Page 73 of The Dead Queen

“Have you ever fished a day in your life?” I tease.

“Nah,” he waves concern away. “But I’ll find a friendly old man to teach me. He’ll appreciate that I’m so eager to learn. Old people love that.”

I smile. I’m glad to see a hint of the old Hunter again. The past few days have been exceptionally difficult. Between breaking off our engagement, rescuing me from certain death, fleeing with the Wolf, and being attacked by a hoard of murderous foxhounds … I don’t blame him for being so grumpy. But I hope the old Hunter is here to stay.

Hunter laughs. “Remember when we were kids and Elena taught us to pick the cellar locks?”

I snort. “Which we then used to steal wine from the cellars.”

“See? Old people love to teach young kids new tricks.”

“Elena’s only one year older than us.”

“The rule still applies.”

I elbow him in the ribs.

“Gah!” he laughs. “I guess I deserved that.”

It’s a sweet memory, but the mention of Elena brings back thoughts of Caerwen. Of the damp, rat-infested dungeon and my father’s attempt to kill me. My mood sours instantly.

“Why do you think she helped save me?” I ask.

Hunter’s tone is more contemplative now. “Because we grew up together. She wouldn’t let you die, even if she has become …” He struggles to find the right word.

“The enemy?” I offer.

“I wouldn’t call her that.”

“My father’s mistress? The future queen of Llwyn? The mother of the new heir?” Behind me, I feel him cringe. But something still doesn’t feel right about the whole thing. I can’t just chalk it up to our childhood friendship. She wears a silver moth ring. That can’t be a coincidence.

“Hunter, there’s something you should know about Elena.”

Behind me, I can feel his arms stiffen. “Alright. What?”

“I overheard her talking with your father in secret. The baby, the new heir, he’s illegitimate.”

Hunter is quiet for a long time as Marigold clomps over the leaf-strewn road, snorting happily. “I suspected,” he says eventually. “I think most of the nobles do too. But I don’t think anyone would dare contradict the Fox King.”

I nod. He’s right. No one would. “And there’s another thing.”

He groans. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“She wears a silver moth ring.”

His voice is filled with genuine surprise. “Are you sure?”

“I saw it. When she helped us escape.”

“Huh.” I can practically hear his mind whirring as it runs through connections and possibilities. None of which we can verify now.

On the horse behind us, Tristan hums a lighthearted tune. A full night’s sleep and hot food in his belly made him a little more chipper this morning. Maybe the rest of this trip will be significantly better than the first day.

One can always hope, anyway.

Ahead of us, a man steps casually out of the forest and into the middle of the road. He pauses there, his hands clasped behind his back. The man rocks on his heels and smiles pleasantly as we approach. We pull on our horses’ reins a few yards away.

Hunter calls out to the man. “Hello, friend, we don’t want any trouble.”