Page 22 of The Huntsman's Heart
He spits on the ground and returns to his cottage, and so I haul the carcass onto the back of my horse. It’s a waste, but I’ll have to dump it in the forest lest the queen discover my treachery.
Have things gotten so bad that she’s sending her men into every humble cottage to check what they eat? Or is neighbor spying on neighbor? Either way, the future in Erenvold only looks bleak with Melantha on the throne. And I’ve played my part in making it happen.
It’s long past first light when I finally stable my horse and take my parcel wrapped in wax cloth with me to the queen’s room. All the colorful banners in the courtyard have been replaced with black. People speak in hushed voices as I enter the castle, averting their eyes as I pass.
I haven’t washed or changed my clothing. At least the king did not live to see me walk through his castle with the blood of his daughter on my hands. Fool he may be, but he was a decent ruler while he still retained any power.
“Enter.” Melantha’s voice is as cold as her expression. When I enter, she turns from her mirror, her features pinched and her manner sharp. “Well?”
I approach and drop the parcel on her dressing table, heedless of the blood that still drips from the corners of the cloth. Undeterred, the queen reaches for it, unwrapping it quickly, then pauses to look at it.
She’s silent for so long I expect a rebuke. Eventually she sniffs. “Huh. Large for such a wisp of a thing. Did she try to fight you?”
“Yes.”
She glares at me, but I add no honorific. Eventually she looks back down at the heart. “And in the end it was as simple as that.I should have had you do that years ago.” Picking it up, she cups it in her palm. I watch, keeping my expression neutral.
Speaking to the heart, she leans forward, crushing it until her long nails spike into the cold flesh. “You were never worth the trouble you gave me. But perhaps you can benefit me after death.” She lifts it to her mouth, squeezing until dark blood drops slowly into her waiting mouth. When she sits back there’s a smear across her lips, but she doesn’t brush it away when she glances in the mirror. Instead she stares at her reflection, waiting.
Then a frown crosses her features. “So a virgin’s heart does nothing?”
The princess’s heart would have worked more magic than ten of the monster hearts I supply her with each week. I don't dare tell her that, though.
I shrug. “Perhaps the girl was no virgin after all.” It costs me another unwelcome memory to speak those words. A memory of her tight young body giving way to mine; the pressure of her unwilling flesh around me.
I look away from Melantha’s gaze in the reflection.
The queen laughs. “You think she was rolling in the hay with the stable boy, then? Or the footman? Stupid girl.” She drops the heart to the floor with a wet thud. “Useless. But at least I no longer have her to worry about.”
I expect her to command me to get on my knees, and I suppress a shudder at the thought. Instead she waves her hand at me. “Remove that and have someone clean up this mess. Then bring me something that will work.”
I make my escape hastily, wrapping the heart back in the cloth, glad for the excuse to be gone from her rooms.
That peasant’s sow has hopefully bought the end of Melantha, one way or another. For when Guinevere wakes, I can only imagine how bright the bitter flame of her anger will burn orhow rash her actions will be when she realizes she has nothing left to lose.
Guinevere
As far as I can tell, it’s been two days and three nights since Alaric took me from Blackthorn and left me in the woods. I sit in the same spot in the castle ruin without moving or speaking until the sun rises and the gargoyles return to their places on the walls. While the sun is up, they are stone. As frozen and unmoving as if they truly were statues. I may as well have turned to stone too. I do not rise. I do not eat. I do not sleep.
As the sun sets, they slowly start to wake, but I remain where I am. The truth of their words has set in, chilling me from the inside out. Even if my father still lives, he can’t see me like this.
As the forest grows dark, the statues of the castle come to life again, and by the time stars wink from the gaps in the canopy, they gather around me, whispering quietly to each other.
“What should we do?” Raban mutters to Corvin.
Corvin flicks his tasseled tail. “What can we do? Imagine how she must feel.”
Évandre shakes his head at the other two. “Don’t you remember when humans once lived in our castle? Have you forgotten so quickly?”
“It has been nearly two hundred years!” says Raban.
“She may be dead, but she’s still a princess. She needs comfort. She needs a hot bath and soft, pretty things. She needs to be surrounded by beauty.”
“The bathhouse!” Corvin slaps a furry thigh.
“Don’t you worry, princess,” Raban grins. “We will have you in a nice hot bath in no time.”
I’m about to ask how they propose to make me a bath in the middle of a ruined castle, but they’re already rushing away.
