Now early spring has come, chasing away the ice. Water drips from evergreen boughs, dropping onto the crunchy snow below, creating a series of holes around the base of the trees.
In patches of sun, the ice has fully melted, revealing last year’s grass. It’s soggy and tan, pushed down on itself, but before long, new blades will rise, and flowers will spread across the meadow, creating a quilt of white and pink.
Greta loved the first bloom.
No, she loves them. She’s not dead.
“Stay here,” I instruct Eva, though I have no right. She’s not mine to order about, and I’m grateful she remained with me at all. I expect she’ll leave soon, perhaps return to her brother’s castle.
The duchess stands outside our shelter—a place that looks like nothing but a grove of trees from the outside—and turns her head, scanning the forest. “Do you think the trolls have returned? Isn’t it too early?”
“Not necessarily.”
She meets my eyes. “Perhaps Marcus has given up the search?”
I study her in the sunshine—truly look at her—in a way I wasn’t able when I was stuck on my back like an overturned turtle. I’m taller than she, her eyes level with my sternum. The sun plays across her hair, making it gleam. The warm, golden light brightens her face, brings out the pink of her cheeks, heightens the contrast between her dark, dark eyelashes and fair skin. And when she looks at me, as she is now, with her eyebrows slightly raised, hope written across her face as pure as a love ballad, I realize something.
Eva’s the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in my life.
My stomach writhes as though I’m betraying the sweet girl I’ve loved since I was young. But I’m not, not really. It’s just a fact, something indisputable.
Greta is beautiful—real, everything.
But Eva is terrifying.
“No,” I say, adjusting my knife in its sheath. “I very much doubt he’s given up.”
The duchess’s face falls, and her shoulders droop.
“I’ll be back,” I promise, reaching for her shoulder…and then pulling my hand back, resisting the urge to touch her.
What is wrong with me?
“Be careful,” she murmurs, as if I’m the one in danger in these woods. I’ll only find myself in trouble if I stumble into my mother.
I wait until she closes the door behind her. Magic shimmers through the thin ring of trees, hiding her completely. Satisfied she’ll be safe while I’m away, I turn toward the castle, raising my hood, hoping to blend in with the crowds.
It’s easier this time of year, when everyone is decked in wool and fur.
I pass over the drawbridge unquestioned and slip into the castle while the steward at the entrance gives directions to a visitor looking for the glass blower who lives in Levinfeld. Guards line the walls, keeping an eye on the chaos as servants prepare for the king’s hunting trip. The confusion works in my favor.
I keep my pace even, not swift, not slow, and very few look my way. Those who do notice my presence offer me a nod and nothing more. I listen as I walk, picking up snippets of conversations around me.
“It’s early for hunting, isn’t it?”
“I heard she turned her maid into a toad.”
“I heard she turned a stable boy into a goat.”
“If she promised to keep me, I’d let her turn me into any creature she’d like.”
At that last remark, I turn sharply, my eyes settling on an idle pair near a stairway. It was a harmless statement, the young man who said it nothing but a boy.
Their eyes widen as they take me in, and then they hurry away, acting like they were moving that way to begin with.
And then I see her.
The sight hits me, knocks the wind out of my lungs. Greta walks ahead, into the great entry, her eyes distant. The queen’s ladies follow her at a distance, looking lost and unwanted.
And Greta…is beautiful. It’s absurd they call her a witch. Daughter of a fairy, perhaps. Sorceress, certainly. But not a witch. She is poised, ensnaring, elegant. So very royal.
How did I never picture her like this?
Unbidden, I imagine her in my home, in the castle of my family. Could they have accepted her, this once-peasant who carries herself like a queen?
No, they would never forgive her parentage.
As if sensing my eyes on her, she turns toward me. Quickly, I look down, letting the hood shadow my face. Enough people mill around that she shouldn’t notice me, shouldn’t single me out in the crowd.
I glance back and find her looking my way, a smile tugging at her lips. My heart leaps; my stomach ties itself into a thousand knots and then releases only to do it again.
