Before we could proceed any further, we came to a halt as half a dozen men fought their way out of the press and approached us. All of them were dressed in green and wearing masks. I was unsurprised to see they each bore the stamp of an Ecossic lineage and were in fact identical in appearance to my traveling companions. The duchess’s brothers had come to rejoin the rest of their peculiar fraternity.
The two groups greeted each other with boisterous cries and joyous hugs, and I immediately lost track of who was who.
“We were expecting you last night,” one said, talking loudly to be heard over the noise. He paused, taking in our torn clothing and assorted bloodstains. “What happened?”
“Nothing that couldn’t be overcome by a nip of frostbite,” another replied. Max? Yes, he had the hat. “What about here?” he asked. “Anything attack while we were gone?”
“No, but there’s something you should—”
One huntsman had been looking me up and down the entire time, frowning. “Who’s this?” he spat. “Is this the princess?”
A toad leapt out of his mouth and smacked into my face.
I batted at the creature as it busily crawled up my hair. It was large and surprisingly heavy. “Excuse me. Did you justspit a toadat me?”
“Serves you right,” he said. “I hope it gives you warts.” As if to emphasize the point, he spat again, ejecting a tiny, colorful frog onto my shoe. It hopped away into the crowd. I dearly hoped it wasn’t one of the poisonous ones.
“Jude, we’ve talked about this,” another hunter said with the weary air of frequent repetition. “Don’t spit amphibians at people. It isn’t polite.”
“I’m doing it for Jack!” the frog spitter protested.
“Look at her,” said the other one. “Would any princess be so bedraggled? Her dress is all over muck.”
The toad croaked loudly in my ear.
My interest in the rest of their argument was nonexistent. Nor did I care what imagined grudge Jude held against a princess he had never met. For whatever reason, while wounds, exhaustion, and a desperate need for a bath hadn’t pushed me over the edge, a toad in my hair was the final straw.
I wrenched the toad off my head, painfully ripping out the tangle of hair it clung to, tossed it aside, and stalked off toward the Great Hall, forcing a path through the multitudes in the way. Some of the huntsmen shouted after me and ran in pursuit, but the crowd closed in my wake, slowing them down. One almost managed to reach me before he was cut off. The villagers’ boots crushed the flowers that sprung up under his feet where he walked.
I ignored that and ignored the shouts, which soon faded into the rest of the noise.
Enough was enough. The huntsmen’s secrets and dislikes and strange powers were of little consequence now that they had brought me to the king. I had no need to wait in the “women’s wing,” whatever that was, until the king deigned to call for Clover the handmaiden. It was time to drop the disguise and present myself as I was.
I didn’t know what my husband-to-be was going to make of me in my current state, and I didn’t much care. I wasn’t the one who’d asked for this wedding. If he was shocked to find his bride straggling in encrusted with blood and dirt, he could damn well learn to live with it. It probably wouldn’t be the last time it happened, given my luck and my history, so I figured I might as well start as I meant to goon.
I threw open the double doors to find a large room, its high wooden ceiling held up by broad smoke-blackened beams. Dust motes danced in the dying sunlight that slanted through adozen west-facing lancet windows. Before me were the backsides of a pack of nobles in richly dyed clothes, scarlet and gold and vermilion and indigo, like a flock of bright birds. I caught glimpses of their faces as they turned to talk with one another, and I noted that none appeared to be wearing masks. The “latest fashion at the court” had decidedly failed to catchon.
A clear avenue led across to the other side of the room, where the top of an ornate throne peeked up above the elaborate feathered hats. Heads swiveled in my direction as I strode boldly ahead.
And then something rolled under my shoe, and my foot slipped out from under me. I landed on my arm with a sickening crack.
I yelped in surprise at the sharp stab of pain, which quickly dulled to a low, aching throb. Around me, the murmurs of the crowd ceased.
In the silence, a deep, sonorous voice spoke. “That,” it said, “clearly proves my hypothesis. We have here before us, in this very hall”—the voice paused for dramatic effect—“a woman!”
Chapter Eleven
The Lion’s Test
“Thank you for stating the obvious, Lion,” a different voice snapped. “I could have told you that. Do you have any idea why she’s here?”
From my vantage point on the floor, I saw a circle of faces hovering over me, white teeth splitting mustaches and beards into amused grins.
“She should not be here at all,” said the first, sonorous speaker. “This is a grave breach of protocol. In the third chapter of my book, you will find—”
“We know the rules. Someone send for Angelique, she’ll sort this out. And give that woman some air. I think she’s hurt.”
Murmurs of assent arose from the assembled gentry. The assorted beards above me pulled back, leaving me staring at the high ceiling. I regarded it for a few moments, then rolled my head to the side. A pair of slippered feet approached, scattering tiny round green balls across the flagstones.
