told her. He retrieved his small bow and bundle of arrows from his tent and slung them across his back. “I’ll see if I can nab us a rabbit or squirrel for breakfast. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
He trudged deeper into the forest, but before he left, he turned back toward her.
“And if the faceless return, tell them to wait for me as well,” he said. Then he was gone.
She played the obedient girl, keeping the fire lively and even gathering up extra wood. When she was bored, she constructed a shoddy rendition of a spit over the flame. From her time back at the Pensley’s estate, she knew that Yoren could hunt as well as he boasted.
He returned in only twenty minutes, carrying a dead gray rabbit by its back legs. He dropped it on the dirt beside the fire. Alyssa took it without question, and he seemed surprised by that.
“I’ll need a knife to skin it,” she said.
Yoren paused, as if sensing for a trap, then shrugged and tossed her a slender dagger from his belt. She caught its hilt in the air, doing her best not to show irritation at the idiot for tossing it so carelessly toward her.
Any other time she might have felt squeamish about the blood and guts. She played the tomboy well enough when with her foster families, but it had been mostly an act. As much as they hated to admit it, the young men often treated her better when thinking she could wield a knife and not squeal at the sight of something dead. But pretending to handle blood and actually handling it were two different matters.
She pretended the rabbit was Yoren’s head. It did wonders for her stomach.
When the rabbit finished cooking, Yoren gave her the bulk of the meat. He was once more playing the dashing suitor, as if her time spent pressed against the tree had only been an illusion. She flashed her prettiest smile at his jokes. The lies came easier to her than she’d prefer.
“Come,” he said when their meal was done. “It looks like we’ll have to trust the faceless bitches to find us. Clean yourself up a little; you’ve got grease on your face.”
“Where are we going?” she asked as she wiped her chin and lips with the inside edge of her dress.
“To meet with my father.”
He looked her up and down, scowling. She was wearing the simple clothing she’d been given when thrown into her father’s underground cells. Although she’d brushed her hair as best she could with her fingers, it had done little to remove the dirt and damage. She looked much more like a haggard maid than an heiress to a mining empire.
“This will never do,” Yoren said. “You must look my queen, not my servant. Where are those blasted women? Surely they know a thing or two about primping.”
“Yes, because their beauty is seen so often,” Alyssa said. Her sarcasm was stronger than she expected, the cut of her comment deep enough to narrow Yoren’s eyes and make him doubt her docility.
“No doubt Maynard has every cutthroat he owns in the city searching for you,” he said. “Otherwise I’d take you to a bathhouse and make you look respectable. But it looks like I’ll have to bring you as you are to my father.”
He scattered the fire and then took her hand.
“Oh, and dear,” he said, smiling a cruel smile. “Hold your tongue, or instead of being my queen, I’ll drag you to my father as if you were my whore.”
Her mouth twitched but her eyes remained dead.
“Yes, milord,” she said.
He completely forgot about the dagger that should have been safely tucked inside his belt, the one that had disemboweled a rabbit.
The one Alyssa hid underneath her skirt.
The king was waiting for him when Gerand arrived.
“What plans for today, Crold?” Edwin Vaelor asked as he made his fifth attempt at tying his elaborate sash correctly. Gerand frowned at his fumbling attempts, and when it was clear the king would do no better on his sixth, the advisor reached out and set it correctly.
“A few squabbles among farmers and some petty lords from the northern plains,” said Gerand. “The troubles from Angelport will be a bit more difficult.”
“Angelport? What’s bothering Lord Murband now? He has no rivals in the entire Ramere, not a single bloody count or noble to bicker over his territory.”
“But he has the elves,” Gerand said. “And you know how much he likes to talk up