Page 3 of Reign

“I know,” I murmured.

“He wouldn’t care that you’re my dearest friend,” she reminded me. “That we’ve known each other longer than we’ve known our own names. He’d feel no remorse giving the order.”

I nodded, ignoring a niggle—would she feel regret if I were accused of witchcraft and hanged? Before I could fret, I reminded myself that she cared for me deeply. I hoped that if that day came, she’d defend me with bone-deep loyalty. After all, we were the dearest of friends.

To an onlooker, Avice and I would seem an unlikely pair: the daughter of a lord befriending the daughter of the local blacksmith. But my father had spent his life delusionally devoted to his liege, and his unwavering loyalty meant that from my first blink, I’d been given the role of Avice’s plaything. Thankfully, her fondness for me blossomed early, while she was still suckling milk from her wet nurse.

“Niamh.” Avice sighed, her gloved fingertip tapping lightly against my forehead. “Please, listen to me. Stop helping that dog. You know I’d never lie to my father. If he asks whether you’ve been tending to it, I’ll be honest. Let it die so you can live.”

“The dog’s better now,” I murmured. “I don’t need to go back. She can fend for herself out there in the wilderness.”

My words sought to reassure her, though I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist returning before dawn broke.

Dog depended on me; she wholeheartedly trusted that I’d visit every day.

I imagined her, excitedly waiting for me at the forest’s edge tomorrow. Only as dusk consumed the daylight would she realize I wasn’t coming. When nightfall settled on the trees, she’d retreat to her burrow—hungry, confused, and abandoned. The mere thought made tears prick at my eyes.

“Good,” Avice said, taking my hand in hers. “Even I’m beginning to worry that you might be a witch.”

She wriggled her fingers against mine as though speaking in jest. Yet there was a sharp edge of truth to her words, and I worried that if she knew all my secrets, I’d be offered no redemption.

Her father had indoctrinated Avice, along with his knights and the villagers, into his merciless dogma, all in the name of protecting Lyonesse.

“I should be more concerned with your lack of heart,” I replied, giving her hand a tight squeeze. “If I find a creature in need of help, I’ll offer it.”

Avice sighed. “Your kindness will get someone killed.”

We walked hand in hand through the mizzle as Avice spoke of her wedding plans, and I found myself grateful for the change of conversation. Long before she could walk, her father had arranged her marriage to King James’s middle son. Prince Fitzroy, four years her senior, was twenty-five and desperate to produce a legitimate heir.

“We’ll be wed before summer solstice in the grand Walled City, at the royal palace,” Avice said. Though she tried to sound boastful, I knew she was dreading her departure. “Did I tell you, there will be hundreds in attendance?”

I shook my head. “Sounds like a grand affair.”

“It’s been meticulously planned, with no input from me.” Avice sighed. “I’ve chosen the flowers and the color for the drapes in the feast hall, but no one has cared to ask for my opinion about anything.”

“I’m sure the prince has spectacular taste,” I said, trying to reassure her, though I knew little of the man.

I’d once overheard a drunkard at the tavern claim that Prince Fitzroy possessed all the arrogance and hubris you’d expect of a king’s son. According to Avice, he was a great swordsman and a natural-born leader. But I had yet to encounter a man who didn’t consider himself endowed with the same virtues.

“He’s had long enough to plan it,” Avice said.

Their nuptials had been postponed for two winters, but this would be the final one we’d spend together.

From the way Avice hung her head, her face shrouded by the shadows of her hood, I knew she was deeply unhappy.

I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Would your absence be noticed this evening?”

“No,” Avice mumbled. “Everyone, even the chambermaids, is too preoccupied with the warmongering.”

As she spoke, the skies above unleashed a slush of snowfall. Still gripping Avice’s hand, I ran. We took shelter beneath the hawthorn trees while the flakes melted into the soil.

“We could spend the evening at the tavern,” I suggested, glancing toward the village square in the near distance. “Listening to some merry fellow singing songs while sinking an ale or two.”

Avice lowered her hood. “Will your brother be stopping by?”

I nodded. “If you’re there, he will be.”

She couldn’t contain her smile or the blushing of her cheeks at the prospect of seeing Finn that evening. I knew she was as fond of him as he was of her, though their affections could never be more than stolen glances and fleeting touches.