She shoves a folded fur at me with one hand while holding the reins in the other. I burrow into its softness. Warmth begins returning to my body immediately.
“Sleep, Princess. We will attend to your ankle at my castle.”
“M’not a princess,” I mumble, sinking into the luxurious squabs. I cannot get stuck again. My last mistake cost me nearly two years of time. “My ankle is fine.”
Again, Christabel casts me a skeptical glance. This time she says nothing in response. I sink into merciful oblivion.
Chapter 12
I awakento blazing heat and the odor of wet fur. Princess Christabel’s hood has fallen back. She is tall and slim, her fingers flying with confidence as she works her way down the line, unharnessing each reindeer and sending them off with a pat on the rump.
“You have no servants?”
She laughs. “I do, but I care for these animals myself. These reindeer are descended from the pair given by the Goddess Aurora to my ancestor, who cared for them like her own children. I carry on that tradition, just as someday I hope to carry on the tradition of passing the obligation to my eldest daughter.”
“You’re not married?”
“No.” She shakes her head, and her pretty mouth flattens. Even the bells sound sad as they hit the floor and she smacks another reindeer’s rump. “I had a beau once, but he disappeared.”
“He left you?” I have difficulty believing anyone would leave such a kindhearted, beautiful woman.
“I don’t know what happened to him. I searched far and wide, but I could never find him.” The last reindeer follows itsbrethren down a ramp. Steel fortifies her voice when Christabel turns to me and says, “Come, let’s get you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” I’m starving, but I won’t risk being poisoned again.
“I could hear your stomach grumbling in the sleigh, Princess.”
“I told you, I’m no princess. I’m Gwendolyn, a scullery maid.”
Suddenly, I’m self-conscious of my appearance. Christabel stares at my face like she’s just now noticing?—
My scars.
I’d almost forgotten about them. Dressed as a boy, wearing my hair short and unrestrained, few people asked about them. Either boys are permitted to have scars in a way pretty girls are not, or the people I met while traveling were too polite to ask what happened.
“I have my own food.” An ungracious note creeps into my tone.
Christabel taps her lips with one forefinger. “You must have had a run-in with a poisoner.”
“After a fashion.” I explain how I lost two years to the River Witch’s soup. Christabel chortles.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s kind of funny,” she counters. “Who would suspect anything nefarious about soup?”
“I didn’t,” I admit ruefully.
“You’re clearly not the only person who accepted a free meal from an old woman and lost their freedom as a result. You were smart, though. You escaped.”
“There was a raven she kept as a pet. The witch called him her ‘prince.’ Could he be your missing beau?” I ask hopefully. I’ve been rude in refusing her hospitality, but Christabel saved my life. I am no longer as trusting as I once was, but part of me wants to return her kindness in some small way.
“I don’t think so,” she says, listening to the details of my story. “My beau wasn’t a prince. He was a lowborn knight.”
“Ah.”
“I fear he died during his travels and lies unburied somewhere.”
I don’t know what to say to her. It’s painful to see her so sad. “Someday, you’ll find a new beau.”
