Page 4 of Bloody Black

“ W hat? It’s a perfectly good day for a horseback ride around the grounds.” Dark clouds roll ominously over the hills, heavy with rain. The snow on the ground is half-melted slush, and the entire stable yard is muddy.

Soren prepares my mare, tightening the girth with a shake of his head. “Your father won’t like it. Especially with him being from Rivelle.”

What do I care what King Francis does and doesn’t like? He hadn’t spoken to me in days, still sore that I’d won the tournament, thus freeing myself to choose my own husband. Which I will. In my own way. In my own time.

“Early last week was another incident of unrest. As you know, we’re regularly patrolling, just in case someone makes it past the castle gate, but your father expects you and Genevieve to stay indoors, away from the windows... ”

“Can you take him the damned note?” I hold up the piece of parchment and wave it at Roger.

“Don’t curse,” Soren chides.

Roger plucks the paper from my fingers regardless, and I resist the urge to smile.

My body hums with impatience as I await William’s reply. Don’t be a ninny. You know he cannot refuse. He has to say yes. You’re the princess, for God’s sake. He’s your shield-bearer. He has to… bear your shield.

“If I even have one,” I mutter aloud, gazing around the lavish stable.

Just beyond the double doors, Venka and Baldric pace.

Roger runs off with my message, gone to find William.

They are my guards, and they trail me incessantly.

It’s impossible to speak without all of them listening in, which is why I’ve had the idea.

If we’re on horseback, we can circle the wide lower garden, always within sight, but out of earshot, thus making it possible to actually have a conversation again.

William.

I’ve dreamed of him multiple times since we met. When I read, when I bathe, when I endure long, boring luncheons… my thoughts return to my shield-bearer repeatedly. Which is all very pointless, really, because William isn’t my anything.

It cannot lead anywhere. Despite now being able to choose a husband for myself, I must still pick someone worthy.

Certainly, a soldier from the land of our enemy would be unacceptable.

The entire court, as well as our allies, would think I’d gone mad.

And if William is not to be my husband, there is even less chance that he could be a lover.

Hell, in my entire life, I have never even been allowed a friend.

The only men in my life are my personal guard, and those were hand-selected by Ben.

My parents’ marriage was arranged, and barely more than duty.

My mother visited the battlelines once, and was killed in the next day’s skirmish.

Ever dutiful, my father held her funeral, then returned to war a few hours later.

He declared victory in her name, of course, but…

it wasn’t clear to me if they’d ever loved each other.

“You sent for me, milady?”William’s gravelly voice startles me from my thoughts, and I turn hastily, wiping my hands on my gown.

“Shield-bearer. Yes. Hello.” To hide my awkwardness, I smile brightly. “I was thinking that we could exercise the horses. Walk them around a bit on the castle grounds.”

“Of course, Your Highness. It will be my pleasure to accompany you.” His tone is depressingly formal. Monotone. Rote.

Disappointing. Nothing like the man in the sparring ring.

“Wonderful. Fetch my things,” I say to my guards, all of whom are eyeing him. They bristle in his presence, like overprotective mother hens.

“You look lovely today,” he says, as we guide our horses out onto the field.

Ugh. The gown I’m wearing is olive green silk, with white lace, and is horrendously itchy. I’ve been bathed and combed and powdered, dressed like an elaborate doll.

“Thank you,” I say politely. Another of my father’s advisors is watching from a window.

We mount the horses and trot sedately through the snow. With my dress, gloves, undergarments, and blue velvet cloak, I’m over-warm, and my hair is probably frizzing.

Up ahead, the falconer stands with a single bird clutching his arm. He whistles, tossing it into the air.

“To cage the wild heart, I can think of no crime worse…” William quotes.

“To steal another’s life, let whoever does so be cursed,” I reply. “You read Rellis?”

“He’s my favorite.”

Rellis is also my favorite poet, and fairly obscure. There’s no possible way William could have known. It’s a strange coincidence, and I shall have to test his knowledge of Celestian poets further. “Endagar?”

“Overrated.” William smiles. “Also, boring.”

I agree. “He’s absolutely detestable in person.”

“That’s too bad. I’m sure he’d love to marry you.”

“Ha.” I scoff. Though my new Shield-bearer is right. Sir Christopher Endagar would love to marry me, and then I’d have to hear his terrible poetry for the rest of my life. No, thank you.

