Page 26 of The Dead Queen

Your devoted groom,

Hunter

The maid is breathless, her eyes shining.

“Thank you,” I say, dismissing her.

She turns to run out the door before remembering that she still has my note clutched close to her heart. Flustered, she returns in a flurry, hands it to me, then curtsies. As she finally exits, I hear the rustle of her skirts and the faint whisper of excited murmurs. No doubt servants are already spreading the tale of the romantic knight and his blushing bride-to-be.

Left alone, I sink deeper into the chair, the letter limp in my hand. If people didn’t believe Hunter and I were some fairy-tale romance after last night’s display, they will now. The thought should be comforting, our ruse works perfectly. Instead, I feel a weight settling in my chest, thick as the scent of a thousand roses.

By the time I’m dressed and ready to leave my chambers, it’s almost evening. My stomach grumbles, but my hunger is laced with a pang of guilt. I have the luxury of accessing the kitchens whenever I please. The Wolf in the dungeon kennel isn’t so lucky.

When I enter the kitchen, the clang of metal pans and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables greet me. Steam rises from enormous pots, carrying the rich aroma of simmering broths and stews. I narrowly avoid colliding with a cook’s helper hoisting a giant pot of broth, its contents sloshing dangerously close to the rim. He grumbles at me before recognition dawns on his face.

“My apologies.” I swipe a still-hot roll from a cooling griddle.

He attempts to bow with his enormous, boiling pot in hand.

“No, please,” I say. “There’s no need.”

As the smell of roasting vegetables and sizzling meat wafts toward me, my thoughts return to the kennels. My stomach sours at the memory of the stinking foxhounds and the decades of excrement and gore that coat the floors. Even if I healed the Wolf this morning, no man could survive long down there in that filth. Especially not if my father sends his questioners in to torture him.

Will my father even think to feed the Wolf in the kennels? Not likely. With renewed purpose, I grab several more rolls, their crusts crackling as I stuff them into my skirt pockets.

A kitchen maid notices me and raises an eyebrow.

“A picnic.” I turn to leave.

Her face transforms, skepticism giving way to excitement. “Wait, Your Highness!”

I pause in the doorway.

The maid grabs a basket and scurries around the kitchen, ducking under pans held high and weaving around cooks with bowls filled with chopped vegetables. She returns with a basket overflowing with hard cheeses in waxy rinds, savory preserved meats, and colorful ripe fruits. Nestled among the food are two delicate porcelain plates, crystal glasses, and a bottle of wine from the royal cellars.

“For the prince-to-be,” she says with a curtsey. “And you, of course, Your Highness.”

I may still be an afterthought, but the gesture is so kind I’m at a loss for words. I glance around the kitchen and notice several eyes watching me in anticipation. “T-thank you.”

Hunter’s charms seem to have power over everyone in this palace. As his bride, it appears I get to feel the afterglow. I’m no longer the irritant underfoot. With Hunter, I’m invited, welcomed, even celebrated.

For a second, I daydream about marrying Hunter. It could be a good life, being adored by my people, with a loving man at my side. But then I remember that the food is a deceit. It’s not for my betrothed or a secret, romantic picnic. It’s for the Wolf among sheep. The enemy in the dungeons.

After I leave, I deposit the basket of food in my chambers, hiding it behind a large rose bouquet. It will have to stay here until I can figure out how to get it to the Wolf. But just as I leave the room, closing the door behind me, I hear the clang of armor approaching down the corridor.

My hand freezes on the ornate door handle. I step aside to allow them to pass, but they don’t. The footsteps halt abruptly. Four King’s Guards stand before me, their polished armor gleaming. My heart sinks.

“Your Highness, we need you to come with us.” The knight’s voice is gruff, leaving no room for argument.

I can feel the blood drain from my face. Does my father know I healed the Wolf? Did someone recognize me in the kennels this morning?

At the back of the group, a familiar tall, blond figure catches my eye.

Hunter stares meaningfully, as if he expects me to protest. He shakes his head so slightly I wonder if I imagined it. His eyes are wide, meaningful.

Swallowing hard, I curtsey to the knight that spoke to me. “Of course.”

To my surprise, they don’t lead me to the king’s chambers. Instead, we head outside. The warm afternoon sun feels at odds with the chill of dread running through me. It takes several moments for me to realize where we’re headed.