The Beholder

by Anna Bright

  “Shut up.” The guard rolled his eyes. “Selah, I wasn’t able to introduce you to Veery at the tournament this afternoon. Seneschal-elect, Lord Bedivere. Veery, this is Selah.” Bear jostled him, familiar and easy, sloshing his drink a little.

  “Oh, well done,” Veery scoffed, but he was smiling.

  “Oh! Veery. The friend with the—the scarecrows. From when you were little.” I glanced between the two boys, abruptly charmed, though it seemed unlikely that such a rangy, thorny creature had ever been a child.

  “You total prat.” Veery clapped a hand on Bear’s shoulder and gave a single, sharply delighted laugh. “Quick bit of advice, mate: don’t tell pretty girls that story.”

  I blushed and looked away, scanning the room. “Weren’t there four of you?”

  “Yes,” said Veery. “Kay and Tristan decided to skip our encounter with his most charming uncle.” He nodded after the Duke of Cornwall’s back.

  “They don’t get along?” If Tristan and Bear were friends, surely Tristan was nothing like his uncle.

  “Cornwall doesn’t get along with anybody,” Bear said, scowling. “He only approached you to make trouble in the first place.”

  Veery nodded. “That’s the duke, all right. And speaking of making trouble . . .” He cut his eyes at Tristan and Kay, who’d been joined by a few other boys and a very pretty dark-haired girl. “My services are required elsewhere.”

  Bear smirked. “I’d expect nothing less.”

  “See you later, mate. Seneschal-elect—” Veery grinned and pressed a hand to his heart, making me an irreverent little bow. Then he tossed back the rest of his drink, clapped Bear on the shoulder, and was gone.

  “Nice to meet you,” I called sheepishly after his back.

  Bear gave a quiet laugh at my side. His warm breath smelled faintly of liquor, but the drink hadn’t dulled his words. “Do you promise you’re all right?”

  I bit my lip, shifting my weight from one sore foot to the other. “I just hope the duke doesn’t win next week.”

  “He won’t. I’m certain,” Bear said, voice intent. “Selah, would you be embarrassed to dance with me?”

  I glanced up at him, surprised. “With my fearless defender? Of course not,” I said. “Unfortunately, my shoes are killing me.”

  “Take them off.” A grin pried at Bear’s mouth. “We’re the last ones here.”

  It was true. The throng that had easily numbered six or seven hundred when we arrived had dwindled with the passing hours. A few exhausted princes and princesses were draped over chairs inside the banquet hall. Nannies chased the royal children or let them be; little Gemma was fast asleep, curled under a table with her thumb in her mouth. Bear and I were alone in the courtyard with soft music and the scent of climbing roses.

  He eyed me, expectant.

  The musicians’ sibilant tune posed no distraction to the weight of Bear’s right palm on my waist, the shift of muscle and bone in the warm hand that held mine. He’d loosened the tie that I’d knotted around his neck.

  “Thank you for taking me outside this morning.” My voice was uneven, treacherous. “I had a wonderful time.”

  “The prince was pleased,” he whispered. Guilt stabbed my stomach and heat bloomed beneath my skin as Bear’s cheek grazed my temple. His nose and mouth were a mere heartbeat above mine. “Half the village and the court are in love with you.”

  My nerves sparked and flared. I gave an edgy laugh. “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve been paying attention,” Bear whispered, thumb tracing a small circle of fire through the fabric over my waist. “You should do the same.”

  The last notes of the song still hung on the air as he bowed over my hand and kissed it. Though light as butterflies’ wings, my skin burned beneath his lips; I half expected their touch to leave a mark.

  I was still rooted to the ground when words cold as an icy wind blew my reverie away.

  “Seneschal-elect.” Sir Perrault loomed at the edge of the empty courtyard like a ghost, black eyes flashing. “Take a walk with me.”

  28

  The protocol officer strode inside, and I lurched alongside him like a marionette. Lang’s brow puckered in question as we scuttled through the beautiful hall, but he looked away when our eyes met. He shifted uncomfortably, turning his attention back to Yu.

