Page 119 of The Witch Queen

“Well, I haven’t seen him,” she says. “But I’m sure he’d welcome a visit from you, seeing as he saved your life. Again.”

She’s right. It is the second time Gavin has intervened on my behalf. Whydoeshe keep putting himself in such danger? Surely it would be easier for him to let me die. Get me out of the way so that he can take the throne. I shake the questions away. There are much bigger matters for me to worry about than a boy with gold-flecked eyes.

“I need to talk to you about something else,” I say, changing the subject. “The book you gave me. The one about the princess.”

Verity frowns. “Princess?”

“It was with the pile you handed me in the garden,” I explain. “An older volume. Do you know where you found it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, a crease digging between her brows. “I don’t recall a book like that. Maybe I picked it up by accident.”

Maybe. But after the events of the past few days, I’m starting to wonder if anything in this palace occurs by accident.

“Blodwyn, here you are.”

I stiffen at the voice: Aunt Margaret. She sent a few notes to my chambers while we were sequestered, but I ignored them. Even now, that old anger kicks up, picturing her dressed as Papa at the ball, his crown sparkling on her head. Perhaps the only thing she really cares about.

“Ah…” Aunt Margaret has noticed Verity. “Hello. Verity, is it?”

I’m surprised she’s deigning to address her.

Verity curtsies. “Your Grace.”

“I am sorry to interrupt, but I was hoping to have a private word with my niece. Blodwyn, would you join me for a walk in the gardens?”

I should refuse, if only to show my aunt that I can’t be ordered around anymore. But I know Aunt Margaret. She’ll just keep pushing until she gets what she wants.

“Fine,” I agree. “A quick one.”

Verity throws me a questioning look, likely asking if I want her to come along. I shake my head. This is something I need to do alone.

—

Our footsteps crunch in the quiet. Winter has only deepened in the short weeks since I’ve returned to the palace. The gardens sparkle with frost and a light blanket of snow covers the ground. A biting wind nips at my cheeks.

“It’s rather early for such cold,” Aunt Margaret comments.

I make a vague noise of agreement and pull my cloak tighter around myself. If my aunt imagines that we’re just going to pretend that the ball didn’t happen, she’s sorely mistaken.

“You get that from your father, you know,” she says, sliding me a knowing look. “That stubborn sullenness. He used to do this all the time as a child.”

“I’m not sullen,” I insist. And I’mnota child.

Aunt Margaret merely raises an amused eyebrow.

“Very well.” She gestures ahead. “But if you don’t want to talk, then why don’t we try our hand at the hedge maze?”

She leads the way and I trudge after her. So much for keeping this walk short. And I hate the maze. It takes an age to solve. More than that, the paths always seemed too narrow, made even tighter by how tall the walls stretched. Even now, as we cross through the opening, I get the sense of being trapped in a cage. Like the story Mother once told me of the princess who was cursed to sleep behind walls of bramble until true love’s kiss roused her. Or like the lost princess confined to her tower.

A crow calls above us, its shadow swooping across the path.

“I used to be quite good at this,” Aunt Margaret goes on. “Not your father, though. He wasted hours out here, trying to master it. I admit that I wasn’t much help, though. I used to bribe our brothers to confuse him.”

She winks at me conspiratorially. Weeks ago, a story like that wouldhave made me laugh. Now all I can think about is the woman from dinner, who Aunt Margaret brought out strictly for the pleasure of tormenting her.

“Is that your idea of fun?” I ask. “Making people feel small and insignificant? Or maybe you just prefer pretending they don’t exist.”

Aunt Margaret is quiet a moment. She adjusts the hood of her fur-lined cloak.