Page 35 of The Dead Queen

“No, Your Highness.” The small smile at the corner of his mouth suggests otherwise.

I stand with a sigh. “Take me to him then.”

It’s not a far walk to the royal gardens. The gravel paths are full of courtly ladies and men promenading in fine silks and velvet. Everyone here is out to see and be seen by the biggest gossips of the court. As a general rule, I avoid the gardens. They remind me of a web with fat, glittering spiders searching for their next juicy meal.

Hunter waits at the center of the garden, near the bubbling fountain depicting a dancing maiden with foxes nipping at her heels. He isn’t in his shining copper armor. Instead, he’s dressed in a red tunic with black trousers, as dapper as any royal fiancé should be. When he sees us approaching, he smiles and holds out his hands.

“My beloved, what a pleasure to see you this morning.” He nods to the messenger, dismissing him.

I raise an eyebrow. “Hunter, what’s⁠—”

He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles lightly. Some distance behind him, a woman in fluffy pink taffeta sighs. I see what this is. We’re putting on a show for the court.

“Is this really necessary?” I ask.

He presents his arm and I hold the crook of his elbow as he leads me in a casual stroll around the fountain. His only response is a wicked grin.

“Were you able to meet with our dear friend last night?” I ask, hoping Hunter will understand. I lift one eyebrow, urging him to take the hint.

“Yes. Yes, I did.” His voice is upbeat, as if we’re discussing a beloved aunt.

Nobles mill about, watching us from the corners of their eyes.

“And … how was he?” I keep my voice calm, casual. There’s nothing in my tone that shows the fear buried in my heart.

“He lives.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Thank you.’” He pauses to think. “That’s about it.”

That can’t be all. “Did he do anything?”

“He drank that expensive bottle of wine rather quickly.” Hunter inclines his head toward a man who tips his hat in our direction. “Not that I could blame him.”

“Did you, you know?” I move my hands around in front of us, like a healer who has no idea what she’s doing.

Hunter smirks. “Dance with him? No, darling. There wasn’t time for that.”

I give him an impatient glare then lean toward his ear, like I’m whispering a lover’s secret. “He isn’t going to die, is he?”

Hunter shakes his head. “No, my love. Not today.” He straightens. “I have a gift for you.” His voice is louder than necessary, for the benefit of the people walking by. It’s no accident that everyone in the garden seems to be meandering closer to the fountain, like none are immune to the gravitational pull of royal gossip.

From the ledge of the fountain, Hunter grabs a small, flat rectangle wrapped in fabric. He hands it to me and I take it gingerly, like it’s dangerous. He nods for me to open it. All around us, nobles crane their necks to see.

Wrapped inside the cloth is a small, green book.

I can’t help but laugh. “You requested I leave the library so you could present me with a book?”

His smile doesn’t waver, but he lowers his voice to a whisper. “Well, no one would see your gift in the library.”

My fingers glide over the gilded title embossed on the soft cover, “Love Poems for the Ages.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “I never knew you liked poetry, Hunter.”

“There are many things you don’t know about me. I am a man of mystery.” He kneels in front of me and a gaggle of ladies near the willow tree put their hands over their hearts and swoon.

“Hunter,” I say between gritted teeth hidden behind a forced smile. “What are you doing?”

“I’m reciting love poetry to you. It’s every courtly woman’s dream.” He pauses. “Or so the kitchen maid told me when I asked her for tips about wooing.”