Hot, cold.
Flushed, frozen.
And then I realize she’s not looking at me. That smile isn’t mine.
Slowly, trying not to draw attention to myself, I turn. And there, behind me, walking in from the doors I just entered, is the dark young king himself. People bow to him as he passes, and he waves them away, courteous but impatient.
Greta turns her attention to a tapestry before he spots her looking at him, before he sees that smile that was all for him.
It guts me, rips me apart. Eva said Greta was miserable, but the winter, with its icy and frost, has somehow managed to thaw her heart.
Conrad’s eyes find her immediately. It’s just as Eva reported—the man wears his heart on his sleeve. He watches her with reverence, with respect, with ardent desire.
A touch on my shoulder makes me whirl around. My ribs feel as if they shrink, squeezing my lungs, and my muscles scream for rest.
Eva stands behind me, her black hair hidden inside her cloak, standing a head taller than the women around her. The duchess doesn’t say anything—nothing at all, but she’s here, offering silent support.
“She looks well.” I rub the very center of my chest.
“She does,” Eva agrees softly.
“I’m not needed here, am I?”
The duchess steps forward, slipping her arm in mine, gently tugging me toward the large doors. “I’m afraid not.”
Before I go, before I walk away from Greta forever, leave her to the life that blindsided us so completely, I look over my shoulder, drinking her in.
Conrad’s with her now, speaking. She attempts to look aloof, but every time he looks away, her eyes find him, studying him, intrigued.
I’ve lost her.
Eva squeezes my arm and pulls me into the courtyard.
Chapter 25
I’m not sure what catches my attention. Maybe it’s their height, or the way the pair moves. I frown as the two cloaked figures walk toward the doors, toward the courtyard.
The man stands tall, but there’s something about him that looks wounded. His shoulders are slightly hunched; his face is turned toward the floor. Though it seems he’s escorting the woman, she very much appears to be holding him up.
I almost call out, race forward and demand they stop, but I am interrupted.
“Don’t you think, my queen?” one of my ladies asks, looking half terrified to address me.
“Whatever you think is best,” I murmur.
I have no idea what she said.
Conrad nudges my arm, aware that I’m somewhere else. Before I look back, I watch the pair disappear through the doors.
“Go fetch it then,” the lady says to my maid, a young girl who trails the ladies just as the ladies trail me. We make a veritable parade.
Reluctant, I turn my eyes from the doorway. “What is she fetching?”
My lady’s brows fly up. I don’t remember this one’s name. Calla? Kahla? I’m not sure. I have so many.
And they all fawn over Conrad.
“They were discussing your cloak,” Conrad says from my side, his tone a little too dry. I know if I looked, I’d find a smile in his eyes. “Just now you agreed that you require a heavier one because the day is overcast.”
“Of course.” I turn back toward the doors and begin to pul
l away. “If you’ll excuse me…”
Courtiers, maids, stewards, and all manner of servants look my way as I cross the entry, nearly running. I trip over the hem of my gown. Stumbling forward, I clasp the heavy brocade skirt in my hands, pulling it up, rushing for the doors. When I reach them, I press my hand to the jam and swing out, looking from left to right.
“Your Majesty?” the door steward says, his eyes wide before he bows his head. “May I assist you?”
The pair is gone.
My heart beats madly. I know when I turn, a hundred people will avert their eyes, look away, mind their own business. All while confirming to themselves that I am a witch of the forest, prone to fits of fancy.
“Greta?” Conrad says from behind me, his hand finding my shoulder.
I look around once more before I allow the king to draw me back inside.
“Are you well?” he asks.
I shake my head, the strangest feeling settling into my stomach. I glance out the doors one last time. “I have no idea.”
We’ve had a few warm afternoons, but today doesn’t look like it’s going to be one of them. I clutch my heavy cloak, wrapping it firmly around my shoulders, hoping to block out the chill of the cold breeze. It’s still early in the day, a few hours before noon, so there’s plenty of time for it to grow warmer, but the clouds that loom on the horizon don’t look promising.
