Page 27 of The Crimson Throne
A horse, tied up at the side of the road. Saddled and with bags too.
And that girl’s with it. She’s dismounted, grumbling to herself about something, fuming as she fixes a strap on her saddlebag. The closer I draw, the more alert I go, heart thudding right through my tiredness. I’ve got no choice but to go around her; the landscape on either side of the road is thick trees and hills, and I don’t dare traverse it for fear of getting lost. She lets me get far closer than I’d expect before she notices me, coming to with a startled jerk.
I rein my horse to a halt a few paces back from her. How do I play this?
“You all right?” I call out, forcing a feeble smile.
Her eyes go above my head again, circling all around my body, and I glance behind me, but I’m not sure what she’s seeing.
When I face her, she’s scowling hard in suspicion.
“Are you following me?” she demands, Scottish accent rolling heavy.
“No,” I say. “Just traveling to Stirling.”
“Stirling?”
I hesitate at the unspoken command in her tone. “Yes, miss.”
Her eyes roll. “What business have you in Stirling, Englishman?”
“There’s plenty of reasons an Englishman would be in Scotland. It’s not a crime to be English here. Queen Mary’s own husband is.”
The girl’s suspicious glower doesn’t change. “What’s someone from England going to Stirling for?” she asks slowly. “And what business do you have with Lord Darnley?”
This girl being a murderess aside, I decide on going for broke with flirting. Why not? I give her a slow smile. “And why should I tell you? Miss.” Yeah, I caught how she disliked being called that.
The girl works her jaw. After a long pause, she hefts herself onto her horse and swings it around so she can face me. I take quick stock of her saddle—that cauldron’s not with her. She leave it in the town?
Her new position puts her horse in front of mine, so I could leave only by racing toward the thick, thorny trees.
I let her stare, feeling much like when Cecil reads me for weaknesses.
Which has anger kindling in my belly. But I’m well practiced in giving away only what I want, so I keep a cocky mask on, that leering smile, my posture relaxed on the saddle like I’ve got no worries at all.
“You should tell me what business you have in Stirling,” the girl says suddenly, “because I am a lady-in-waiting for Queen Mary.”
Actual surprise has my facade breaking, and my brows vault up.
She’s—
She’s a maid to the Scottish queen?
The Scottish queen who’s hoarding fae items.
And one of them is the object that cursed me.
No. This girl justhappenedto be in that village as I was crossing?
But if Mary’s hoarding fae items, it’d make sense her ladies would have access. Maybe she sends them out on missions across the country. Doing her dirty work with nasty fae magic.
It’s as good as confirmation that Mary’s got a stash of fae magic somewhere. And even though I’m still reeling at this massive coincidence, even though I’m still half-certain this is all a setup from Cecil, I smile. Aim a true, broad smile at this girl.
Because I’m going to get the item that cursed me. Hell, she may as well present it to me on a platter.
At my real, wide smile, not the cocky pretend one, the girl’s cheekbones go prettily pink. It makes her look young, close to my age, whereas her normal demeanor gives her the burdened weight of someone much older.
I play it up, widening my smile until she shifts back into anger. All fire and fury, this girl, but she’s restraining it. I want to nudge her, see how long till she blows off this cover she’s holding. Like calling to like and all that.
