She met his expressionless eyes as he stood behind Melwas. Melwas made to shut the door, but he could not with Lancelot in the way.
"Move, man, I must speak to her alone!" Melwas insisted, rubbing his groin as he turned fever-bright eyes on Guinevere.
"For your own protection, I cannot allow that," Lancelot said, folding his arms across his chest.
"This girl is no danger to me." Melwas strode toward Guinevere.
She backed away from him, until her shoulders touched cold stone and could go no further. Still he advanced.
She turned her face away.
His hand closed around her throat.
"You see, Lancelot? She knows who's in charge here."
"King Artorius, my husband," she choked out.
Melwas' hand squeezed, cutting off her air. "What did you do to him, witch? Undo the spell you cast on our beloved king, and perhaps I will let you live."
"I did nothing…nothing!" she said.
He slammed her head against the wall so hard her vision exploded into stars for a moment. "Lying whore!" Then he slapped her face.
Guinevere tasted blood. The magic within her roared to be released, to defend her, but she forced it down. If she cast a spell, they would know her to be a witch, and she would seal her fate for sure.
"I swear on my life, I did nothing to hurt the King," she managed to say.
"Faithless Flamish bitch!" Melwas shoved his body against hers, pinning her to the wall. "Tell the truth and I will let you live. Continue to lie…and you'll wish you had taken my offer." He ground his hips against her, the hardness between them pressing against her belly.
Bile rose up in her throat.
"I never…" she began, but he slapped her a second time, so hard her head rang. Her lip stung, as if she'd cut it.
He grinned at her, running a finger over her lip. It came away bloody. "You'll bleed far more for me, bitch. Just like the queen before you. So much you'll beg to die, just like she did." He sucked his bloodied finger.
Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he keeled over, snoring.
Guinevere's eyes met Lancelot's knowing ones. He knew she'd cast a sleeping spell.
"Guards!" he shouted.
She shrank away to the corner furthest from the door and the downed Melwas. Wishing she could disappear entirely.
The guards arrived, panting and wide-eyed as they took in the sight of their quailing queen and the regent in repose.
"Pick up the Lord Regent and carry him to his bedchamber," Lancelot instructed. "No man is to enter the Queen's chamber alone."
The men did as they were bidden, shooting frightened glances at Guinevere.
When Lancelot alone stood in the doorway, she dared to step out of the shadows. Smoothing her skirts to disguise how much her hands shook, she lifted her eyes to meet his. Her husband's most loyal, honourable knight knew her secret now. She had nothing left to hide.
He regarded her for a long moment. Almost as if he was daring her to bespell him as she had Melwas.
Magic had been forced out of her once, but she had better control over it now. "If I had the power to heal him, I would," she said softly. "King Artorius, I mean." Not Melwas.
Sir Lancelot inclined his head. "I will send your maids with hot water so that you might bathe. I will stand guard over your chamber tonight. Sleep well." And he left, closing the door behind him.
A bath. How had he known she'd want to wash off Melwas' touch? Surely the man could not read minds. Few men could use magic, and she hadn't sensed any in him.
Not even in his left arse-cheek, as he'd so coarsely put it.
She smothered a laugh. Now she'd be thinking about the knight's backside, instead of worrying about what he'd do now he knew she was a witch.
Twenty-Seven
He found Zurine's camp by mid-afternoon. There was evidence of a fire – she'd watched him more carefully than he'd realised, that night they'd spent in the woods together – and he found the wax rind of the cheese they'd shared.
He could keep going, or make camp, as she had.
If he knew she was close by, that he'd reach her by nightfall, he would have continued on without hesitation. But he didn't know how long she'd wandered until she'd found the cottage, or the cottage inhabitants had found her. She could still be days away, and he'd be no use to her if he arrived without having slept. Fighting one man he might manage…but seven of them? Hardened miners might not be fighters, but they knew where to strike a blow and how to make it a good one. A man who could split rock could split bone and flesh with ease.
