The princess thought she was alone; she thought that no one saw this, but I did. I’d caught up to her but stayed hidden. I hunted many things for the queen, not all of them wolves.
I saw the princess lean her head into her horse’s lathered neck. I saw a deep weariness settle on her shoulders like a shroud. I saw her press a hand to her chest, as if to soothe a fierce ache under her ribs.
How it cost her, this charade. How it would cost us all.
Hoofbeats sounded in the distance. Shouts echoed. By the time the queen drew up, with Haakon and a few other riders, the princess’s back was straight again, her weariness buried.
“I’m afraid our sport is over, Stepmother,” she said with feigned regret, nodding at the ravine. “The wolf chose a quicker death.”
The queen rode to the edge and looked over it, frowning. “What a pity,” she said, “that we are robbed of our kill.”
Her eyes traveled to the hounds, then to the blackbriar. Her gaze sharpened. The princess did not see what had caught the queen’s attention, for she was climbing back into her saddle, but I did. Snagged in the thorns was a tuft of fur. Gray fur. Wolf’s fur.
The queen’s frown hardened. “Blow for home, huntsman!” she commanded.
I sounded my trumpet, and the hounds set off, noses skimming the ground. The small, frightened one, her tail still between her legs, skittered along at the edge of the pack. The riders followed, chatting and laughing.
As the hoofbeats faded from the clearing, there was a dry, rustling sound, like the whispering of silk skirts. I looked up and saw a crow, blueblack and shrewd, drop down from the high branch where he’d perched.
He let out a shrill caw, then flew off into the Darkwood. I hear his call still, echoing down the centuries.
It sounded like a warning.
It sounded like a death knell.
It sounded, most of all, like laughter.
TWO
There was blood on the reins.
Sophie saw it as she handed them to a groom.
She turned her palms up. Four thin crimson crescents lay across each one, gouged by her own fingernails. Terror had flooded through her as she’d galloped through the woods. The horse she’d ridden was so fast, so high-strung, it had taken all her strength to control her. With every hoofbeat, Sophie had been certain she would fall and break her neck. She’d been frightened as she’d faced the wolf, too. The creature was huge; it could’ve torn her to shreds.
But her horse, the wolf—neither was the reason for the cuts in her palms, and she knew it. Her legs were still trembling even though the hunt was long over.
“Stupid, stupid, girl,” she hissed at herself.
What if the queen had seen her let the wolf go? What if someone else had? Her stepmother had eyes and ears everywhere.
Quickly, she pulled her gloves from her jacket pocket and slipped them on. The bold, fearless girl who could outride the princes, the huntsman, even the queen herself; the heartless girl who was keen to chase down an animal just to watch a pack of hounds kill it, that girl was a lie. The cuts were the truth, written in blood, and no one must ever read it. Rulers were ruthless. They did not show weakness or fear. They did not cry. They made others cry. Hadn’t her stepmother told her that a thousand times?
Sophie was standing in a large cobbled courtyard shared by the stables and kennels. She glanced around it now for the queen and her retinue, but they had not returned yet. Good, she thought. The hunt itself, the small talk made during the ride back, the constant pressure to be captivating and witty—it had all exhausted her. She wanted nothing more than to slip away to her chambers, get out of her sweaty clothing, and sink into a hot bath.
Servants had set out a long, linen-draped table in the courtyard. It was laden with meat pies, roasted game birds, smoked hams, cheeses, nuts, and fruit. Sophie made her way past it, head down, hoping to go unnoticed.
“Hail, bold Artemis, goddess of the hunt!” a voice bellowed from across the yard.
Sophie’s heart sank. So much for my escape, she thought.
She looked up and saw Haakon making his way toward her. Handsome Haakon, golden-haired and bronzed, his face as perfect as a marble god’s. Rodrigo was right behind him, his full lips curved into a seductive smile, his dark eyes full of promises. Sophie smiled brightly at them; she had no choice. One of these men might well become her husband.
The morning’s hunt was the first in a series of events over the next few days to celebrate her birthday. There would be a ball tonight as well, here in Konigsburg, at the palace. It would be a glittering affair with members of her stepmother’s court and rulers from all the foreign realms in attendance. She would turn seventeen tomorrow and inherit her father’s crown. Once she was queen, Sophie could marry, and her stepmother was determined to make Sophie an advantageous match with a powerful, titled man.
“The young prince of Skandinay, perhaps,” the queen had said when she’d first raised the topic. “The emperor’s nephew. Or the sultan’s son.” “But, Stepmother, I don’t even know these men. What if I don’t fall in love with any of them?” Sophie had asked.
“Love?” the queen had said, contempt dripping from her voice. “Love is nothing but a fable, and a dangerous one at that. Your suitors should recite the size of their armies to you and the strength of their fortresses, not silly poems about flowers and doves.”
There was a reason why her stepmother wanted a powerful husband for her, a shameful reason, and Sophie knew it—the queen thought her weak. The entire court did.
Sophie had grown up hearing the whispers, mocking her for being a shy, softhearted child. They’d begun as soon as the queen had married Sophie’s father and had only grown louder over the years. The poisonous words had lodged in her heart like blackbriar thorns. They echoed there still … The princess will never make a good queen … She’s not smart enough … not tough enough …
Haakon swaggered over to Sophie now. He was the eldest son of the king of Skandinay, and her stepmother’s first choice for her. He lifted the tankard of ale he was holding to her. “Fair Artemis has won my heart, but, oh, cruel, selfish deity! She will not give me hers!”
Rodrigo snorted. “Can you blame her?”
“I pine. I languish. I starve for love,” Haakon said, pressing a hand to his heart. Then he leaned over the breakfast table and tore a leg off a chicken. “I endure unending torment. Give me your heart, cold goddess, and end my torment!”
“That is impossible, sir,” Sophie said, her eyes teasing, her voice so breezy and bemused that no one would have guessed how desperately she longed for the quiet of her chambers.
“Why the devil not?” Haakon asked, gnawing the chicken leg. “Good-looking lad like me … Why, I’m probably a god myself. I must be.” He frowned, then nodded. “In fact, I’m sure of it. I’m the god … mmm, Apollo! Yes, that’s the fellow!” He pointed at Sophie with the chicken leg. “What a pair we would make, the two of us.”
“If you recall your classics, and I’m certain that you do—” Sophie began.
“Scholar that you are,” Rodrigo cut in.
“—then you know that Artemis swore she would never marry. And were she to break that vow, I doubt it would be for Apollo. Since he is her brother.”