  When we finally reached our quarters, Perrault faced me, eyes hard, voice stripped of all its charm and silk. “It’s apparent that your relationship with your guard has progressed beyond the merely professional.”

  I wasn’t cold, but fear spread like frost through my veins, wrapping icy fingers around my throat.

  What is he going to tell Alessandra and the Council?

  Everything. He’s going to tell them everything, and everything is ruined.

  And it’s going to kill Daddy.

  “That’s not true,” I answered, too late.

  “No?”

  “No,” I said, but the word was brittle in my mouth. “I’m focused on the appointment at hand. The Council’s goals are my goals.”

  He paused, gaze growing distant. I clenched my fists, felt my nails bite my palms. “Seneschal-elect, do you know where I came from?”

  I’ve known Sir Perrault for a very long time.

  “You’re from New York.” An accusation, not an answer.

  I’d been stupid to forget how deep Alessandra’s claws could sink, to think Perrault was too busy fawning over the king to notice me.

  He knew what my stepmother did to people who failed her. I was a walking reminder.

  Perrault began to pace.

  “Potomac’s seneschal is a gentle man, and life at Arbor Hall is accordingly kind. But let me tell you about the court where I grew up.

  “Power in New York is a fluid thing, and the court is a structure in motion. Families rise and fall without warning. Artists, scholars, and innumerable other varieties of sycophant spend their existence clawing their way to its apex, regardless of what—or who—stands in their way.”

  My stomach muscles clenched. “What are you saying?”

  Perrault stepped toward me. “I’m saying, Selah, that I am skilled both at lying and at identifying liars when they cross my path.” Another step in my direction, and I was flattened against the wall while his eyes dissected me like scalpels. “So don’t lie to me.”

  The protocol officer no longer looked like a portrait. He looked like a fox deciding how to tear a chicken to pieces.

  My heart was going to punch its way out of my chest.

  I took a shuddering breath. “Fine.” I glared up at Perrault. “Fine. So our relationship is—warm. So what? Nothing’s going to happen.”

  The words resisted being spoken aloud, clinging to my mouth as if leaving my lips lent them truth.

  But it was true. It had to be. Cornwall flirting would have been socially risky, a surefire way to fall out of favor. A mere guard doing so would be outright treason.

  “Do you not remember what I told you weeks ago?” Perrault demanded. “I told you that to choose before completing your appointments was to slight the families who have extended your invitations. Above all, your goal is not to give offense to your host. Word travels, even of a backwater princess at the court of a minor king, even if only in whispers.” He leaned closer. “And of this you can be certain: the tsarytsya has excellent hearing.”

  My pulse accelerated, feverish in my wrists and my neck and in the soft hollows beneath my ankles, telling me to run. But I couldn’t move.

  Cobie’s door creaked open, and Perrault jerked back, startled.

  She was clad in ripped pajamas, but she hadn’t been sleeping. Cobie’s sharp eyes didn’t miss my pale face, the protocol officer’s guilty expression. “What’s going on, Perrault?”

  “Nothing, Grimm.” He shook out his right hand as though working out a cramp, then dropped his voice. “You have one suitor on this visit. I strongly advise against grooming a second.” Perrault stalked into his room.


  Cobie watched his closed door, toying with a rip in her shirt. “I know he’s overseeing this thing,” she said, “but he’s not one of ours, and that means I don’t trust him. Find me or one of us if he tries to get you alone again.”

  I nodded, hoping she didn’t notice the shake in my hands.

  They were shaking still as I fell asleep clutching my godmother’s book, reading the story of clever thief Molly Whuppie and the giant who tried three times to catch and kill her. He chased me into my dreams, and I ran, sprinting away from him, stumbling over unfamiliar ground as my Godmother Althea whispered for me to hurry, hurry home.

  29

  I followed my lengthening shadow to the edge of the woods where the hunt waited, heavy steps echoing in my hollow chest.

  “Your Grace?” Bear asked tonelessly. He passed me my horse’s reins and tightened her girth without meeting my eyes or saying anything else.

  When Sir Perrault had glided into my room unannounced that morning, he’d stared at me eating breakfast sprawled before the fire as if I were something a cat had killed and left on the floor. “This is to remind you that Prince Bertilak has requested you join him hunting this evening.”

