The Queen's Secret (The Queen's Secret #2) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,51

my mouth. The dais where we’ve been sitting is dusted with these black strands, thick and tasting of dust and death. Hansen stares at me as if I were some terrifying stranger. There’s a glob of horse blood on the white froth of lace at his throat, and when I reach over to brush it away, the blood smears the fabric.

“I had nothing to do with this,” I say to him in a low voice, and take his hand. He doesn’t resist. I wonder whether he’s scared of me now. I have no idea what we do next, what happens next, how we make sense of everything.

The Duke of Auvigne looms behind Hansen, his face thunderous. I refuse to let him blame me for any of this. He was the one who brought the horse onto the castle grounds. I refuse to let him have the first—or last—word.

“Auvigne, where did you get this horse?”

“I . . . I . . . ,” he splutters. “It was brought to my home by a traveling horse dealer. My marshal and the farrier were impressed with the horse and wanted us to keep it, but then His Majesty needed something for you . . .”

He looks at Hansen, his mouth open, unable to finish his thought. Hansen is speechless. Perhaps both the duke and the king are starting to realize how implicated they are in today’s events. How they’ve been used by the darkest forces of magic and have allowed them to infiltrate the castle.

And now around us there are angry and confused people—courtiers, guards, the citizens of Mont. Men, women, and children—terrified by what they’ve witnessed and terrified because the black magic that killed other Montricians in the north has exploded into the capital city. Once again, it involves me.

Some have fled, but there are still thousands of people in the streets. They’ve come for a day of pleasure, and instead they’ve been confronted with something bloody and mystifying. A crowd this scared and unstable might riot. I feel the glare of eyes on me, the hostility of a people who’ve never warmed to me, people who want answers for the violence they’ve seen. Perhaps they see this as a show of power—of black magic—by an unloved queen.

“We must return to the castle,” I say to Hansen. “We need the guards around us—a double guard. We need the utmost protection right now. Do you understand?”

Hansen says nothing. He and the duke are both useless. Lord Burley is slumped in his seat again, weeping as though he were under personal attack. If enemy troops had charged us in the square, the duke would have risen to the occasion, I’m sure, with sword in hand, shouting orders to the guards. But a magic force can’t be fought with a sword or an army. The duke doesn’t have the knowledge of the Guild or their insights. He can’t take on the Aphrasians, who must be responsible for the terror today.

If only Cal were here. He would know what to do. He would protect us.

A woman’s voice near us moans in a spine-chilling, otherworldly way: It’s Lady Cecilia, on her feet now, but supported by other ladies of the court. The moaning changes into a hiccup-sob, and even a few bursts of hysterical laughter. She’s splattered with blood and gore. I can’t ignore her, though Hansen is doing just that. She’s supposed to be his favorite, but he seems unconcerned by her fainting spell, or her behavior now. What’s happened here at the Winter Races has entirely unhinged Lady Cecilia.

“Witchcraft!” she shouts, tearing at the black ribbons tied around her wrists. “No . . . no . . . my lovely horse. No! Killed my horse!”

“Can’t you do something?” I ask him, bending close so nobody else hears. Hansen looks dumbfounded.

“Didn’t you see it?” he replies. “Something bad killed the horse.”

Hansen is white and shaking, oblivious to the cries of his favorite, oblivious to the people watching him. His last ounce of courage, of presence of mind, has gone.

“Witchcraft!” Lady Cecilia shouts again, so loud that people still in the square can hear her. The whisper of “witchcraft” moves through the crowd and down the lanes. Someone boos, and a moment later I can hear hissing as well. This is not good. If Hansen is useless, and the duke is blustering, I need to take charge of this situation.

“The guards,” I say again to the duke. “Rally them, this moment. The king needs their protection. And