“He hunts, Your Majesty. There is something prowling in Brimmond Wood. We have had two dead men, each drained of blood.” When she says nothing more, I add, “I believe he sent a letter, but he will come to the city and make a vow when he returns.”
“See to it.” The queen gestures for more, waving her hand in the air in a circular way as if she is spooling an invisible twist of thread. “Tell me.”
“To date, we are unsure of the nature of the creature.”
“Hypothesis?”
“None.” I consider the notes and theories I have. Then I tell her about my own attack near Maudite Castle, finishing with, “The new duke assisted me to the village.”
The queen peers at me. “Are you suggesting that mynieceis involved?”
“No.” I shake my head. Even though my father has his doubts, I trust Isabeau. How could I not? If I allowed her to kiss and caress me—which I gladly did for months when we were girls—I cannot believe she is the sort of person who could attack me so brutally. “I am saying where it was. Perhaps you can encourage the new duke to be cautious, as two of the attacks were near her castle.”
Queen Morag gives me a bemused look that speaks as clearly as her quiet huff of a sigh. “You may have better luck. She’s always been fond of you.”
I ignore that comment entirely and say, “We know there is a faery in our world, and I am beginning to suspect it is one we have not yet encountered. One that ought not be here at all. Nothing in the journal drains victims of blood and beheads them. I considered that it could be a man killing people, but—”
“Amortal man?”
“One must consider all possibilities,” I say, perhaps too primly. “If there is no faery that could kill this way, that leaves men.”
“And have you rejected this idea?”
“Both heads were nearly severed with a singular, uninterrupted blow. The strength needed for such a feat is beyond a man’s. That leaves a faery.”
“That is troubling.” The queen presses her lips together for a moment after that massive understatement before saying, “I may need to speak to Glory.”
Glory? The queen refers to the regent of the terrors that plague our world by a familiar name?
“You will keep me apprised.” The queen pauses at louder voices in the hallway before motioning for me to hide within the enclosed area where she will accept vows today.
I scurry away as the door swings open again. The curtains are still swaying as the duke herself steps into the room. From within the shelter of the curtained area, I can see the shape of Isabeau before I hear her voice. Foolish as I feel, hiding behind the curtains like a child, I am not yet ready to tell Isabeau that I am the next Hunter.
“Auntie Mor!” Isabeau holds her arms open as if to embrace the queen even as she is barely in the door. I stifle a smile at her audacity.
“You wretched child.” The queen moves across the floor in a speed quicker than expected for an older woman in heavy robes. “I was notexpecting you to actually arrive on time! I had an entire admonishment letter planned.”
“I thought you summoned me.”
“I didn’t expectyouto obey,” the queen teases. Privately, I feel embarrassed seeing their tenderness, but I have no way to escape without walking past them—and a mask is small comfort in hiding my identity.
“And yet, I am here.” Isabeau leans in and kisses the air near a powdered cheek as she reaches the queen’s side. “Is Cousin Alaric here?”
“Yes, but the prince is undoubtedly doing things he’d rather I don’t know,” the queen says lightly.
Isabeau chortles.
“The prince needs a wife and a child or three.” The queen gives Isabeau a tender smile. “We’d adoreyourchildren, too, should you have any. I can’t make up for my brother’s absence, but—”
“I would like to make my vow early,” Isabeau blurts out, interrupting the queen as so few people would dream to do. “I know it is still early, but I must be gone by sunfall.”
The queen pauses. “Of course.”
“Perhaps, I ought to offer it thrice.” Isabeau drops in a deep bow mere feet from the queen. “Accept my heart, my land, and my vow, Queen Morag. I am humbly your servant. No other queen before you.”
“So accepted.” The queen then suggests, “Could you curtsy as you offer it? I’ve not had a noble curtsy in trousers.”
Isabeau scowls, yet she dips in an elegant curtsy. “Accept my heart, my land, and my vow, Queen Morag. I am humbly your servant. No other queen before you.”
