Angelique poked around a neatly organized pile of crossbow bolts and a set of throwing axes, but frowned when she found a barrel that was overflowing with what looked like rolled-up painting canvasses.
“Are they art enthusiasts?” Angelique wondered. She prodded the canvas-filled barrel, then passed under the herbs again—which nearly covered up the dirty scent of the linens upstairs—when she found an empty easel and saw smears of paint that decorated the floor.
Apparently these warriors have genteel hobbies?
Snow White leaned against the bench by the fire, exhaustion making the dark circles under her eyes pop. “Who knows.”
“Hmm.” Angelique glanced at the wall that housed all the cooking implements, her eye twitching when she saw flickering blue flames outside the nearest window.
She squawked and smacked the window.
Pegasus sneered at her through the glass pane, and his mane briefly glowed brighter before he turned around and disappeared into the gloom of the forest.
Angelique glanced back at Snow White, but the princess thankfully had her eyes closed.
Good. Hopefully Pegasus realizes we’re staying for the night and goes back to the sky. If not, I’ll talk to him when I sneak out to notify Severin. I’ll keep the night watch, though. With black magic lurking in Queen Faina, there’s no telling if she’ll send someone after Snow White.
Angelique patted her herb-covered satchel, then went back to inspecting the weapons as she waited for the Seven Warriors to arrive or for the sun to rise.
Angelique glanced at the exhausted princess as she chewed on a carrot that was fairly sweet despite being quite shriveled.
The more I think about it, the more I see that this isn’t so bad. The Chosen have to be behind Queen Faina’s behavior. Working with Snow White, I might be able to capture one of them, and since they’d have to be stationed in Juwel, it seems to me that they would know where Evariste is. I can more safely find Evariste without having to call in Emerys and the elves, and we’ll get a black mage to question as a bonus—whom I will refuse to hand over to the Conclave until we’ve gotten all our questions answered.
She finished her carrot and fished another out of the “Seven Warriors’” supplies. Yes, I can be strategic enough to help Snow White and benefit from this as well. This isn’t a setback.
Angelique straightened when she saw movement outside. For a moment she thought Pegasus had come back, until she heard the muffled neighs of horses.
She crunched on the carrot and called out to Snow White, “Your Seven Warriors have arrived. Looks like they’re stabling their horses in a lean-to behind the cottage, and then they’ll be in.”
“What?” Snow White stirred from her spot by the fire like a cat.
Angelique peered from Snow White, to the “Seven Warriors” outside. All of them looked handsome, competent, and appropriately storybook-like. Perfect. I’ve done this enough times to know we can play to that. “No, no—you should stay there. If they find you sleeping by the fire, it will underline your innocence.” Angelique absently chewed on her carrot.
“What?” Snow White paused for a moment. “Are you eating their food?” She sounded scandalized—how adorable.
Angelique ambled away from the small window. “Just go back to sleep—or pretend to.”
Snow White ignored Angelique’s perfectly valid advice—a pity—and sat up just as the cottage door swung open.
Seven cloaked, brooding men crowded the cottage door—the very picture of an epic legend someone—not Angelique—would enjoy.
“Hello.” Angelique waved to them with her half-eaten, shriveled carrot. “Welcome home!”
One of the doubtlessly daring young noblemen elbowed his way to the front of the group, waving an unsheathed sword. “Who are you?” he demanded.
Chapter 19
Angelique pushed down her magic, which had perked with interest at the sight of his weapon. It had been restless since entering the cottage given all the blades the warriors hoarded.
Maybe I should have practiced my magic drills irregularly. It seems it has gotten cheeky from daily use.
“Never mind that.” Angelique bit off another hunk of carrot. “You lot are a bunch of pigs. You’re lucky it’s not summer, or your pigpen would have been irredeemably claimed by flies and bugs.”
“Angel!” The princess whisper-hissed from her spot by the fire, then shrank under the fierce gaze of Swordy.
Angelique chewed her carrot. “Oh, yeah. That’s your princess. You probably ought to bow or something.”
One of the warriors in the back of the pack asked, “Who is inside?”
“A mad woman.” Swordy took a step forward. Angelique could tell by the way he held himself he thought he was frightening.
Hah.
Angelique snorted to herself in amusement as the warriors chatted and only became re-interested in the conversation when the warrior in the back made his way to the front and dramatically flipped off his hood, revealing a perfectly fine face and shiny brown hair. His kind eyes settled on the princess, who was still sitting in front of the fire. “Snow White?”
“Hello, Marzell.” Snow White stood and smiled—enhancing the beauty of her contrasting eyes and hair with a sweetness one didn’t see often in people.
“What are you doing here, and who is your friend?” The warrior—Marzell, apparently—peered at Angelique as he entered the cottage.
At least Angelique thought he was watching her—she’d lost interest in the reunion and was looking for more food. She absently waved at him as she squatted down and lifted a cover off a wicker basket.
Marzell continued, “That is to say, Your Highness…why are you here?”
“It is a long tale,” Snow White’s voice faltered.
Angelique looked away from the basket of potatoes—which had been improperly stored so they had sprouted and were no longer edible—and glanced back at the warriors.
One of the warriors—a tall, broad-shouldered one with sunny blonde hair and a smile that would have let him join the ranks of the Arcainian glut of blonde princes—popped through the doorway. “Did you say princess? Oh. It is her.” He flashed his variation of the “handsome-nobleman-smile” Angelique had seen far too often the past few years. “Have you also fallen prey to my handsome good looks and legendary reputation?”
“Shut your yap, Aldelbert,” Swordy said.
“I take offense to that tone!” someone behind Marzell objected. “Apologize to My Lord!”
“Why don’t you make me?” Swordy scoffed.
“Princess,” Marzell glanced back at the warriors crowding him. “Please allow me to introduce you to my friends. The one with the sword is Oswald—he’s the third son of Lord Lowenstein.”
Swordy—or Oswald, it seemed—finally put his weapon away and shook his head, making his shaggy strawberry-blonde hair flop into his eyes.
He reminded Angelique of a wolverine with the scrappiness of his build and the way he seemed ready to attack.
Snow White was still using her pretty manners. She nodded like the princess she was, then said, “How do you—”