Seven of them…he would need a plan.
Because he would save Zurine, or die trying. And he did not intend to die.
No, he had too much living to do.
Twenty-Eight
Guinevere's days blended into a monotony where she had little to do other than stare at the mirror. She only knew a new day had dawned when the guard outside her door changed colour, for the knights wore their bright surcoats while on guard duty as well as at court. Warned by Lancelot not to speak to her, lest she try to bespell them as well, none of the knights would meet her eyes or offer their names, so she named them for their blazons.
The knight with a lying-down lion was Sleepy, while the knight who bore a serpent twisted about a staff was the Physician. A different guard for each day of the week, until Lancelot returned to stand guard. Though she knew his name, she found herself thinking of him as Grumpy. Not for the fine sword embroidered on his breast, but for the thunderous expression on his face whenever he saw her.
Whatever approval he'd had for her at first, it had faded fast, replaced by his barely concealed anger as he watched the maidservants bring her food or clean her chamber.
"I am not responsible for the King's illness," she declared to him one morning.
He raised surprised eyes to meet hers for a moment, before looking away again.
Nettled, she added, "Nor am I unfaithful."
He winced, though he did not meet her eyes again.
She stamped her foot. "Look at me, damn you! Look in my eyes and see I'm telling the truth. You must believe me. I have done nothing to harm your king!"
Lancelot sighed and raised his head. "It matters not what I believe, Your Majesty. It is the King's judgement that matters, and until he is well enough to hold court, or the crown passes to another, I will do as I have always done. I will serve my king and his kingdom."
He hadn't spoken to her since. Not that it mattered.
Xylander journeyed through the forest, day after day, but he had not yet reached the princess. The castle grew colder, and she knew the first winter snows were not far off. She could only pray that her brother reached the princess first.
Twenty-Nine
"What happened to the queen before me?" Guinevere asked her maids one morning. Melwas' words had returned to her, plaguing her sleep, so that she could not rest until she vowed to seek an answer. "How did she die?"
The two girls looked at one another. "Do you mean Queen Viviana, Princess Zurine's mother?"
Guinevere reined in her impatience. The maids were not at fault for her own ignorance. "If she was the last queen, then yes."
"Everyone thought she loved the King as much as he loved her, but one night when the King was away, she was discovered abed with one of Lord Melwas' sworn knights. Lord Melwas himself caught them, and in shame, the queen took her own life. She buried a dagger in her breast. 'Twas said she could not face her husband, so she killed herself before the King returned."
Guinevere shuddered. What a horrible end. "What of the knight?"
"Executed for treason at Lord Melwas' command."
That surprised her. Surely Melwas would have rejoiced that his man had successfully seduced and dishonoured the queen. She didn't doubt how happy he'd be if it had happened to her.
"My mother said she saw Lord Melwas entering the queen's chambers, the first night the King was away. She heard the queen cry out, but he'd barred the door,
so she could not get in. The next morning, the queen would not let anyone bathe her, but Mother saw the bruises when she helped her dress. She said it went on for weeks. Fresh bruises, every morning, until the day the queen died."
The other girl hushed her. "He's Lord Regent now. You can't go accusing him of such things!"
"You don't know what goes on here of a night, for you sleep in town and not the castle. Since the King's been ill, no woman in the castle is safe, unless she's in the kitchen, for there's always someone about there. I've taken to sleeping in the corner by the pantry, myself. Did you see Helga this morning? She could scarcely walk. Melwas is a mean one, and no mistake."
What was wrong with men? First her father, now Melwas and his late knight, not to mention the miners who had Zurine. They were little more than animals, rutting like it was their right to own women's bodies as well as their own. If a woman dared to take her pleasure of a man without his consent, there would be uproar, but if a man did it…whispered rumours and a warning to stay silent was all that happened.
Guinevere wished her magic was stronger, capable of more than just a sleeping spell. She'd settle for turning Melwas' manhood into a venomous snake that bit him and made him swell up purple and green until he died screaming.
