Page 43 of The Witch Queen

“Oh,” one of the young women in my group, Lady Isabel, exclaims. “That was…enthusiastic, Your Highness.”

“Yes,” another, Lady Constance, adds cautiously. “What interesting technique.”

She offers me a polite smile, but I don’t bother to return it. I only joined their group so that I could have an excuse to hit something. And I’ve found it highly satisfying to imagine that each of these balls is Ayleth’s head. Our argument still crackles inside me, her words digging beneath my skin—especially those about Papa.

How often have you even been to see him?

Ayleth was correct: just the once. Because there hasn’t been time. Between preparing for the trials and the endless court engagements, I’ve barely had a moment to breathe, much less visit Papa. Besides, winning the trials is the best thing I can do for him. But even as I repeat that logic to myself, a deeper truth lurks in my heart, one I haven’t fully admitted to myself: that I haven’t wanted to return to Papa’s chambers. Worse, that part of mewasn’tsad to see him in his current state. That Iwas relieved to know I wouldn’t have to deal with his shifting moods and unpredictable temper. Even that he deserved such a fate considering the way he treated Mother. How many times had I discovered her crying in her rooms following one of their arguments? Or after she endured one of his countless humiliations? That deep, hungry anger churns inside me again and I strike my ball as hard as I possibly can. It barrels across the yard, bounces, and knocks the beak off a swan-shaped ice sculpture.

“Well,” Isabel comments with a nervous laugh. “With that strength, you must not be concerned about the hunt at all.”

“Quite,” another agrees. “I’d be an absolute mess, of course. Even the mere idea of those challenges would keep me up at night. Competing against all those men?”

As if I needed a reminder about what lies ahead of me. Aunt Margaret was right: The number of claimants has doubled in the past few days. At this rate, I might be pitted against every man in Riven.

And they all want you to fail,a small voice whispers.

“Constance.” Isabel nudges the other young woman. “Don’t be unkind. The princess will manage perfectly. You have our full support, Highness.”

Constance appears puzzled. “Then why did your family put forth a claimant?”

Isabel’s white skin flushes scarlet. “Yes, well. I’m sure the princess understands. Since the trials are open…we all just want what’s best for the realm.”

I grip my mallet tighter. “And that doesn’t include me?”

Her eyes widen. “No—I mean, yes, of course it does. In fact, my brother is quite complimentary of you, Highness. He’s often remarked upon your beauty.”

“What does my appearance have to do with anything?”

“Just that…” She pauses, awkward. “Well, should he win, my brother would be honored to offer you his hand in marriage. Not every claimant would be so generous, given the rumors of—”

Constance elbows Isabel and she stops herself, but I can guess what she was going to say. What they’reallmuttering behind my back.

Cursed.

Anger surges up from the pit of my stomach. I hate being here again. Being treated like I’m on display—like I’m the curse itself come to life. My pulse thuds against the handle of my mallet. I want to do something. Want to—

“Look out!” Constance yells.

A blur of bright green careens toward us and I barely manage to dodge out of the way. Isabel isn’t as swift. She loses her balance and topples to the ground. The end of her mallet snaps off and pinwheels in the other direction.

“Sorry about that!” A young woman with coppery-brown hair and tawny skin waves at us from another wicket. “But youarein the way. It’s a course? The idea is to keep moving.”

“You could have killed me!” Isabel fumes, accepting Constance’s help to rise. Her skirts are stained and a feather in her hat droops at a pathetic angle.

The offending young woman picks up another ball and weighs it in her hand. “Do you really think so? I’m not sure it’s heavy enough. But we could test it.”

Isabel glares at her and I hide my smirk as she and the rest of her party storm off in the opposite direction. Good riddance.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell the young woman as she approaches.

She blinks at me, her brown eyes wide. “I have no idea what you’re insinuating.”

I laugh, then realize that it’s the first time Ihavelaughed since returning to the White Palace. Some of the tension I’ve been carrying relaxes.

“I’m—” I start to introduce myself.

“Her Highness, the Princess Blodwyn,” she finishes, bobbing a curtsy. But I don’t get the sense that she’s mocking me. “I’m Verity. My mother is Countess Talbot.”