Chapter 32
“The Mourioche is a malicious demon of bestial nature, able, it would seem, to transform himself into any animal shape he chooses. In general appearance he is like a year-old foal.”
—Legends and Romances of Brittanyby Lewis Spence [1917]
I wake, clutched to her chest like I am her quilt. I slip out of her arms. I must steel my resolve, steel my heart, and then I can do the horrible task before me.
“I need to consult with Queen Morag immediately.” I meet Isabeau’s gaze. “You will be secured in the library at the palace.”
How do I slay the woman I love? How can I not?
We are silent as we walk to the palace. I think idly that I love that my desire to walk is not off-putting to Isabeau. I do not go in the side entrance today. Instead, we walk through the front gate, where we are both greeted by name. No one calls me “Hunter,” not in front of Isabeau. To anyone other than the guards, we look like nothing more than two nobles visiting the queen. No one sees that Isabeau is a monster or that I am a monster hunter.
I cannot speak around the pain in my heart. We pause at the door of the room where she pretended not to know me.Is she pretending now?worry asks.Does she remember hurting me? Draining men? Killing my father?I gesture at the door. “I will lock you in the room.”
“It unlocks from inside,” Isabeau says in confusion.
“Not if I use Hunter magic.”
Isabeau leans forward, resting her forehead against mine. “I am sorry that I am cursed, love. I forgive you for your duty.”
I startle slightly before admitting, “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can kill you.”
“Once the dark falls, I am not myself. It may be easier if I do it now,” she suggests. She drops a kiss on my head. My heart is speared by how wrong she is.
“Nothingabout this is easy. You may not harm yourself,” I demand. “Promise me, Isabeau. Let me find out if there is a solution.”
“Fine, ifyouvow not to let me hurt you.”
I agree and seal her into the library. There’re only two ways out—the door and the passages, which only the queen can access. My beloved killer locked away, I head toward the queen. My mind is a whir of questions.
Why were there no murders until the duke died?
I pause. That’s not accurate. I saw the duke after the first body, so it was not his death that set her curse to motion.
Was she always cursed?
Again, that is not accurate. She caroused and gambled at night. She entered races, her identity barely hidden. She was not furred or feral.
“The curse. The curse has changed somehow?” I roll the ideas in my mind, confident I am still missing some critical detail, as I walk to see the queen.
Inside the throne room, I barely notice the guards on either side of the door; they dip their heads in greeting. A crowd of maybe a dozen nobles, attendants, and servants stand and murmur in small conversation groups. More than a few send curious glances at me.
Queen Morag’s eyes look shadowed, as though she, too, has barely slept. She no more than glances at me when she lifts her voice to say, “Clear the room.”
A guard gestures for me to walk toward the door, and I scoff. “She doesn’t mean formeto leave.”
The guard looks at the queen, awaiting instruction.
“Lady Gabrielle stays.” The queen doesn’t rise from her throne. Her hand tightens on the arm of the opulent chair, but that is her only motion so far.
Whispers grow louder. Once I hear Isabeau’s name, and my hand is ready to draw a weapon until I realize that this is merely court gossip about the cursed duke—and her presumed latest lover. The gossip is wrong.Iam her latest lover, her last lover, in fact.
The door closes, leaving only the pair of guards, Queen Morag, and me in the room.
“The guards need to be on the other side of the door,” I order.
The queen nods and motions for the royal guards to exit.
