Two days after meeting King Alwyn and Prince Gavin, elation slowly gave way to panic. None of the ideas she'd come up with had been as clever as she'd hoped, and the only ones that held any promise were hugely risky, or had little chance of succeeding. Or both.
And the wedding was tomorrow.
Gwen's first thought had been to send Gavin a message, describing her condition to him via written note. Or, if her new geis prevented that, perhaps just a simple note encouraging him to ditch the wedding and return to his girlfriend in Rhegar.
The problem with that whole approach was the evidence it would leave behind. With Rhosyn gone, there was nobody she could trust. All of the servants were brand new, hired by either Anifail or her father, which meant there was no way she'd simply hand one of them a note penned by her own hand. Besides, most of the castle staff didn't know how to read, so how would she even communicate what to do with the note in the first place? Hand gestures?
At one point she'd considered writing a note and keeping it with her, waiting until she was alone with Prince Gavin so she could give it to him directly. However, the prospect of walking around with that kind of incriminating evidence terrified her. What if Anifail ordered her searched, and found the note on her? What if her father caught her attempting to meet with the prince with a secret note, or even just a blank piece of paper, some ink, and a quill? He'd know what she was up to, certainly.
In the end she'd come up with an idea that seemed a safe bet. Gwen had found an old folding paper fan in one of the castle storage rooms, and had taken to carrying it with her wherever she went. She'd also located a small piece of pressed charcoal used for sketching, and after wrapping it in a shred of cloth, had found a way to tuck it into one of the folds of the fan. The paper of the fan was a pale yellow, but it was light enough to write a message on if she flattened it out. All she needed to do was meet with the prince face-to-face, hurriedly scrawl a message on the paper of her fan, show it to him, and then dispose of it after. That would be the easy bit, since every room in the castle had torches, or lamps, or a fireplace.
Of course, that would only work if she could get anywhere near Prince Gavin.
It was as if he knew when she was around, and was intentionally avoiding her. Gwen would overhear a scullery maid or other servant mention seeing him in the kitchen, or the inner courtyard, or the main garden, and she'd run down to wherever he'd been sighted, hoping to find him. She was always disappointed, though she was often left with the impression she'd missed him by mere moments.
In addition to overhearing snippets about where the prince was or what he was doing, Gwen also tried to listen in on some kitchen gossip and other rumours, hoping to find out more information about Prince Gavin's girlfriend, like her name. However, most of the whisperings were centered around this dashing heartthrob of a young prince who had swept into Calderia and set every local maiden's heart aflame. Gwen had heard Gavin's charming grin described more times than she could conveniently count, although she herself hadn't seen him as much as smile yet.
They marvelled at how polite he was, at his memory for servant's names, and his friendly, outgoing manner. They went on and on about how fit he appeared, how perfectly proportioned his shoulders were to his chest, and what a talented horseman he was. He even took care of his horse himself, they said, and reportedly waved away offers of help, preferring to do everything himself no matter how big or small the task. As far as the castle staff was concerned he was perfect in every single way, save for the fact that he was marrying that haughty, spoiled brat of a princess, Gwenwyn.
That, and hunting. Gavin was apparently a terrible hunter. According to several sources, the prince had been invited to go with her father on an afternoon hunting trip that had been arranged by Anifail the previous day. After an hour or so, they'd reportedly happened upon a spectacular ten-point buck that had been unaware of them, grazing in a meadow near the edge of the forest.
Before Bryn had even managed to line up a shot with his bow, however, Prince Gavin had nocked his own bow and quickly fired at the animal. His arrow missed the buck completely, instead connecting sharply with a small boulder. The arrow splintered on impact with an angry snap, sending the beast scurrying into the safety of the woods.
Though they'd seen two more deer, several rabbits, a covey of quail, and even a trumpeter swan in their travels, Gavin's ineptitude with a bow seemed to repeatedly alert prey to their presence and send them fleeing. The hunting party eventually returned to the castle empty handed, with her father muttering dark curses under his breath once the prince was out of earshot.
