Page 107 of Far From Sherwood Forest
“I’m not sure if we should do that, Sheriff,” the other guard says. “You’ve been gone an awfully long time. Where have you been?”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Henry snaps as he brings his hand to the top of my head, throwing off my hood. I grunt as he grips my hair tight by the roots and angles my head to give the guards a clear view of my face. “I was hunting this little thief to the ends of the earth, and now I’m here to deliver his head to the prince on a silver platter. Or a spike, if he’d rather.”
“Is that Robin Hood?”
I grin through the grimace from the pain radiating through my scalp. “The one and only, gentlemen.”
“Shut up,” Henry snarls as he lets go of my hair and shoves my head away.
I barely resist the urge to crack a joke about himmakingme.
At least he’s playing the role of Sheriff well, if the ache in my head is any indicator. If it wasn’t for his reminder a few minutes ago, I might be worried that he’d realize he misses it.
“Do you two want to be responsible for disappointing the prince?”
At the Sheriff’s question, they both share another look, a flash of fear in their eyes. Coming to some sort of silent agreement, they move their poleaxes and allow us through.
Henry taps his legs against the horse, and we ride past the open gate into the courtyard. Again, all eyes are on us.
We stop at the bottom of the steps that lead into the main hall, and Henry lowers himself onto the ground first. He grabs me by the arm and roughly yanks me off the horse violentlyenough that I stumble into him and he’s forced to steady me.
Hauling me up the steps, he doesn’t seem to care when I trip and sway. I’m reminded of the time he dragged me through the woods of the park with my hands cuffed behind my back.
I may have a thing for him manhandling me, but, unfortunately, this isn’t leading to anything fun like it was last time.
In fact, my nerves are starting to ratchet up a few notches.
Just like at the main gate, there are two men standing outside the large double doors of the hall. They hold swords instead of poleaxes, and they don’t immediately block our path like the previous ones.
Henry forces me to a stop in front of them. “I demand an audience with the prince.”
This time, one of the guards takes one look at both of us before recognition flares in his eyes. He gives us a curt nod and says, “Of course, Sheriff. Follow me.”
The man leads us through the main hall while Henry continues dragging me along without mercy. On the other side of the hall, we enter a wide corridor with another set of thick double doors at the end. Our steps echo off the stone walls as we approach the throne room.
There are yet more guards posted here, and it’s starting to feel like a maze of obstacles to get to where we need to be. Right now, Alan, Will, and a few of the other men from our camp should be well on their way to sneaking into the castle through the kitchens. I hope their path is causing them less anxiety than ours is causing me.
After the first guard orders us to stay put, he mutters something to the second. That one pushes open the door for him, and he walks through. We only have to wait a couple of minutes before he returns and ushers us inside.
“So the rumors are true!”
Prince John’s voice echoes off the high ceilings and wide columns lining the edges of the throne room as we walk inside. Colored pools of light shine on the polished stone floor from the tall, stained-glass windows. Murmuring voices come from lords and ladies of his court, clinking armor from about a dozen armored knights standing around like statues.
At the far end, the prince reclines lazily on the throne that sits on a raised platform, a goblet of wine in his hand and the crown sitting a little askew on his head. He’s a small man, a little gangly, and would probably lose in a physical fight to most of the people in this room. But that doesn’t keep him from sneering at me as we come to a stop several feet in front of him.
“The Sheriff truly has returned, and he’s brought me a gift.”
Henry kicks the back of my legs, causing my knees to buckle and crash painfully to the floor. “Kneel before your prince, you thieving filth.”
Fuck me. He really wasn’t kidding about hurting me.
The prince takes a sip of his wine and smirks, clearly entertained by the show. After handing his goblet over to a young servant, he leans forward to get a better look at me, hands gripping the arms of the throne.
“Well, if it isn’t the Hood himself, dragged back like a wayward dog.” He tilts his head, an evil glint in his eyes that’s pure venom. “Still clinging to that tired legend the peasants tell around their fires?”
“Tired? You should tell that to your crown before it tips right off your head.”
A ripple of quiet laughter and shocked gasps passes through the court.
