The Queen's Secret (The Queen's Secret #2) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,48

fluttering her kerchief at the black horse. At least nobody is booing us today. The people of Mont really do love their horse races, and for a few hours, at least, they can forget that a Renovian witch sits on the throne next to their beloved King Hansen.

Before the races can begin, we have to sit through an endless parade of horses and riders, of marching guards with their banners and swords. The seats for the people of the court have been built above a fountain—currently frozen over—in Mont’s largest square, which has a ten-foot-tall statue of the young king. This is the start and end point for the final race, I’m told. We won’t see most of the running, but Hansen cares only about winning, not about the race itself.

People hang from windows around us, and crowds line the streets that radiate from the square, packed tight and held back from the impromptu racecourse by guards. Hansen and I smile and wave, and I try not to shiver too obviously. The streets have been scrubbed with salt, to prevent the horses from slipping if ice forms, but the waiting crowds are stamping their feet from the cold, huddled under hoods and coats, clearly eager for the races to begin.

Early on, Hansen leans over me, as if sharing a secret with his beloved wife.

“You need to smile more,” he murmurs, and then lifts one of my gloved hands to kiss it. A half-hearted cheer rises from the people stationed closest to our dais. “You look as though you just ate something rotten.”

“I married someone rotten,” I reply through gritted teeth, trying to turn it into a smile. Hansen sighs. He waves up at the people packed into windows in the tall stone houses that surround the square, and they wave back. I understand what he meant when he told me that the people of Montrice have always loved him. Long ago he was a golden-haired child who rode his pony in this very parade. Now he’s their handsome king, as excited as they are about the races.

I’m alert to the noise of the crowd, listening for any boos or shouts about the tragedy in Stur. The Duke of Auvigne, sitting nearby, has one hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to make good on his promise to see off any sedition-spouting onlookers. Daffran sits in the front row; he seems to have nodded off. I doubt that horse racing is his thing.

“Where’s your son and heir, sire?” a woman calls from a nearby window, and Hansen laughs. This is how he’s playing it, I see. “Montrice needs a young prince again!”

“You hear that, my darling?” Hansen leans toward me again. I’m conscious of the black kerchief peeping from his sleeve, and wonder how many others around us notice it—and know what it means. “They love me here, and now they want another, just like me.”

“Surely one of you is enough, darling,” I reply, and the grin on his face is so smug and irritating that I can’t help myself. I tug the kerchief from his sleeve and use it to dab my lips. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Hansen’s smile disappears, and I can see he’s struggling not to snatch the kerchief back. I toss it to the ground next to my temporary throne, out of reach. It’s petty, I know, but I feel he’s driven me to this. They’ve all driven me to this.

Of course, these people—the duke, the courtiers, the ordinary folk of Montrice—don’t care if Hansen has one mistress or ten. Kings are allowed to have mistresses, but queens cannot stray. That’s the rule. Kings need to have heirs, and everyone needs to know that those heirs are legitimate and not the children of some handsome Renovian assassin.

Cal. I wish I knew he was safe. Our messenger returned from Serrone to say Cal had made it there and had an audience with the queen, my mother. He headed off for Baer Abbey, where trouble had been reported at the obsidian mines.

Baer Abbey, the most dangerous place in Renovia.

While I’m fretting and anxious, I can’t help making things worse. Rhema Cartner. Why did Cal have to select her, of all possible assassins, to accompany him and Jander? She’s young and ambitious, just like the girl I used to be, agile and smart, ready to fight, quick-witted. If Cal forms a bond with her during this mission, it wouldn’t surprise anyone, least of all me. Perhaps one day he