Page 45 of The Witch Queen

But that’s not possible…is it?

“Yes,” I say, shaking off the unsettling question. “I’m just—”

“Excuse me.”

I turn at the other voice, one spoken right behind me. The last of my shock instantly evaporates as I register the courtier’s identity—a young man I preferred never to see again.

“You,” I snap at Gavin.

His brown eyes gleam in the night. This close, I can see that they’re spangled with golden flecks, like tiny stars. Not that it matters.

“Your Highness.” He offers a hasty bow, then holds out the ball. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“I’m surprised you’re returning it,” I say, snatching it from his hands, “instead of just invoking your right to take it.”

He reddens slightly and runs a hand through his hair. Good. I hope he’s dying of shame.

“I do owe you an apology,” he says, finally. “My announcement was undoubtedly a surprise and I should have—”

“Kept your mouth shut?” Verity asks. I like her even more.

“Warned you,” he corrects.

A moment of quiet passes.

“Warnedme?”

He nods. “The trials should have been opened long ago. I appreciate that the situation must be difficult for you, but—”

“Don’t presume to guess my feelings,” I retort, adopting the most imperious tone I can muster. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Perhaps not,” he allows. “But I would remind you, Highness, thatyoudon’t know much aboutus,either.You’ve been absent from court for three years. The people of Riven are strangers to you.”

“Oh, but you’re so well acquainted with everyone.”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” he replies, clipped. “I’ve cultivated relationships with the nobility, spent time among the people at my family’s estate.”

You could have asked to come home,Ayleth’s unwelcome words twist in my mind.

“And that gives you more of a right to rule than me?”

“With respect, Highness”—he gestures to the grounds—“I’m not the one spending the evening lobbing balls at the very court I hope to lead.”

A furious flush heats my cheeks. And it’s then that I notice the cut on Gavin’s brow, one presumably made by the ball I’d hit. It starts to bleed, slick crimson tracking down the side of his face. He touches the spot, red smearing on his fingers.

“Please excuse me,” he says. “Best of luck on the hunt, Princess.”

With that, he turns and strides away. I clench my fists so hard that I feel my pulse hammering in my veins. Like my very blood is on fire.

“Who does he think he is,” Verity asks, “lecturing you like that?”

I nod, willing myself to agree with her. But beneath that is something else. A deep, oily fear: that Mother wouldn’t have approved of my behavior tonight, either.

In fact, she’d be utterly ashamed of me.

Chapter Thirteen

Ayleth