Page 56 of The Dead Queen

“Do you think the king will care what his son looks like, as long as he has a new heir?”

My eyes widen in shock. I strain to look past the thick hedge walls, but I can’t see them through the leaves.

“If he suspects the baby isn’t his, I’ll be killed.” Elena’s voice is edged with fear.

“And if he doesn’t,” Malen says, “we’ll have the wealth of an entire kingdom at our disposal.”

“How easy for you to say, when it isn’t your neck on the line.”

“Enough!”

I press my ear into the prickling hedge, straining to hear every word.

Elena’s voice is barely audible. “I’m afraid.”

A pang of sympathy stabs my chest. Some small part of me knows I should hate this woman. But I don’t. Maybe it’s because I don’t want the throne to begin with. Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to belong to a man like my father. She’s trapped in a poisonous snare that she’ll never be able to escape now. Not unless death claims her first. Like my mother … like my grandmother.

All the women in the king’s circle die. All except me. So far, at least. And right now, I’m not sure how long that will last.

Malen’s voice is sharp and cruel on the other side of the hedge. “What do you possibly have to be afraid of?”

“It’s coming. The baby.”

“That’s what babies do.”

“What if I die in childbirth, like the queen?”

My heart sinks. That is my mother’s legacy, a fearful story that expectant mothers worry over. A monster under the marriage bed. A ghost who haunts every birthing room. It’s tragic.

I wonder if my comment in the garden has something to do with the anxiety in Elena’s voice. Guilt slides through my chest, thick and black as tar.

“Then you die a hero,” Malen says, impatient. “A lowly woman who gave the king a new heir. A chance to put our family on the throne for generations to come.”

“This was a terrible mistake.”

“Too late for that.”

My foot slips on the gravel, and I freeze, cringing at my carelessness. The maze grows silent.

“Who’s there?” Malen calls out.

I turn and run, twisting down identical pathways until I burst from the labyrinth. Too late, I realize my basket has spilled. Dark red roses litter the path behind me.

Chapter 18

By the time I reach the cemetery, I’m out of breath and my side aches. I lean against a crooked tree, hoping no one saw me.

Worry clouds my mind. Not for myself or the fate of the Fox Throne, but for Elena. If Malen put her up to this, it’s her neck in the noose, not his. She’s the one parading a bastard as the king’s child. It will end badly for her. It always does. She’s yet another woman trapped in the Fox King’s sticky web, and I can’t help but pity her.

I curse and throw my basket of flowers into the pond. Geese scatter away from the assault.

“I was afraid you’d died.”

I whirl around to see Tristan a mere three feet behind me. It strikes me that I’ve never seen him in broad daylight before. Our previous interactions had always been in damp dungeons and dim chambers. He’s younger than I originally thought. Possibly mid-twenties, though the bruising and swelling around his face makes it difficult to tell for sure. His eyes though, look ancient.

“You waited.” My words come out on a breath.

Now that I’m alone with the Wolf, free of shackles, I know I should be afraid … but all I feel is relief. I’d expected him to make a break for it, to vanish. That would’ve been the smart thing for him to do. Hiding on palace grounds seems highly illogical. Especially if he’s waiting for a stubborn heir who may turn around and betray him.