  As if I could’ve forgotten.

  Bear’s silence was only recompense for what I’d done. We’d hardly spoken since the ball four days earlier.

  Four miserable days of avoiding him. Of words bitten back and swallowed. Four tick marks in my book at night as I clawed my way free of this place.

  I’d overtly avoided him at church Sunday morning, and hidden in my room that afternoon and evening. He’d knocked, and I’d pretended not to hear. And when the prince had taken me fishing on Monday and on a walk through the castle gardens on Tuesday, I’d avoided Bear’s eyes, and he’d maintained an appropriate distance. Now, it seemed, he’d taken to using my title again.

  I’d gone cold on him, and I hadn’t told him why, and he’d finally returned the favor.

  “Seneschal-elect!” Prince Bertilak called merrily. “So glad you could join us!” He nodded at my horse. “Cotton Nero is pleased, as well.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” My attempt at enthusiasm sounded feeble to my own ears. “Now, remind me what we’re hunting?”

  The Duke of Cornwall led a fast-looking black horse toward us, eyes glittering. “Foxes, Your Grace.”

  “Hunting foxes!” scoffed someone else. “Aren’t we all?” A few of the men laughed, easy and confident, teeth flashing. My shoulders tensed.

  “Ignore them.” Bear’s voice was low. “Just keep close to Prince Bertilak and me, and you’ll be fine.” I nodded, avoiding his eyes as he helped me into Cotton’s saddle, then settled himself onto his own mount, Ursa Major.

  I tried not to let my heart rise at the protectiveness in his tone.

  The Duke of Cornwall gave me another long-toothed leer before lifting a hunting horn to his lips. At its boisterous call, we rode forward beneath the thick canopy of green, the field cheerful and noisy, the hounds and terriers trundling along with their noses to the ground and tails bobbing.

  Suddenly, a hound at the front of the pack tipped his dirt-brown muzzle toward the sky and bayed, tail twitching like tall grass in a stiff wind. I jerked at his cry, plaintive and desperate, and Bertilak and Bear exchanged a sharp, oddly familiar glance.

  “He speaks!” someone shouted, and the hounds took off. The horses broke into a gallop after them, hooves hammering the earth like thunder rumbling up from underground, sleek torsos straining forward. My heart climbed into my throat as Cotton picked up speed.

  Mud flew and thorns caught at my clothes as we clambered through thickets and tore over soggy paths after the dogs. I gripped the reins, white-knuckled, and leaned into Cotton’s sprint; but the horse and I were strangers. I didn’t know her well enough to keep up. One by one, the riders passed me by.

  My heart sank as they vanished through the trees, leaving me alone in the gathering dusk.

  “Your Grace?”

  I twisted at his voice. Bear sat easily on his horse’s back, hands braced on his thighs, as fluid and relaxed as if he’d been poured into Ursa Major’s saddle.

  “You’re still here.” I furrowed my brow, surprised.

  “I’m supposed to stay with you. This was bound to happen.” Bear tipped his head at the path the company had smashed through the trees.

  I blushed. “Ah. Glad my incompetence was so obvious. Good to have company out here.”

  “That’s a bit harsh.” Bear raised an eyebrow, urging Ursa a little nearer to Cotton and me. “Look, my first time on the hunt, I was quite small, and I fell behind, too. I rode around for an hour before I just went home,” he said. “Later I pretended I’d been with them the whole time, but I don’t think anyone believed me.”

  I laughed out loud despite myself. “Really?”

  Bear’s eyes lit, and a grin caught the corner of his mouth. “There she is,” he said quietly.

  My heart stilled at the look on his face.

  We rode on, following the path the hunt had broken. “When my father taught me to ride, he had me in the saddle every day for a month,” Bear said. “My legs were jelly every time I came off the horse.”

  “Your father?”

  Bear had never mentioned his family before.

  He nodded, still staring through the woods. “It looks like they went this way.”

  “Is your father a member of the guard, too?” I pressed.

  “No. My father and I haven’t much in common. He’s not pleased I’ve taken this post.”

