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.
Perhaps all I could do was keep fighting, hoping that one day someone would end my misery.
I fucking missed her—her presence, her laughter, her lips, her smell, her sex. I wanted her with me, more than anything. But I couldn’t have her. And, glancing out the windows at the high walls of the castle keep, I knew I’d never see her again.
I thought of my seed deep inside of her. Wondered if it had found home. The fantasy of riding in and taking her back, her belly full pounded through me like a warriors call.
It was folly and my heart sank thinking of the precarious position our love had created for us both.
I downed the pint and tapped the bar for another. I needed to drown my sorrows and I needed to do it quick. So, I slipped a coin from the reward purse and slid it across to the barkeep. His eyes widened as he glanced up at me. “Sir?” he asked.
“Keep them coming. And don’t fucking water them down.”
A shitload of pints later, three of the King’s Guard entered the tavern and took seats near the low-burning fire. Though the day had been warm, the spring air turned cold with dusk.
During my time in the tavern, there’d been no celebrations over the returned stolen princess—no mention of her at all, in fact. It was strange, absolutely, but I knew these things were well above my experience and rank.
Undoubtedly, there was some official process of disclosing the news to the common folk. But the guards would know about it, I was sure.
Knowing nothing was fucking agony. So, taking my pint with me, I moved to a table near the King’s Guardsmen to listen to what they had to say.
They talked of soldiering and horses, of new swords and changes in the staffing of the guard. But they didn’t utter a word about Sara, not even in veiled terms.
Even through the many pints of ale I’d had, I could tell something was amiss. I waited for them to finish one round and then another, so that the drink would help loosen their tongues, then I ordered another round for them and one for myself before I made my approach. When the round of strong ale arrived at their table, they nodded their gratitude and I raised my mug to them in return. “Any word about the stolen princess?” I asked.
The captain scoffed. “Rumors like that crop up every few years. Pay it no mind.” He rose, slightly woozy with drink, and told the other guards he was going to take a piss.
Hazy though my thoughts were, I always kept my wits about me. I held my tongue as I watched him leave. Sara was no rumor; I could swear to that.
Now I turned my focus to the foot soldiers who might be more likely to speak without their captain nearby. I said, “I hear she’s the right age. Has the birthmark even.”
Their reactions were just the same as their captain’s. They didn’t seem to know that Sara had been returned, or to care about the news. “The child is dead, sir,” said the younger guard of the two. “Mark my words. Been dead for eighteen years. May she rest in peace.”