"What about some sort of magical wall?" he hazarded. "One that won't let enemies in?"
Rosa had gone to bed unhappy, and her unhappiness had brought on insomnia."I would rather be poor with you ..." She might have thought it was flattery, but not with that haggard expression on Siegfried's face. Siegfried was known to stay out in the forest from dawn to dusk. She wished he wouldn't. She wished he was here. She was very much afraid that this was the last chance she would ever have to spend any time at all with him. One of the others, more clever, with better connections and resources, would have a plan that would save her Kingdom. And in a choice between her own needs and those of her Kingdom, Eltaria would win.
No matter how unhappy it made her.
She was sure of it now; she was, if not already in love with him, certainly falling in love with him. There was no doubt that he felt the same; when she intercepted his gaze — at breakfast, at supper — it was full of longing and frustration.
But he was not the sort who would give up. Not until the last of the remaining candidates offered his solution and he either had none, or had one that was rejected. And not because he wanted a throne; she had the feeling that if a crown was all he'd wanted, he'd have gotten one a long time ago. Not because he wanted her only to escape his fate, either. No...his feelings were quite clear. As clear as hers were.
Finally she got tired of lying in bed, unable to sleep a wink, running the same problems over and over in her head and coming up with the same lack of answers. She got up and pulled the curtains aside enough to flood the room with moonlight. This wouldn't be the first time she'd slipped out for a walk in the middle of the night; when she was younger, she'd often had restless nights. Thanks to her mother, she could do entirely without maids when she wanted to.
She delved into the back of one of the great wardrobe cabinets in her bedroom, dressed herself in the simplest of her clothing and carried her shoes, and easily slipped out of her rooms, past her sleeping maids. If she was seen, she'd be taken for a servant; she wore the gown and petticoat she had worn when her mother had given her lessons on how shepherds lived. She would have liked to have used the disguise cloak, but Lily had used it last, and it was inher room. Once out in the corridors that the servants used, she pulled on the shoes; a servant tiptoeing around the halls would arouse suspicion, not quell it. The gown still had the faint scent she associated with that happy time, of hay and clover blossoms, a little of the oily sheep smell, and smoke. When that scent was released from her gown, warmed by her body, she found herself suddenly overwhelmed with memories. She had to put her back to the wall of the servants' corridor and cry soundlessly a little.
Finally she fought her tears down and made her way out into the kitchen yard, between the Palace and the stables. She lost herself quickly in the passageways among the stables, the mews, the chicken-houses, the dovecotes, the rabbit-hutches — the Palace supported a lot of animals, more than most people might guess. Many of the buildings were brick and stone, even the chicken-houses, since stone and brick were easier to clean than wood, and easier to secure against predators and vermin. The stables, the kennels and the mews even supported living quarters for those servants who tended the beasts.
Once safely in the shadows, she put her back against one of the cool stone walls, and deeply breathed in the night air, only faintly scented with straw and horse and dog.
Dog? She realized with a start that she must be near the kennels. Not necessarily a good thing...the kennels were where the Huntsman had his quarters, and he was the very last person she wanted to encounter in the dark even if he didn't recognize her.
Just as that thought passed through her mind, she heard the voices.
One was Desmond's.
What was Desmond doing out here so late at night?
She didn't recognize the other.
Impelled by concern as well as curiosity, she inched forward until she could hear the two speakers clearly.
"...the progress on hunting that unicorn?" Desmond asked, impatiently. Her hand went unconsciously to the necklace at her throat.
"Slowly, Prince." That was the Huntsman! "The beast is proving elusive. I find its spoor, but always days old. I took the bait — verified bait, I swear to you — out into the forest, and the unicorn never came near."
"I want that horn. Ineed that horn. Besides that, I need the blood, the mane and the hooves, but the horn is imperative." This was an entirely different Desmond from the one she was used to hearing. Arrogant. Demanding. And ordering the Huntsman to kill a unicorn. Anger suffused her, and outrage. How dared he! This was her Kingdom's treasure, inher forest!
"As you say, Highness. Have you any other tasks for me?"
And then, after the anger, disgust. Kill a unicorn? Of all things, a unicorn?
When she told Lily —
"The Princess is proving resistant," Desmond was saying, snapping her attention back to the topic at hand. "I am going to need you to stand ready to take her at any moment."
Had he been the one giving the Huntsman his orders all along? Had he been the one who had sent the Huntsman in the first place?