Conrad’s chosen only four men to accompany us. I think he’s using the outing as a solace from the cloying attention of the courtiers in the castle. I’m certainly looking forward to it, even if it means riding in the too cold, early spring air.
I turn from the small group as they prepare the horses, hiding a yawn. I didn’t sleep last night, not until it was nearly dawn. My thoughts have worked themselves into a jumbled knot of confusion.
I know we only have a slight chance of finding the stag, but what if we do? This gift Conrad is giving me is monumental…and I don’t know how I feel about it.
Do I really want to waste a wish of a lifetime on a man who apparently didn’t want me? I don’t know what kept Rune away, and I never will. But the fact is, he stayed away all the same.
Turning back to the group, I scan the men who will accompany us. The nobles are young, thirty and under. There’s Phillip—a tall, broad man with fiery red hair. He smiles at me in the halls, never fails to bow his head when I pass by.
Benjamin and Edmund will be with us as well. They’re brothers, born of a family that holds land to the north of the kingdom, and each boasts a long, bushy beard that would make any dwarf green with envy. They keep to themselves, don’t say much. They’ve never shown me anything but respect.
And then there’s Clive.
I wish he weren’t with us. He’s the eldest of the group, with dark hair and suspicious eyes. I’ve seen the looks he sends my way. They’re not unfamiliar—I grew used to them in the village. Maybe if I really were a witch, I wouldn’t mind the whispers so much, but they become old when I’ve never dabbled in magic—have no desire to and wouldn’t know where to start even if I did.
Besides, I don’t even want to touch a frog, much less cut off its legs and toss them in a boiling cauldron.
“Are you warm enough, Your Majesty?” Ingrid says from my side, reminding me she’s standing next to me.
I look at the girl. She’s pleasant enough, soft-spoken, helpful to a fault. She’s another one of my ladies, and yet I’m afraid I have no attachment to her whatsoever. At least I remember her name, likely because she’s so very enamored with my husband. I never noticed before—or perhaps I should say I didn’t care—but lately, it’s begun to wear on my nerves.
“Are you looking forward to a trek through the woods?” I ask her.
A frown shadows her face before she schools the expression. “Of course.”
I cross my arms under my cloak, turning to her fully. “Lord Caspar’s son is in love with you, isn’t he? What’s his name?”
Her cheeks flush bright red, and she looks at her feet. “Harris. And he’s not…I mean, I wouldn’t say—”
“Aren’t they leaving soon? Going back to their estate?”
She nods, not meeting my eyes. I’ve seen the pair flirt, and Harris often corners her for conversation.
“Wouldn’t you rather stay, see if you can get a marriage proposal out of him before he leaves?”
And stop making eyes at my husband.
No matter how Ingrid feels about Conrad, it’s far better to be the wife of a noble lord than the king’s mistress. This isn’t Tribolet after all; we don’t put mistresses on a pedestal here—and thank goodness for it. Not that I think any of my ladies have actually thrown themselves at Conrad, but there’s no reason to give them the opportunity. Especially now that the king has decided to let me go.
Why? What purpose does it serve him?
Is there someone else? Someone he’d prefer to wear the crown?
Paranoid thoughts, ridiculous.
My ladies are from good, noble families, every one of them. They’re with me until they get married, and then most will leave and be replaced with new bright-eyed girls. They’re not here to steal Conrad’s attention. They’re here to find husbands of their own.
Ingrid’s gaze flies to mine, and her already milky skin goes pale. “Have I displeased you?” she whispers.
“No.” I look off, past the trees, in the direction of the meadow I grew up in. “But love is fleeting, Ingrid. You must capture it while you have the chance. Otherwise, it may slip through your fingers.” I look back at her. “If you care for him, you don’t want to lose him.”
