Back outside amongst the leafless trees and under the bleak sky, a footman hurried me forward, toward the gate.
“Sir,” I called ahead to him. I pulled out the little scroll of parchment Hemma had given me, with the royal seal. I held it up when he looked back. “The queen gave me this—to deliver to Sir Otto Abensur.”
“I am to escort you to the back gate,” he protested.
I waved the scroll, showing the seal. “And the queen said to deliver this first.”
He eyed me. Eyed the emblem stamped into the wax.
“Go on,” I said.
We changed course.
Otto sat behind a desk, fingers tented over a series of maps and scrolls. He looked up to see me and the footman and then frowned, confused, before standing.
“I have just gone to see the queen, and she gave me a message for you.” I held up the scroll.
Otto glanced at the footman and then back at me. “You talked to the queen?”
“Yes.” I nodded and eyed the footman at my side. “This is to be opened in private, she said.”
“Wait outside,” Otto told the footman, who nodded and stepped out, shutting the door behind him.
I lowered the parchment, putting it back into my pocket. “It is not from her. I—I wanted to come to…” I looked around the room. It was not fitting for a bloodhound, but rather filled with books and framed maps. Bookshelves rose to meet the ceiling. I wasn’t sure why I had come—I was torn between thanking him for his attempts at protection and accusing him of complicity, of failing to protect us.
Before I spoke, he took one step toward me. “Did you actually talk to the queen?”
“I know about the pregnancy.”
His jaw ticked. “Aye.”
“And I know Simeon is the father.”
Otto shook his head, slowly at first, and then as if ridding himself of the thought. His face darkened, and then, in one even movement, he violently swept all the items on the desk—ink and quill and the maps and scrolls, rolled and unrolled, a short pile of books—to the floor. An inkpot, unopened, rolled across the room. He straightened, running a hand through his hair.
“You did not know?” My voice was quiet.
He shook his head. “You told the queen? What you know?”
I nodded.
“That was a mistake.” He didn’t wait for an answer and strode over to the door, yanking it open. I thought he was going to see me out, but instead, he called for the footman, and instructed him to find the whereabouts of the prince, as quickly as he could. “Run,” he finished.
That Otto had believed me, did not question me, was a testament either to his trust in my word or his own impression of Simeon. Perhaps both. When the footman had departed, he turned back to me. “You need to get home.”
“You did not know?” I asked, again, needing confirmation.
“Not of…” He didn’t finish the sentence, his face tightening at the thought. “I knew of the child,” he admitted.
I shook my head. “I cannot… I do not know what to do.” I trusted him. The necklace, perhaps. Thenot suitable, maybe. All my expectations, my understanding of who people were, had been turned over.
“Etheldreda.” He put an arm on each of mine, held me firmly, urgently. “Simeon is… there is a foulness. And Sigrid will have warned him. You need to get back to your house, as quickly as you can. Immediately.”
“Oh” was all I managed to say. For Otto was pushing me out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I made my way back to the stables on foot, pushing through crowded streets, sidestepping peddlers hawking baskets of eggs and pouches of tobacco. I avoided the heavy feet of men’s horses and livestock. Arno was not saddled, and was in no hurry to be, resisting the bit and snorting at me. Once on the road, we moved slowly, the poor horse already exhausted from the morning ride.