  He was silent for such a long moment I glanced over at him, brows arching.

  “He’s not?” I prompted.

  Bear pursed his lips, shooting me a sidelong glance. “He worries it’s not safe.”

  “What does your mother think?”

  “Mum’s approving.” His face warmed, and Bear gave me another piercing look, forehead puckered beneath the hair that had spilled over his brow during the chase. “What about your family?”

  “I have a father and a stepmother, and they have a baby on the way,” I began. But I trailed off as a dangerous temptation suddenly filled me—the longing to brush the hair out of his eyes and tell him the truth.

  I pulled Cotton up short, glancing around and listening. Only the rich, green silence of twilight, only our breathing and the spatter of a brook far off.

  “My father and I are close, but my stepmother and I . . . are not,” I said slowly. “That’s why she sent me here.”

  Bear squinted at me. “What do you mean?” I looked away, not answering, and he ducked, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Selah?”

  I blew out a long breath. Cotton’s ears quirked backward. “I didn’t even know I was leaving until the night before it happened. When my proposal at home was declined, my stepmother and the Council announced I was going away,” I finished. “My father’s not well, and I’m worried for him. And Perrault’s not aboard the Beholder because he’s much use at sea.”

  Bear’s eyes narrowed. “Your protocol officer has quite the pair of eyes on him.”

  “Yes.” I gave a bleak smile, darkly amused to be confiding in one spy about another. “He suggested you and I were spending too much time together. He’s very concerned that Prince Bertilak extends a proposal.”

  Bear cocked his head. “Aren’t you?”

  “Of course,” I lied abruptly.

  A smile as wry as mine spread across the guard’s face. “He’s afraid I’ll jeopardize your chances.”

  “I told him we merely—” But I broke off at the steepening arch of Bear’s eyebrows, the curve of his grin. Mortified, I hurried Cotton Nero forward, but Ursa kept up with us easily.

  “Myrddin and the king trust me implicitly,” Bear insisted. “You can, too.”

  I was growing more awkward by the second. “I know.”

  Realization dawned on his face, nearly displacing his delight. “And that’s why you’ve been so cool since Saturday.”

  “I haven
’t been—” But the knowing tilt of his head stopped me short once again. I bit my lip and shook my head. “What was I supposed to do?”

  Bear’s eyes tightened, and he opened his mouth to reply, but the distant bark of hounds snagged our attention.

  “That’s the field,” I cut him off, relieved and disappointed, and rode ahead to join them.

  The hunters greeted us with a chorus of apologies. A terrier darted between Cotton’s ankles; the dogs were jubilant, scampering around the covert as their handlers and the hunters milled around on horseback or on foot. Only the little red foxes lay motionless on the ground.

  “Oh, I’m sure the—Bear had you well in hand,” the Duke of Cornwall called, long teeth flashing. Most of the men frowned, foreheads wrinkled in disapproval, but one or two snickered roughly. I cringed, not sure where to look.

  “Mark.” Prince Bertilak’s voice was hard as a stone.

  “Your—Highness, I—” Cornwall stammered.

  “Enough.” The prince held up a hand, and the field held its breath. And the duke held his silence.

  I ate dinner with the royal family again that night, feeling Perrault glance furiously between Bertilak and me. The prince had taken a seat half a table away.

  Perrault’s face relaxed when Bertilak called out to remind me of our lunch plans the following afternoon. “I haven’t taken you boating yet, have I?” he called cheerfully. As if he could’ve forgotten.

  Maybe he had. Maybe I occupied that little space in his brain.

  Heaven knew he occupied a small enough fraction of mine.

  My smile was polite. “Not yet.”

  But the next morning broke gray and chilly, dark clouds hanging overhead. The prince sent a messenger, suggesting we take lunch indoors.

  But after the messenger left, and before I could compose a reply, Bear came to my door.

  30

  You are making a mistake, my rational mind whispered.

  Smothery gray clouds blanketed the sky behind Winchester Castle, their edges twisting in the buffeting wind—not benevolent wisps, but claws, malevolent and grasping. Bear stood on my right, nearer than decorum permitted.