The implication hung in the air between us. Magic. Witchcraft. The very things her husband’s family had dedicated generations to eradicating.
“In Thorndale,” I said carefully, “we called it common sense. The forest provided what we needed if we knew where to look.”
“Thorndale?” The king set down his spoon, his attention suddenly focused on me with laser intensity. “Did you say Thorndale?”
My stomach dropped. I hadn’t meant to name my village so specifically. “Yes, Your Majesty. A small place at the kingdom’s edge.”
“I know it well,” the king said, his expression brightening. “One of my oldest friends hails from there. A remarkable huntsman, the best in all the land. Perhaps you know of him. Gaspard Coventry?”
The name hit me like a physical blow. My fingers tightened around my spoon until my knuckles went white, memories flooding back that I’d tried so hard to suppress. Gaspard’s hands around my throat. His body forcing mine open. The cool press of a knife against my ribs when I fought back.
I caught sight of Brigida near the servants’ entrance, her face draining of color as she registered my distress. She knew. She was the only one in this castle who knew exactly what that name meant to me.
“Isabeau?” Alain’s voice came from what felt like a great distance. “Are you unwell?”
I forced my features to smooth, my practice hiding pain surging to my rescue. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” I said, voice remarkably steady considering the storm raging within. “Yes, everyone in Thorndale knows Lord Coventry. He’s quite... famous in our region.”
The king laughed, oblivious to the undercurrents. “Famous! Ha! Did you hear that, Alain? Perhaps you should tell your forest maiden that so she can stop you from this foolishness of trying to best Gaspard in the tournament.”
“Tournament?” I echoed, latching onto the change of subject with desperate relief.
“In two days’ time,” Alain explained, his eyes still studying my face with concern. “A test of martial skills held every three years. My father believes I’m wasting my time competing against Lord Coventry in the archery and combat events.”
“Because you are,” the king said good-naturedly. “No man has bested Gaspard in fifteen years. His aim is legendary, his swordsmanship unmatched.”
I knew exactly how unmatched Gaspard’s skills were. Had felt the precision of his cruelty firsthand. The knowledge that he would be here, in this castle, in two days’ time made my blood run cold.
“And what do you think, Lady Isabeau?” Theron asked, the formality of the address at odds with the mocking curve of his smile. “Should my little brother abandon his quest to prove himself the superior man?”
The question was layered with meanings I chose to ignore. Instead, I set down my spoon and considered my words carefully.
“I think,” I said slowly, “that a prince who tests himself against the best demonstrates his commitment to protecting those he will one day lead. His future people would be fortunate to know their ruler strived for excellence even when victory wasn’t guaranteed.”
Alain’s eyes widened slightly, something warm and surprised blooming in their blue depths. The queen nodded approvingly, while the king made a thoughtful noise around a mouthful of bread.
“Well spoken,” the king conceded. “Though I still think he’s being stubborn for no purpose.”
The conversation shifted to tournament details, giving me precious moments to collect myself. I picked at the food placed before me, my appetite vanished at the mention of Gaspard’s name.
All I could think about was escape. I needed to be far from here before he arrived, before he recognized me and revealed truths that would see me burned as both witch and liar.
Across the table, Theron continued to watch me with predatory interest, his gaze occasionally dropping to the claiming mark hidden beneath my dress. Had he seen something? Did he suspect?
“The bite marks on your shoulder,” he said suddenly, cutting through his father’s description of the joust. “They look like no animal I’ve ever encountered. Almost... deliberate in their pattern.”
The table fell silent. My hand flew instinctively to my shoulder, horror dawning as I realized the gown’s neckline must have slipped at some point, revealing what lay beneath.
“Theron,” Alain said, his voice carrying a warning edge I hadn’t heard before. “This is hardly appropriate dinner conversation.”
“On the contrary,” his brother replied, leaning forward with the eagerness of a man who’d spotted weakness. “I’m simply concerned for our guest’s well-being. Such marks suggest she encountered something quite unusual in the Forbidden Forest. Something our father might find... concerning.”
My mouth went dry. He knew. Somehow, he knew what those marks meant, or at least suspected their significance. Before I could formulate a response that wouldn’t condemn me, the queen intervened.
“The lady was attacked, obviously,” she said firmly. “And has recovered admirably from her ordeal. There’s no need to make her relive it at our table.”
I shot her a grateful look, surprised to find an ally in the most unexpected quarter. She returned it with the barest nod, something in her expression suggesting she had secrets of her own to protect.
The dinner continued with safer topics like the harvest yields, court gossip, diplomatic relations with neighboring kingdoms. I answered questions when asked directly but otherwise retreated into silence, hyper-aware of every passing minute bringing Gaspard’s arrival closer.