The conversation between us ebbs and flows, eddying like the river.

Sometimes it falters, however, because now that I have him here, I realize it is quite far from ideal.

There are at least fifteen pairs of eyes on us, including the royal archer, who surely has an arrow aimed straight at William’s chest.

A royal never has privacy. No one can touch me, no one can linger, no one can lean in.

The smallest unwanted movement, and a member of my guard will shoot him.

William surely knows all that, yet he’s far more relaxed than I am.

I have never had a man be so close, and my gaze keeps flitting to those who are watching.

Hoping that none of them will judge him to be a threat and end his life prematurely.

What was I thinking, inviting him here? What are we supposed to talk about? We likely have nothing in common! Despite all my social graces, I’m not quite sure what to say. The list of topics we are not allowed to discuss is practically endless.

The entire situation is agonizing.

“Would you care to race? The horses need a bit of a run.”

“I, uh, that would be—”

Without warning, he clicks his tongue and presses his heels, and his stallion is off like a shot, tearing down the lane, past the evergreens.

“Go!” I shout to Merriweather, my grey piebald mare. She’s much too slow, and now he has a head start.

Snow and mud kick up into my eyes, and for a moment, I lose sight of him entirely. The wind claws at my cheeks, and Merriweather’s hooves slide dangerously in the slush, but she closes the gap between us. I lean forward in the saddle. This time, I’ll win fairly.

His laugh carries back on the wind, as though daring me, and my heart pounds in fury. That is how badly I want to win. My thighs tighten around Merriweather, my breath ragged. Go, you beast, go! Still, I’m not even close to catching him.

Then William tugs on the reins. Not much, but just enough to tell his stallion to let off. Merriweather blazes by the trees, and I have to yank hard to force her to slow.

“Oy! That’s cheating!” I turn in my seat to face him.

“Does it count as a cheat if I lose?” William rolls his broad shoulders and smiles.

But…” I narrow my eyes. “You had me, didn’t you?”

He raises one brow. “I did.”

“Then you pulled back.”

“I did.”

“Did someone tell you that you’re not allowed to win? Because if they did, that’s wrong. You could easily beat me. It is absolutely ridiculous, people saying that the royal must always come first. I swear, nothing makes me more angry—”

William puts up a hand as I start to get upset. “No one told me that I have to let you win.”

“Then why did you do that?”

“Perhaps if I let you win the race, it would help me win your heart.”

Said heart is stupid and treacherous. She’s breathless with anticipation. She unfurls and trembles at his words, the tiniest sprig of hope blooming.

“William—” The more rational side of me knows that such a thing can never be. At the same time, I am deeply aware that I just said his name. Not Lord, not sir, not Shield-bearer or whatever else I should call him.

“I don’t need you to humor me, Anne. I know it is a lost cause. I’m a soldier, and I’m poor, and our kingdoms have been at war for two decades.” He exhales heavily.

“But?” I prompt him.

“A man cannot help but want something he cannot have.” He shakes his head ruefully, dropping his gaze to his hands on the reins.

I dress for dinner in a daze, lost in memories of our horseback ride. Of what he’d said and how he’d looked at me. William. I say his name to myself repeatedly.

My maids dress me in crushed lilac silk, tight at the bodice, loose at the sleeves.

The gown is high in the neck, thoroughly proper.

It leaves absolutely everything to the imagination, and I’ve seen sexier gowns in the portraits of my grandmother.

They powder my face until I look like a ghost, unrecognizable, and plain.

Pure and blank as parchment. They are trying their best to make me less pretty, and I wish I knew if that is an order from the king or because they are petty.

Soren escorts me to the dining room, Venka and Roger trailing close behind. Torches flicker along the stone corridors, their flames curling against the chill. The castle smells of cedar smoke and roasted venison. In the distance, a lute plays a lively tune.

“Penny for your thoughts, Princess,” Soren says.

“Oh. Nothing.” A forced smile plasters itself on my face. “Have you seen Ben already?”

“I have.” He gives me an appraising glance. “You and your new shield-bearer are seated next to him.”

Dear gods, I hope Ben isn’t seated between us. That would really ruin my evening.

The doors swing open to reveal a table long enough to host a war council. Nobles chatter like gulls along its edges. Goblets glint under chandelier light. William stands, and to my complete delight, he is seated next to me.