Page 100 of The Huntsman's Heart
“Princess Guinevere, a heavy responsibility is about to fall to you, but the gods look with favor on those who hold high office with honor. Let me take this occasion to remind you of the three foundations of our faith: hospitality to all in need, respect for the natural forces of the world, and harmony of words and deeds. Uphold these three tenants and the gods will give you their blessings.”
Guin releases my arm and steps forward to kneel before the priestess. I step back, but through the veil I catch a glimpse of her eyes, and the priestess looks over at me. “Sir Alaric, Princess Guinevere has asked that you take the title of prince consort and join her in receiving the blessing as you join her in ruling at her side.”
There’s a hushed murmur from the crowd, but Guin doesn’t move. She remains where she is, head bowed. Tentatively, I step forward again and kneel beside her, bowing my head. No wonder the onlookers are talking. For a queen to honor a lowly marshal this way is unheard of. But I know Guin, she will not be persuaded to yield now that she’s decided. I hope it does not sow discord among her vassals.
The priestess gathers the symbols of the three gods and holds each over both of our heads, asking each god to bless us. The bone of the hunter god, the pick of the stone god, and the cup of the beggar god. Then she anoints us with oil and places a jeweled crown on Guin’s head. To me she gives a slender silver coronet. As she places it over my head, it slips perfectly into place.
Though my chest swells with pride, I pray silently that Guin hasn’t made a mistake. It is one thing for the people to accept her as the rightful heir to the throne, despite her oddities, but no one except Guin knows I have any valid claim to royalty. They onlyknow me as Melantha’s most loyal servant. The one mothers whisper horror stories about to small children to frighten them into being good.
Yet when the priestess steps back and invites us to turn, the sea of faces are smiling ones and the cheers sound genuine. I hold out my hand for her, and she places hers on mine. We walk through the crowd, receiving their bows and curtseys until the wide doors are opened and we exit into the sunlight of the square. Another cheer goes up from the castle servants who ring the courtyard. Citizens of note are gathered here too, bankers and blacksmiths and the petty magistrate, all in their best robes.
Our horses are led to us, saddled and dressed in colorful caparisons which hang down almost to their fetlocks. The queen’s horse is dressed in white and Tharrok in black, with the newly reformed royal crest. For a woman having second thoughts about accepting the throne, Guin has done a lot of planning.
I hand her up onto her horse and mount Tharrok, and we ride out into the town to the cheers and calls of the common people who throw flowers and hoist young children onto their shoulders for a better look.
We are approaching the bridge when a rider pushes through the crowd. People make way for the horse whose hooves clatter on the paved street. “Your Majesties! A message from the castle!”
I rein Tharrok around. He tosses his head but turns as the messenger makes his approach. Guin turns her horse too. “What is it?”
The rider glances around at the crowd. “Your Majesty, the queen—I mean the old queen, your stepmother.”
Guin frowns. “What about her?”
“She is dead, Your Majesty. The guards say it must have happened this hour.”
“How?” I ask.
“Jumped from the east tower, sir—I mean, Your Majesty.”
I cannot say I’m sorry. Though I supposed I’m sorry it wasn’t more gruesome. That woman deserved every part of what fate has served up to her. More.
Guin nods. “Thank you. Do not cut the celebrations short. We will have to put off the announcement until tomorrow.”
Just then there’s a stirring in the crowd. People whisper to each other.
A woman with a shrill voice calls out. “The witch is dead!”
A cheer goes up, traveling through the crowd like wind passing over a field of flowers.
Guin looks over at them ruefully. “Or perhaps no announcement is necessary.”
“What do you want me to tell the guards to do with the body?”
Guin looks over at me. “Cut out her heart and chop the body into pieces. She will not escape being useful so easily. She can be of service to the people by fertilizing the soil. The heart is to be preserved and placed in a box.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The man turns his horse and rides back toward the castle.
I lean close to speak to Guin over the sound of the crowd. “What do you want that heart for?”
“A reminder? A warning? I suppose because I want something to remind me of her so I remember I am never going to become what she was. And because a tiny part of me wants to make very, very sure she never has any power over us again.”
Guinevere
I look back at the wagon following behind our royal carriage just to reassure myself my gargoyles are safe and sound. I was a little anxious watching them loaded this morning, but I wanted this to be a surprise.
We pass the final guard tower in the middle of the afternoon. The summer sun is hottest in the afternoon, and I push the window open wider to let in more air. As we pass, the guards raise the flags and the men lean over the battlements to watch.
Arriving at Havenrock before dusk the day we set out feels unbelievable, but the paved road now runs all the way between here and Blackthorn, making the journey much faster. It has been too long since I had a chance to visit. Royal duties have kept me busy. Meeting delegations from Dolmire and Staibina, negotiating trade deals for the sale of all the timber cleared from the woods, proved a more onerous task than I could have anticipated.