Aside from these stories about Prince Gavin, however, there was nothing. No talk of the girlfriend, or what her name was, or any other information Gwen might have found useful. Whenever people weren't talking about Gavin, they were talking about her, the aloof and undeserving princess he'd be marrying. Aside from depressing her a tad, skulking around and listening to whispered conversations had gotten her nowhere.
Gwen looked around her room critically. She was tired of sitting in this familiar spot, coming up with the same desperate schemes and rejecting them over and over again, getting nowhere.
Perhaps a change of scenery would help her thinking.
Days ago she'd been told by Anifail that she was not to be seen around the castle or the surrounding garden unless she wore one of three dresses that had been picked out for her. Doubtless this was so she'd make the proper impression if she encountered either King Alwyn or her betrothed.
Anifail hadn't said anything about what she should wear at the stables.
She couldn't very well ride in a dress, of course, but then again they hadn't expressly told her she couldn't wear her dress out there and then change her clothes, had they?
Tucking her riding leathers and other bits of clothing into a small laundry bag, Gwen left her bedroom and made her way to the servant's entrance. She gave the barest nod to the guards as she left the castle, trying to look as though there was nothing at all unusual about her taking a laundry bag with her.
It either worked, or the guards didn't really care in the first place. Neither of them bothered to give her even a cursory nod in return.
She maintained an easygoing, unhurried pace as she walked down to the stables, and spent some time considering where things stood.
The biggest obstacle to any plan she could think of was Rhosyn's situation. The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed to her that Rhosyn had been part of her father's plan all along. It made a lot of sense really, allowing her to form a strong friendship with someone and then yanking her away and using her as leverage. Rhosyn was the only person Gwen really cared about, the one person in the world who treated her kindly, who made her feel the tiniest bit normal. What better way could they have found to control her? Even the thought of life without Rhosyn filled her with a desperate sort of loneliness.
Gwen shook her head angrily and banished those sorts of melancholy thoughts, reminding herself to stay focused on the problem. She'd spent enough time feeling sorry for herself, and that's not what the situation needed. Instead, perhaps she should spend some time reviewing some of the ideas she'd recently discarded. Maybe she'd see something she'd overlooked.
She'd already threatened to torture Anifail, but he'd made it clear that Rhosyn would suffer for it, so that was out. Trying something similar with her father probably wouldn't work either, since Anifail had mentioned that Bryn didn't even know where Rhosyn was being kept.
Putting a small amount of her saliva into their drinks and poisoning them both was something she'd seriously considered, but there were numerous drawbacks with that plan, not the least of which was the fact that she still wouldn't know where Rhosyn was. Sure, eliminating them meant she wouldn't be forced to go through with the marriage, but Rhosyn would likely starve to death. Plus, doing something like that would make her a murderer, damn her soul, and turn her crystal dark. Scratch that plan.
She'd briefly considered finding out more about the geis spheres and how they worked. After all, if they contained compulsions that forced people to do something, there might be one that made people tell the truth, or do something they were told to do, and she could free Rhosyn that way. Or she could find some way to remove her own geis. Of course, she had no real idea where the spheres even came from, or who might make or sell them in the first place, so that approach didn't seem likely. This being the day before the wedding, there probably wouldn't be enough time anyway.
Sooner than she'd expected, Gwen arrived at the stables. She hoisted the bag over her shoulder with a sigh, and then made her way into Rhosyn's living quarters so she could change out of her dress and into her riding clothes.
Once that was done, Gwen went to work.
She was actually quite proud of the job she'd done maintaining the horses, and keeping the stables tidy and organized for when Rhosyn got back. It was a lot of work, much more than she'd originally figured it would be, but she'd done it. She'd even swept out and replaced the hay in the stables a couple of times, something Rhosyn hadn't shown Gwen how to do. Sure, she'd had to figure it out herself, and she may not be doing everything exactly right, but it was better than just leaving the horses to fend for themselves.
