Page 10 of The Queen's Huntsman
Gwendolyn said nothing, determined not to risk her one chance to be out of this room, so the ambassadors might judge for themselves whether she had willingly taken part in this travesty.
“After all,” continued her husband’s lover, her tone growing more embittered with every word she uttered. “I am a princess, too! Shouldn’tIbe allowed to present myself as one?”
How conveniently she forgot; Gwendolyn was not a princess any longer.
Again, it didn’t matter; she refused to be baited. It would serve no one, most especially not Gwendolyn. At the moment, Estrildis wasn’t wearing the crown. But she was wearing Gwendolyn’s oyster shell dress—the one with the wide sleeves and matching surcoat she’d worn the night of her Promise Ceremony, and she wondered if Estrildis knew this, though she gathered she did not.
More than anything, she hoped the little horror would attend wearing both the dress and crown—apparel certain to be noted by anyone who’d attended Gwendolyn’s Promise and wedding ceremonies. The choice would reveal much about Gwendolyn’s part in this farce of a marriage.
No bride would freely allow such precious wedding attire to be used by her husband’s lover and there was little doubt that everyone knew precisely who Estrildis was by now—especially considering that it was her chamber, not Gwendolyn’s, that lay adjoining the King’s.
When Gwendolyn still would not respond, Estrildis tried another tack, inquiring a bit more sweetly, “Perhaps you know of some reason I should not?”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Gwendolyn’s mouth, mostly because she was so entirely transparent. The girl was as spectacularly beautiful as she was vapid, though certainly she was clever enough to understand that people would notice such things.
However, she was not quite clever enough to go ask Loc’s own mother, considering that the Queen Mother was there that day as well—at least for the wedding.
Gwendolyn could only hope that Estrildis wouldn’t ask Innogen or Ely, or anyone who could warn Locrinus’ mistress about what a folly it was to wear the moonstone crown. Doubtless, Locrinus himself would not have bothered to notice what Gwendolyn wore during their nuptials.
Growing noticeably annoyed, Estrildis rolled her pretty blue eyes—eyes that were as bright as her skin was tawny. “I already asked the Queen Mother,” she said furiously, as though she’d read Gwendolyn’s mind. “She did not remember you wearing the crown.”
Gwendolyn shrugged. “There you have it then,” she said, but the girl’s voice lost all trace of civility. Her eyes narrowed to slits, burning with incandescent fury. “Far be it from you to be of service, you wretched creature!” Her lips twisted viciously. “Unfortunately for you, the hour grows late. I fear you’ll have to make do with awhore’sbath,” she said, emphasizing the word “whore.” “The Queen Mother has been otherwise occupied all day long, and certainly you’re of no import to her. She gave your care to me. Alas, there’s no time to bring you a tub. But don’t you worry, your interval in the hall will be fleeting at any rate.”
Gwendolyn’s smile persisted. “Do not concern yourself, Princess. I will make do,” she reassured. But Loc’s lover was too much to bear. So much as she tried, Gwendolyn couldn’t quite keep herself from baiting the hateful girl. “Still, I wonder,” she added. “Will you be gracing us with your company this eve? Will you also be seated at the high table?”
Of course, Gwendolyn knew the answer. She would not be. So long as Locrinus was still hoping to curry favor with the ambassadors, the girl was still only a mistress, and as his mistress, she would not be suitable for the high table. They would note such an insult to their queen and it wouldn’t matter whether they suspected Gwendolyn’s part in Loc’s coup. Centuries’ worth of tradition could not so conveniently be disregarded. She was still her father’s heir, and the rightful queen. Her words hit their mark. Estrildis’ features twisted with rage.
“I hate you!” she hissed. “One day you’ll regret your impertinence, you stupid, ill-favored bitch!” And then she smiled thinly and said, “Next time, I’llnotbe thwarted!”
Next time?Gwendolyn blinked. Was it true, then? Did she attempt to poison Gwendolyn and had the most unlikely champion come to her rescue?Loc’s mother?
Even so, the prospect was disheartening. If Innogen knew what Estrildis had done and did little more than put a glimmer of suspicion in Gwendolyn’s head, without ever revealing the attempt upon her life, or removing the tray, then it was only a matter of time before Estrildis attempted it again and perhaps succeeded. Gwendolyn had better watch her every meal.
And now she must wonder about her “gifts”—perhaps only a cruel jest to make Gwendolyn believe she had allies when she had none. Though maybe it was also meant to distract her from the poison. Gwendolyn opened her mouth to speak, but no words came, and this time, Estrildis seemed to relish her silence. Her blue eyes glinted.
“You think I don’t know your poise is an act? I smell your fear, Gwendolyn, and believe me, ’tis warranted. Only pray you’ll act so well this eve, because if you disappoint my sweet darling, he’ll make you pay, and I will watch with glee!”
Of this, Gwendolyn had no doubt.
“More’s the pity for you. I believe he loathes you more than I do,” Estrildis said, and then she laughed delightedly. Simpering, she spun to leave, with Gwendolyn’s magnificent dress swishing as she moved. For the second time this day, the door slammed in her wake, and Gwendolyn had to stop herself from screaming after the girl. So much did she share her loathing.
But then, once Estrildis was gone, her mood lifted at once, if only to see her mother’s precious gift—an heirloom that once belonged to her grandmother, and to her grandmother’s mother before her. Her dowry chest.
Her heart lighter than it had been in weeks, she fell to her knees beside the chest, her throat bobbing with a dry swallow, for fear of what she would not find inside.
Of indeterminate age, the coffer bore many of the same markings embroidered on her mother’s wedding gown—none of which she understood as yet.
As Gwendolyn did the first time she was presented the chest, she reverently fingered the artwork, loath to mar the delicate paint with even with the faintest of touches.
Sweet gods.It still smelled of lemon oil.
At long last, mustering the nerve, she sucked in a breath and lifted the lid… only to discover the interior was nearly empty. She couldn’t help herself; her eyes stung with unshed tears.
Really, it wasn’t so much the lack ofthings… Gwendolyn had never had much that was only hers. Indeed, for so long, she had shared her mother’s gowns and jewels. But this was the first time she’d had a trousseau all her own, and those Prydein heirlooms were precious.
There was only one gown remaining. It lay on top—a piled silken fabric imported from Akkadia. A rich shade of lavender that reminded Gwendolyn of the petals of a green-winged orchid, it was one dress she’d never worn. The fabric was rare and expensive, but there must be something wrong with it if Estrildis did not want it.
Lifting the dress to inspect it, she promptly discovered why… a rip in the seam beneath the armpit. However, rip or no rip, she would have to wear it.
