In spite of myself, half-naked there on the dungeon floor, I began to cry. All of this, every gaze and every touch, felt like such a terrible violation. I didn’t know how much more of it I could bear. When the door swung open minutes later, I met the sound of the creaking hinges with a stifled sob.
This time, however, it wasn’t yet another set of lusty guards as I had expected, perhaps four this time, or five.
Instead, I saw the weaselly minstrel that my father had said was his go-between. Bardo. And beside him stood a woman I had never seen before, but who I recognized at once, both by her manner and her crown.
She was tall and shockingly thin. Though she had once surely been beautiful, her looks had faded now, leaving her with a bitter coldness. Her graying hair jewel pinned together elaborate braids, and she wore fresh buds of the Rose of Beatrice gathered into her locks. It was Queen Beatrice herself, I was sure of it, it could be nobody else.
Just as I had in the tavern with the barmaid, I sought some sort of kinship and help from her, since she too was a woman in this world of rough and unkind men. But in her eyes, I found neither comfort nor warmth. “Are you sure it is her?” She asked Bardo.
“That’s the stolen princess, my Queen.”
“Guard,” she snapped. “Come here.”
From behind the door came the guard who had slit his companion’s throat. “Yes, my queen?”
“Who saw you with her?”
“I don’t think anyone saw—”
“I didn’t ask what you think, I asked who saw you. Can you be certain only those loyal to me know she’s here?”
He hesitated, then lowered his eyes. “No, my queen.”
She huffed, as if this was all too much trouble. “If she’s seen, that will be the end for us all, do you understand that? You should have killed her on sight, and tossed her body into the moat, you incompetent little inbred.”
His hand went immediately to his sword. “I’ll do it right away—”
“You’ll do no such thing! Others may be searching for her already. The last thing we need is to be caught here with the body. Bring her to my private quarters, make sure you aren’t noticed and cover up that birthmark. We’ll deal with her there.” She turned to leave. “And for God’s sake clean up this mess outside the door.”
“Y—yes, my queen.” In a single stride, he was standing in front of me, roughly grabbing my wrists before he gagged me with a knotted rope. And as the black hangman’s hood went over my head, I was plunged into darkness.
Bors
I sat at a tavern in the shadow of the castle, thinking about what the hell had happened. I was stunned at the way they’d seized her from me. The brutality of it, the lack of regard for her well-being. I’d expected more courtesy and gentleness toward her, their future queen, as well as an audience with the king to ensure her safety now and in the future. But we’d received no such treatment.
I’d imagined at the very least they’d want to know where I found her and what I knew, but then again…maybe not. She was and had always been the prize. No matter if she was a stranger at market day or the lost royal herself, I was nothing beside her. That much, at least, I could never dispute.
Seated at the bar, I asked the barkeep for another pint of bitter ale. Once he put the mug down before me, I lowered my head and got back to my brooding. I considered the money they’d thrown me in return for Sara. Though I hadn’t bothered to count it, I knew from its weight that it was a serious amount of coin. And yet, even the way they’d done that didn’t feel right—like they were paying me for my silence rather than giving me a reward.
The money didn’t take the sting out of the hurt I felt. If anything, knowing that the money would have helped to build up the nicest livery in the land made losing her even more painful. If I couldn’t share it with her, if I couldn’t build my life with her, then what was the purpose of any of it? It was of no fucking use at all. A stable full of horses and a life of riches meant jack shit if Sara wasn’t there to share it with me.
I took a long draw of my ale and wiped my mouth on my forearm. To my right sat a table full of mercenaries. No doubt they’d call themselves “professional soldiers” but I knew the truth.
They were hard-worn men, all of them. I had seen their type again and again. They’d seen so many horrors in battle that silence without drink was unbearable. They’d grown up fighting and knew no other trade, like a draft horse that only knows how to pull weight. I wondered if I was headed for the same fate now that all those dreams of a quiet life with Sara were gone.