Rhosyn was probably really worried about how the horses were doing, she realized. Left in a dark room, all alone, she could probably do little else but sit around and worry herself sick about the dozen or so animals in her care. That bothered Gwen. As if being held prisoner by Anifail wasn't bad enough!
Perhaps she could convince him to pass along a message letting her know that Gwen was taking care of the horses while she was imprisoned?
No, absolutely not. She wasn't going to ask Anifail for anything. He was a cruel, beast of a man, and he'd likely pervert the gesture into something else to make her life miserable. Either that or he'd become suspicious of her intentions, thinking she was planning something. Best to stay away from him entirely.
Donning a pair of heavy leather work gloves, she fetched some brushes and a bucket and spent some time brushing out the horses, taking her time with each, inspecting for injuries, and making sure she was doing a thorough job. That scratch she'd noticed on Dolivar's foreleg was healing nicely she noticed, though she was still extra-careful when lifting his leg up to inspect it. After unwrapping the bandage, Gwen cleaned the foreleg, scooped up some salve with a bit of cloth and gently spread it over the affected area. wrapping more cloth around the foreleg when she was finished. It was difficult to tie the bandage properly with the thick leather gloves she was forced to wear, but she managed.
Gwen gave Dolivar an apple and some hearty pats high on the shoulder when she was done. Forgetting herself for a moment, she tried murmuring 'good boy' to him. When no words came out she sighed, privately annoyed by the fact that she kept forgetting about her voice.
It was time for a ride, she figured. That always made her feel better.
She decided to dress Tambi, a dappled mare Gwen had always rather liked, and who probably hadn't been ridden in ages. Tambi had been acting a little anxious as of late, so a quick run might be just the thing she needed.
Once she had her properly dressed and saddled, Gwen hopped on and eased the mare out of the stable-yard, over to the meadow entrance, past the gates, and down towards the trail Gwen usually took. Once there, Tambi seemed to know exactly where she was supposed to go, and she picked up her pace excitedly. Gwen quickly found herself relaxing, picking up on the horse's rhythm, enjoying the fresh air.
They galloped hard for a while, but soon the mare had relaxed into an easy canter, and Gwen began to focus on enjoying the ride. This had always been one of her favourite ways to think.
Difficult though it was, Gwen realized she had to stop thinking about trying to find Rhosyn, and start focusing on other ways out of this mess. If she stopped the wedding from happening without implicating herself, there was a good chance Rhosyn would end up going free anyway.
King Alwyn had the potential to be an ally. She'd liked him the moment she saw him, if only because he seemed nothing at all like her own father. Of course, King Alwyn actually wanted his son to get married to her, and seemed quite embarrassed when he'd been forced to share the fact that Prince Gavin had been secretly courting someone else. The last thing he was likely to do was encourage his son to call off the wedding and rush back home.
But how was she to take advantage of the fact that the prince already had a girlfriend? She couldn't talk to Gavin about her, or otherwise suggest he follow his heart. She couldn't write him a letter about the matter either, since it would land her in a ton of trouble if intercepted. What she really needed was something that sent that particular message without being obvious about it. Something to remind him of her.
Like a present, perhaps.
He was her betrothed, after all. Nobody would object if she sent him a gift, would they? Her father might even be overjoyed by something like that, believing she'd resigned herself to her fate and was actively trying to help his plans. She just needed to make sure her gift was something that seemed innocuous, but that reminded him of his girlfriend.
A book, perhaps. A fairy tale, or a love story. Oh, and she even knew of the perfect one! It was one of her favourites, a story about a peasant boy who fell in love with a rich merchant's daughter, and had to fetch three golden feathers from a roc's nest to prove his worth. In it, the young peasant boy never gave up, never stopped believing he might one day win the hand of the girl he loved.
