Page 86 of The Dead Queen

Tristan groans and flops back on the ground. “Damn knights and their damn guilt complexes …”

Hunter turns back to Gloria. “And if you come across an abandoned village to the south, stay far away from it.”

She nods, then runs back to the twins. She lifts them onto Marigold’s back, then helps Marten Jr. climb onto Honor before swinging up behind him. Marigold gives us one mournful look but doesn’t protest. She’s noble that way. She’ll take good care of those children. The family gallops into the forest without a backward glance, the sky lightening around them in a soft, daybreak-blue haze.

Tristan grunts, lying back down on the ground. “Well, I guess we’re in for a long walk. And that’s the last of the food.”

Hunter stares into the forest for a long moment before responding. “We’ll have to put that famed Wolf hunting prowess to good use then.” There’s a challenge in his voice that makes Tristan chuckle.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter 27

Tristan disappears for hours at a time, only to resurface with dead rabbits in tow, like he’s simply gone to the market. We roast his catch over whatever measly fire we can manage to make from the damp sticks and logs of the forest.

When we eat, hot juices drip down our chins and all sense of propriety vanishes as if the wilds are turning us into one of their own. As if the storied fae have already claimed us, we just don’t know it yet.

“Just stay on the path that heads north,” Tristan says, before he vanishes into the trees again. “I’ll catch up with you.” He seems at ease in this place of mystery, somehow always finding his way back to us.

But I’m not like Tristan, at ease beneath the looming arch of the trees. This forest unsettles me. There’s magic here, but I can’t understand it, either because it’s ancient and we’ve forgotten the language, or because it was never meant for people at all. It’s a magic left behind by the creatures from old stories—the fae who once roamed and ruled these lands thousands of years ago.

The forest feels infinite, the trees endless, the landscape unbroken. Autumn leaves fall steadily around us, raining down like gentle fire in shades of crimson, gold, and rust. Not for the first time, I wonder if we’ve wandered into an enchanted wood, the kind that curses its visitors to walk its paths forever.

Up ahead, the sound of trickling water dances through the trees. I pause, listening closely.

Hunter stops too. “I hear it.” His face breaks into a wide grin. “We can refill our water stores.” He taps his near-empty waterskin where it hangs over one shoulder. “And I wouldn’t say no to a bath.” He side-eyes me, his face twinkling with mischief.

“I’ve nearly forgotten what it’s like to feel clean.”

A fine layer of road dust clings to every inch of me, mingling with the grime of travel. I haven’t washed my dress since the palace, but we don’t have time to dry clothes on a line—and walking in soaked fabric would surely lead to hypothermia. Still, it would be nice to rinse the parts of me exposed to the elements. I’m suddenly overcome by the urge to scoop water over my face.

“Let’s go.” I lead the way off the path, toward the sound of water.

Just off the road, we find a break in the trees. A small pool glistens there, ringed with mossy boulders and a pebbled shore. A narrow fountain trickles from a crack between two stones, cascading into the still water below.

Hunter wastes no time. He shrugs off his cloak and jerkin, just like we used to at the river as children. Then his shirt. I try not to stare as he lifts it over his head, the lean muscles of his stomach tightening with the motion.

“What are you doing?” I try not to laugh.

His skin is covered in gooseflesh as he rubs his arms for warmth. “What does it look like?” He grins, hopping on one foot as he pulls off a shoe.

I think he’s joking until he drops his breeches. A tiny squeak escapes me as I cover my eyes, laughing outright now.

“Oh, please. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” His voice is light with amusement.

“There’s a big difference between swimming together as children and you stripping naked as a fully grown man.”

I peek between my fingers.

He has a wicked grin on his face. “A big difference, huh?” He winks.

I grab one of his shoes and chuck it at him. He dodges and takes off toward the water, giving me a full view of his—admittedly—gorgeous rear. Then he leaps from the nearest boulder and disappears into the pool.

I’m so surprised I run up to the rocky shore, my mouth hanging open. When he resurfaces and sees my expression, he laughs so hard I worry he might drown.

“It’s not funny, Hunter! You’ll catch your death!” Even as I say it, an autumn breeze blows open my red cloak, making me shiver.

“The water’s warm!” He splashes in the pool like a puppy in a lake. “There must be an underground spring feeding it.” Then he dives back under.