

“I wish to end this little farce, and rid myself of the headache, so I am going to offer you a one-time mercy.” Prince John puffed out his chest, breathing heavily. He was out of breath from climbing the hill where he stood, likely so he could be above us in more ways than one.

Our gang looked around at each other when he said that. We scarcely breathed under his scrutinizing gaze.

“Someone must be punished for your sins against the Crown and God,” Prince John said. “Hand over the fabled leader of your merry band, and I will let the rest of you walk with your lives. You shall never own land. Your kind will always be despised and ridiculed. Yet, you will have your miserable lives to do what you will in the woods. Not Sherwood Forest, of course, which is a royal hunting ground of the Crown. Anywhere else—outside of Nottinghamshire, preferably—and I don’t care where you insects go. But you will give me your leader, first.”

My heart stilled.

The prince was offering us a way out.

I looked to my mates. We had talked about this and come to the same conclusion.

But now, as he said it, and the truth weighed heavily on my shoulders, I saw the grim expressions on their faces. Little John, Will Scarlet, Alan-a-Dale, Friar Tuck—the men I loved were shaking their heads adamantly. They wouldn’t allow this.

My heart broke, and I put a hand to my chest.

“What will it be?” the prince called down. “I will have your decision now. One man, or woman in this case, for the lives of hundreds.”

“No,” Little John grunted to me. “Don’t you dare do it. Remember who you are, little hope.”

Yes. I am hope. And I can remain that way in death, if given the chance. Prince John is martyring me without even realizing it.

I didn’t want to die. Of course I didn’t.

But, it was the most sensible thing. In this situation, it was the easy solution to all of our problems.

I stepped forward, pushing past the broad shoulders of my protective mates. My stomach sank to my boots. A strange headiness swallowed me whole, and I walked forward in a daze, toward the front of our caravan.

I opened my mouth to speak.

“I am the one you are looking for.”

My heart squeezed. It wasn’t my voice that came out.

Another face stepped forward, haloed in red curls.

Maid Marian stood forward from the rest of the crew, defiant and steadfast. Chin lifted high, her beautiful face pale in the morning sun.

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