She’s my elder by a year but so sheltered. I feel far older. She frowns, her face softening. She glances at Conrad, half wistful, and then looks back at me.
“Go on.” I jerk my chin toward the tall double doors that do their best to keep the chill from inside the castle. It’s a losing battle, but they give a valiant effort.
After a moment of indecision, she gives me a curtsy and heads toward the castle. The guards give me questioning glances. I wave at them, telling them to open the doors for her.
A moment later, Conrad joins me. “I see you’ve sent your companion away.”
I turn from the doors to face him. He’s exceptionally handsome today. Even though we won’t hunt this afternoon, his jacket is dark, supple leather, and he’s exchanged a doublet for a tan shirt that laces at the chest. Along with his sword, he wears a dagger strapped to his side. His scuffed, well-worn boots make him almost look like a huntsman instead of a king.
“May I request a new companion?”
He somehow frowns and smiles at the same time, that constant wry humor etched in his features as always. “I picked your girls from the finest families, and they still weren’t to your liking?”
“Is that a yes?”
He laughs, shaking his head. Then he meets my eyes. They lock on mine, holding me in place. Some of the humor drifts away. “Believe me when I tell you that if it’s in my power, I will give everything your heart wishes. I thought you knew that by now.”
I stare at him, my breath catching. My chest constricts, and the feeling is painful. I rail against this affection that tries to root in my heart, but I’m helpless to stop it.
“Good. Fine.” I pull my gaze away and stare at Frank instead. The horse looks as eager to leave the castle as I am to see the forest once more. “I wish to ride into the village before we leave for your hunting lodge.”
He’s silent, and I have no choice but to look back. “All right,” he finally says.
I stare at him for several seconds, looking away only when the sound of a carriage catches my attention. Once it stops, a footman leaps from his seat and opens the door.
I turn toward the stable and look back at Conrad, giving him a questioning glance. “I thought we were traveling on horseback?”
He glances at the sky. “The day is colder than I anticipated. I thought you might be more comfortable in the carriage. I’ve instructed the
men to bring your horse as well so you may ride if you grow bored.”
Without thinking, I grasp his hand when he turns toward his men. “Sit with me?” I ask, my heart racing. “In the carriage?”
His dark eyes are intent, too intent. It makes me lightheaded.
What am I doing?
“If you wish,” he answers.
“I do.”
“Very well.”
I expect him to drop my hand, but his fingers slowly twine through mine. Even with our gloves separating us, the gesture feels intimate. He nods the footman away as he escorts me to the step. I climb to my seat and then look back.
“I’ll return in a moment,” he promises as he leans inside, finally releasing my hand.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
The moment he’s out of sight, I close my eyes, willing my pulse to return to normal. Once I catch my breath, I yank the white fur blanket from the other bench and drape it over myself.
The men sound as though they’re close to leaving, and after several too-short minutes, Conrad appears at the door of the carriage once more. He looks at me, almost hesitant. “Greta?”
I bite the inside of my cheek and lift the side of the blanket, inviting him to join me. His eyes follow the movement. I wait, wondering if he’ll turn me down. He likes to ride; I know that. Why would he rather sit in the carriage with me? Especially when the whole point of this outing is to get rid of me.
But he steps inside, joining me on the bench. I smooth the blanket over us, realizing it’s not quite large enough with how far apart we’re sitting—but that’s likely because you could easily squeeze a lapdog between us.
“Conrad?” I ask, staring at the soft white fur. “I don’t bite.” Then I look up, meeting his eyes. “Not often.”
A smile flits over his face.
He remembers.
Slowly, he scoots closer, until our arms brush. “How’s that?”
“Fine.”
And then the carriage is rolling, and we’re leaving the castle. The windows are fitted with thin glass, allowing the drapes to be open without letting in a breeze. I watch the landscape, feeling a familiar warmth in my stomach when we draw near the village. Some of the trees have started to bud, and there are even patches of green grass.
Queen of Gold and Straw: A Rumpelstiltskin Retelling Page 14