She hoped when Xylander found the men who had Zurine, he killed them all.
While she watched.
She dismissed her maids, and settled down to watch the mirror while she broke her fast. Xylander had to be close now, and she didn't want to miss a moment.
Thirty
Xylander passed the spot three times where the track ended before he'd thought to push at what appeared to be an impenetrable hedge. Lo and behold, it was in fact a thin screen of branches fastened to a sackcloth frame that swung open at a touch.
The cottage and the mine beyond were exactly as they had appeared in Guinevere's mirror, which meant the bruises he'd seen on Zurine's face had not been a lie.
How dare any man strike her – the heir to the throne, no less! As if stealing salt were not treason enough. When Zurine was safely home in her castle, he would lead a troop of guards back here to deal justice in its most brutal form.
He dismounted, leading his horse into a hidden dell on the other side of the screen, out of sight of both the cottage and the mine. He was a hunter, not some sort of berserker knight – his talents lay in stealth and cunning, not pitched battle against seven burly men. Though if it came to it…he would have no qualms about drawing his sword and dispensing justice early. But that would upset Zurine, so it was best to keep violence to a last resort, at least while she was watching. Later, the blood would flow.
He crept back to the cottage, circling around it to see if there was any movement. No one was in sight, and the men kept no livestock – not even a goat for milk.
Xylander watched for a while longer, before he decided the men could only be in either the house or the mine. A thin wisp of smoke curled up from the cottage chimney, and the scent of something savoury reached him. Stew of some sort, he suspected. Someone was home.
He chose a spot out of sight of the door and pressed his ear to the wooden wall. Not a sound reached his ears. Either they were all too busy eating, or the cook was the only person home. He listened longer, but there was no change. The cottage was as quiet as the grave.
Uttering a quick prayer that he would find Zurine inside, he drew his sword. Holding the blade down by his side, hidden in the folds of his cloak, he pushed open the door. He put his back to the solid oak boards, and kept pushing until it hit the wall. No one hiding behind the door, waiting to ambush him, then, but it took a moment for his eyes adjust to the dim interior.
Movement, then a faint cry as someone stumbled, made him bring his blade up in readiness.
"Please, don't hurt me!" came Zurine's plaintive cry.
Xylander's heart constricted in his chest. No lady, let alone a princess, should have to utter such words with a knight in the room.
"Are you alone?" he demanded.
She nodded. "They are all at work." Then a peculiar expression came over her face. "But they will come for their noon meal, as soon as I ring the bell." She pointed her spoon at a rusted cauldron that hung from the ceiling. Her unspoken words hung in the air – she could call aid in a moment.
His heart twisted. She might fear the miners, but she did not trust him, either.
He closed the door behind him and sheathed his sword, holding his hands up in surrender. "I have come to rescue you from these terrible men, Princess. Come, and I shall take you home." He held out his hand.
"You!" she hissed, wide-eyed, as she scrambled away from him, deeper into the cottage. "You're her assassin! The knight she sent to kill me, not rescue me!"
His heart sank. "Princess, I swear to you, I mean you no harm."
She crossed the patch of uneven straw that must serve as the communal bed, putting her back to the wall before she slowly rose to her feet. "How do you know who I am, then? None of them know. No one would recognise me like this!" She waved her hand at her peasant clothing. She wore a roughspun tunic, the muddy brown colour helping her blend into the cottage wall, that ended halfway to her knees. Her white skirt hung in brown tatters beneath, as if she'd fought an army of thorn bushes.
Or a pack of men, intent on stealing her virtue.
He forced that thought away. He had to win her trust before he could ask anything else.
"I would recognise you anywhere, Your Highness," he admitted. "I first saw you in the tourney your father held for your name-day. Your beauty bewitched me so that I could think of nothing else – least of all the lance coming toward me."
