Page 13 of The Queen's Huntsman
To anyone else, he would appear a loving husband, flirting with his new bride, but he said beneath his smile, “Attempt to use that for aught more than your medallions of beef,my dearest love, and I will seize it from you once and for all, and test that blade by carving out your dull, gray eyes.”
Despite herself, Gwendolyn shuddered, and in response, he smiled, leaning closer to whisper in her ear. “What was your cousin’s name?” he asked cheerfully. “Wasn’t it… Borlewen?”
Gwendolyn’s hand froze midair, squeezing the stem of her goblet.
“Yes, that was it, Borlewen. She was a lovely little whore—offered me her cunt if only I would spare her life.”
Blinking back the sting of tears, Gwendolyn put her Goblet down. “And did you?” She prayed with all her heart that he had her locked away—somewhere, she could somehow be rescued.
One word filled with disgust. “No.”
For a single heartrending moment, Gwendolyn had thought perhaps she might learn he had spared her, but then her heart shattered to hear his next words.
“I did not avail myself of her, but I did cut her throat.”
Bile rose into Gwendolyn’s mouth. Angry tears burned her eyes. If she’d thought she’d loathed this man before, it was nothing close to the hatred and fury that welled in her breast at his disclosure. Whatever hope she’d had for Borlewen vanished, but she refused to shed more tears under Loc’s scrutiny, knowing it would give him far too much pleasure—and neither would she give him an excuse to punish Bryn or Ely.
“Good girl,” he cooed. “You are only here for one reason,” he told her. “Play your part, Gwendolyn, and you will enjoy a hearty meal. Defy me and I will reconsider the wisdom of keeping you about.”
If only to hide her quivering lips, Gwendolyn lifted her goblet again, gulping another mouthful of mead, loathing him to the core of her being, trying not to spew the sweet drink all over the table.
“My mother believes otherwise,” he continued, “yet I donotneed you. As of now, I have already secured the West and South. Only Atrebates and Durotriges have yet to bend the knee, and here…” He waved a hand to point out the feast. “Tonight, they shall.”
Gwendolyn emptied the last drop in her goblet, and then hastily poured herself another, all her hopes for the evening quashed.
“After tonight,” he continued, recognizing that he’d upset her. “I intend to turn my efforts to the East—with or without you, and…” He shrugged. “I must say… preferably without you.”
He cast a pointed glance toward his lover, who sat pouting at a lower table, watching them with a look on her face Gwendolyn interpreted as fury and indignation. “Certainlyshewould prefer it to be without you, and I am eager to give the lady her due.”
“Herdue?” Gwendolyn said. “What of the promises you made to me?”
His lids lowered with the thinning of his smile. “What of them?” he asked. “Indeed, Gwendolyn, you bore me. So much righteous fury. Even now, bereft of allies, you still cannot see the mountains for the clouds in your head.”
Gwendolyn’s hopes dimmed with every word he spoke—not only because he was so cruel, but because he could be cruel with impunity.
Deliberately lifting Borlewen’s dagger above the table so he would not mistake her intentions and plunge his own dagger between her shoulders, she momentarily considered stabbing him in the face, but poked at a medallion of beef instead.
“Well,” she said, after a while. “I’m certain she’ll make you so proud wearing all my castaway ribbons and gowns. Though I wonder,” she added, with as much poise as she could muster. “Do you like that dress she’s worn tonight? Does it look familiar? What of the crown?”
Locrinus frowned, glancing toward Estrildis with a look of genuine confusion, and Gwendolyn understood then that he’d never truly seen her, nor did he notice the lover he claimed to wish to give her due. He was too vain—self-amused. He didn’t care about Gwendolyn, but for the first time, Gwendolyn pitied Estrildis. Whatever she wished of this man, he did not know how to give it. There was never anything Gwendolyn could have done to please him.
She added for good measure, “She’s an outsider, as are you.Herson will never rule these lands.”
“And you’ll not bear me an heir,” he shot back, apparently mistaking her complaint. “The blood of your precious conservators is done,” he said. “All I require is for the tribes to believe I will sire a child with you. I needn’t actually do it.”
It didn’t matter that she hadn’t eaten a proper meal since she’d arrived, Gwendolyn wasn’t hungry. Still, she shoved a bite of meat into her mouth, forcing herself to chew, realizing he spoke true. The tinny taste of animal blood made her tongue tingle, and when she swallowed, she gagged before it settled in her belly—like his odious news.
Only now, she wished she’d refused this invitation, and she was glad she’d worn her mother’s gown. Tomorrow she might regret everything—and she might even be dead—but tonight, she hoped her presence made him as miserable as she was.
“Lest you mistake me,” he said, still smiling. “I would not even covet you as a brood mare, despite that you could pass for one.” He leaned closer, laying his chin into his hand, as though he were a mooning lover, but the look in his eyes could not be mistaken. “Really, has no one ever apprised you that you have a face like a horse? ’Tis no wonder you admire them so well.”
Gwendolyn’s jaw tautened. She tried with all her might not to spit her chewed and bloody meat into Loc’s face. But for all her attempts at keeping her aplomb, his barb stung.
So the evening continued—a far cry from the last meal they’d shared when he’d tried so hard to impress her. And yet, Gwendolyn found him equally vain, and considered that this might well be the last meal they would share in proximity.
Undoubtedly, he despised her as much as she did him, and he clearly believed she was no longer necessary. From everything she had gleaned—and it was just as she’d suspected—it was his mother holding his leash, and he was like a rabid hound, lunging against his chains.
He would never punish Estrildis if she did what he only wished to do himself…