The book itself was beautiful, too; embossed leather and gold leaf, with breathtaking watercolour illustrations. Just the sort of gift you might expect royalty to exchange. It was perfect!
True, he might not be influenced by it. He might end up treating the gift as he'd treated her on their first meeting – tiredly acknowledging it and then ignoring it completely. Or he might get the wrong message from it, and feel shamed into accepting Gwen and making the best of things. Still, it was something, and it probably wouldn't get her into trouble. If it had even a small chance of working, it was better than nothing.
Gwen tugged a bit on the reigns and slowed Tambi to a walk, and spent a long while thinking of things she'd need to do in order to get the book and make it presentable. She considered where she'd acquire a silk cloth and ribbon to wrap it in, and how to get it out of the library. Once she had some semblance of a plan sorted out in her head, she looked around and took notice of where she was.
The trail had widened until it had become a small, open patch of meadow she recognized. It was the same meadow Rhosyn had brought Darin to that one time, from what she remembered of their earlier conversation. It was an ideal spot to bring someone; lush, rolling hills encircled by an expanse of majestic, leafy green trees. As magnificent as the sight was during the summer, she knew it would be particularly breathtaking come autumn.
Tambi pawed at the ground, which made Gwen realize they'd stopped moving forward. Well, that was probably just as well. They were about half an hour's ride from the stable, which meant a half-hour back, and maybe another half hour dressing down the mare after the hour-long ride.
Gwen made a clicking noise, pulling on the right rein and slowly turning the horse completely around so they could ride back. It was still early afternoon, with lots of time to fetch the book. Getting it out of the library would probably be easy, considering how busy everyone else was preparing for the wedding.
How would she get the book to Gavin once she got it, though? She wouldn't ask a servant to take it to him, even if she could talk. Maybe she could approach the Rhegarian soldiers and servants, indicate her gift, smile and perhaps communicate her wishes that way? Guardsmen probably wouldn't know what to do with a silent princess who'd come bearing what looked like a present, and would likely fetch the king, or–
Tambi reared up suddenly and gave a terrified whinny. Before Gwen could react she found herself launched backward, out of her saddle and into the air, the reins torn from her hands.
Despite her momentary surprise, Gwen managed to get her elbows behind her as she fell. The jolt of sudden impact coincided with a flash of white, and the breath was knocked out of her as a sharp pain ripped through her hip, elbow, ribs, and shoulder.
Dazed, she lay there for a few seconds trying to remember how to breathe. The sound of a rapidly galloping horse gradually faded away, and everything became silent.
Gwen propped herself up and coughed, though it hardly made a sound. That was odd. She hadn't realized you needed your voice to cough properly.
Groaning, she slowly got to her feet, inspecting herself for injuries, scowling.
It had been ages since she'd been thrown from a horse, and she remembered now why she avoided it. Even with the comparatively soft ground of the meadow, falling and landing from that height wasn't exactly fun. Her elbow smarted, likely scraped and bruised, and her shoulder felt like it'd almost been yanked right off.
Gwen looked down the length of field that Tambi had gone. Though she'd appeared a little anxious lately, it wasn't really like her to do something like that. She was pretty calm and docile most of the time.
Brushing herself off a bit, Gwen sighed and contemplated how to proceed. Tambi wasn't too independent a thinker, so she probably wouldn't run far. That, or she'd run all the way back to the stables to be with the other horses, which meant a long, long walk ahead of her, which she hoped–
A trace of movement caught Gwen's attention.
Black shadows and patches of grey rock seemed to shift before her eyes, weaving between the trunks of elms at the very edge of the woods.
Huge, nightmarish amber eyes regarded her from about thirty yards away, and a pair of black lips pulled themselves back to reveal two rows of sharp, angry-looking teeth.
With awful certainty, she knew exactly what had spooked the mare.
A dire wolf.
Three foot high at the shoulder. At least twice her weight. Likely more.
Staring intently at her, the grey-black monster growled deeply, and Gwen suddenly felt like the whole world had slowed down.