Page 6 of The Queen's Huntsman
However, that didn’t mean Gwendolyn’s child needed to live long enough to inherit. One could easily imagine his fate solely by the way they’d dealt with Urien…
And yet, Estrildis was as willful as she was bold, or foolish…
“Yes, dear. I see you’ve come to the same conclusion—so bright you are,” Innogen suggested with false affection. “In recent days, I’ve had a change of heart. Really, darling, I know you must realize I empathize with your cause. Unfortunately, Estrildis is young and biddable. Sadly, you are not. But I must ask you, Gwendolyn… wouldn’t it be a terrible shame for me to hold a sweet, new babe in my arms, only to love him, and then—” She grimaced, sliding a long, black-kohl painted fingernail across the pale flesh of her throat, her lips spreading into a mirthless smile. “You might imagine how this would make me feel. I fear poor Estrildis is growing impatient—”
With her sights again on Gwendolyn’s tray, she made to walk around Gwendolyn, and then stumbled over the quarterstaff. Gwendolyn cursed silently. “What is this?” she asked, confused.
Diverted for the moment, she bent to lift the whittled stick, then flicked a glance at the window with sudden comprehension. “Oh, no!” she said, sounding alarmed, and when Gwendolyn moved to take it, she said, “No, no, no!” And she stepped out of Gwendolyn’s reach, spinning at once for the door. “We cannot have such things lying about!”
She sent Gwendolyn a disapproving frown over her shoulder, and Gwendolyn cursed herself again for not placing the practice sword beneath the bed. Now she would have to make do without.
The Queen Mother walked away, holding the staff between two fingers, as though it disgusted her. “Fret not!” she called back as she went. “I really do hope you are not too hungry! Don’t you worry, I shall return with a surprise!” And with that, she slammed the door so hard it shook the walls. But the instant she was gone, Gwendolyn turned to reconsider the tray.
It looked like it typically did—as unsavory to eat as it was to look at, but poison was not something that could easily be detected.
Just to be certain, she lifted the plate to discover nothing beneath, and knew intuitively it was not the gifts Innogen came searching for.
Unfortunately, Gwendolyn knew more than she wished to about poison. She’d been ingesting a special elixir of toxicants in minute doses since she was only a child, a measure against treason since poison too often was the traitor’s weapon of choice.
However, Innogen was not the one she was concerned about—at least not over this matter. If Gwendolyn turned up dead before Locrinus had the chance to secure at least a majority of the tribes, their marriage would come to naught, and forging these alliances was the point, after all.
Also, so long as Gwendolyn lived, Innogen’s son could not remarry, and the Queen Mother would remain chatelaine of this house—something she truly believed the woman preferred. So, of course, she would appear to champion Estrildis. With Loc’s young lover by her side and Gwendolyn imprisoned, Innogen was the truemeistresof this house, and she ruled it more ruthlessly than Gwendolyn’s own mother could ever have thought to.
She’d claimed Estrildis was growing impatient, and Estrildis was certainly stupid enough to be impetuous. Innogen was not. No doubt she knew Gwendolyn had not had the benefit of her elixir for months and months—not since before the massacre at Chysauster. At this point, her immunity would be gone. But regardless of Innogen’s reasons for the warning, Gwendolyn was smarter than both, and she didn’t intend to be dispatched so easily.
“Thank you,” she whispered, as she lifted the tray and walked straight to the door, opening it calmly. With a quick smile for her guards, she hurled the tray out. It landed with a clatter, and she slammed the door after.
1 At Gwendolyn’s birth, she was given three gifts by the Fae: a prophecy for her future, a gift of “Reflection,” and a golden mane—literally, every lock of her hair will turn to gold, provided it is cut by her one true love.
ChapterThree
Later that same afternoon, when another rap sounded on Gwendolyn’s door, she clenched her teeth. Gods knew she hadn’t the presence of mind to deal with Innogen again so soon—nor Estrildis, gods forbid. She certainly couldn’t be held accountable for anything she might say after that stupid wench had tried to poison her—presumably.
For a moment, Gwendolyn said nothing, hoping they would think her asleep and go away; but the knock came once more, this time more insistently.
“Enter!” she said with a note of pique, wondering why either of those women ever bothered to knock. The run of the house was theirs, though perhaps they were wise enough to understand that, in a certain mood, Gwendolyn could still be dangerous, particularly whilst still in possession of her cousin’s blade.
The heavy door creaked opened, and Gwendolyn was startled to find it was neither Estrildis nor Innogen. Her brows lifted at the sight of the face that emerged—a little more gaunt, eyes shadowed and sad, but oh, so beloved!
“Bryn!” Gwendolyn stood, crossing the room at once, intending to embrace him. But his already pale face drained of color, and Gwendolyn thought she detected the slightest shake of his head. She froze midway.
“Majesty,” he said tightly, and winced.
They both knew that in this palace that title was a mere formality.
And more, it was a bitter reminder of her husband’s betrayal. If life had proceeded as it should have, she would still be a princess, enjoying life with her new husband, and her father’s head would still be firmly attached to his shoulders, still wearing his crown.
Like hers, Bryn’s hair was unkempt, his dark curls as slack as his shoulders. He appeared entirely defeated, and Gwendolyn understood that much of his ill-fortune had begun with her. After all, she was the reason he was demoted. It was her childish antics that prompted her father to strip him of a position he’d trained for all his life.
To be sure, they’d not yet overcome that unfortunate business before finding themselves embroiled in this travesty. For all Gwendolyn knew, he loathed her for it.
She wanted so fiercely to hug him.
There was so much she longed to say—but the presence of her guards forestalled her words, especially knowing that everything said or done in this room would be reported to Queen Innogen, and in turn, to Locrinus.
The only reason nobody knew about her daily dancing with her make-do sword was because they’d given her a door to close.
Only belatedly, she realized Bryn was staring, and it occurred to her it must be her hair—as yet he had not seen her with it shorn because on the morning after her nuptials, she’d hidden the proof of Loc’s violence with a scarf—the same scarf she still wore most days.