She stared at him for a moment, before her eyes widened. "Are you…the Green Knight?"
He bowed his head. "To my endless shame, yes. My dented helmet stuck to my head, but even if it hadn't, my eyes were too full of the sight of you to see anything else that day. By the time I'd had help wrenching the helmet off, you were nowhere to be seen, and I had lost the tourney, so I dared not face you. I returned to Castrum recently, only to hear you were missing. I thought, perhaps, I might redeem myself in your eyes if I could rescue you from your captors. And here you are. Now, we must flee, before those wretched men return."
Zurine's eyes took on a haunted, hollow cast. "I cannot come with you. They told me if I tried to leave, they would hunt me down, and drag me before Melwas, the lord of these lands, as a thief. And they will beat me."
As they had already, and would again, if she remained, her eyes seemed to lament, though her lips fell silent.
"But Lord Melwas is your cousin. Surely he would help you," Xylander began.
She shook her head. "Melwas would likely not recognise me like this. I barely recognise me, and if they bruise my face any more…my own father would not know me. And if by some miracle Melwas did manage to identify me, he would force me into a marriage I do not want. He would lock me in his dungeons until I agreed to do his bidding, just like he did to my mother. It will be the death of me, for I would welcome the kiss of a blade far more readily than my cousin's touch. I am safer here."
"With the common men in this cottage? Men who beat you and treat you like a servant? Who share your bed…" Fury choked him up too much to continue.
Her eyes blazed. "They are as chivalrous as any knight. There is but one bed, yes, but none of them has dared lay a hand upon me, and should one man even suggest it, his fellows beat the idea out of his head. They only beat me if I fail to cook a meal to their liking, which is my fault. I deserved this," she said, waving at her face. "I lied, saying I knew how to cook. But if I told them the truth, they would take me to Melwas, or…to her…"
Xylander shook his head. Poor, innocent princess – she had no idea of the wager the men had made. A wager she would pay the price for, if she stayed here. And if she left…he had to make sure the men could not follow her.
He took a deep breath. "If I swear, on my life and all I hold dear, that I will keep you safe and take you f
rom here to wherever you wish to go, and no one, be they a lord or an assassin or anyone, will touch you again without your consent, let alone beat you or throw you in a dungeon…would you trust me enough to come with me?"
She bit her lip. There was longing in her eyes – longing to believe him, he hoped – but she shook her head. "You can't protect me from all of them. There are seven big, strong men, and they will follow us."
He caught her hands in his. "I have a swift horse, and I know the woods as well as any hunter. They may try to follow, but they will not find us. I swear to you, Princess."
Tears filled her eyes as she opened her mouth to refuse again.
He touched a finger to her lips. "I will return on the morrow, and I will save you. Until then, rest, for we will have a long journey ahead of us."
She shrugged off his touch. "How can I sleep, knowing that on the morrow, I will meet my doom? At your hands or theirs or Melwas…what does it matter?"
"Things will turn out well. This I swear to you," Xylander said desperately, though he did not yet know how. Somehow, between now and the morrow, he had to kill seven men and survive to save the princess. He needed a plan…and probably a miracle, too. Or magic. Which gave him an idea. "Do you still have my magic apple?" The one she'd stolen from him in the woods, after one bite had sent him to sleep.
Her eyes narrowed for a moment, before she thrust her hand into her pocket and pulled out the apple. It looked like he'd taken a bite from it barely a moment before, not days ago. A magic apple, indeed. "I thought it was poisoned, when you fell over dead," she said.
The thought of Guinevere poisoning anyone – let alone him! – made Xylander laugh. "It was a gift from my sister to help me sleep, no more. A bite from that apple grants me the sweetest night's sleep I have ever known. Here, lie down, take a bite, and see."
She lifted up the apple, squinting at it. "After the men have eaten their noon meal. It is almost ready, and they will be angry with me if I burn it, or call them too late." A shudder shook her shoulders.
Reflect- Snow White Retold Page 6