The Hunt . . .”
“. . . the Hunt.”
“. . . the Hunt . . .”
Normally Evangeline did not hear her guards talking, but these two words kept sneaking through her door, as if just the name of this hunt had more power than other, more ordinary words. She’d heard mention of it before, but she’d thought it had just been a reference to the hunt for Lord Jacks. Now she wasn’t so sure.
She would have asked her maid, but Martine had stepped out to return her luncheon tray. After all that had happened last night, Evangeline had slept half the day away.
As she sipped a cooling cup of starmire tea, she reached for that day’s scandal sheet, hoping it might have an answer for her. And it did—only it wasn’t an answer to her questions about the Hunt.
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Evangeline turned the page. This time there was no shadowy image. There in freshly printed black and white was a drawing of Archer. He wore a devil-may-care grin and tossed an apple in one hand, looking nothing like a murderer—and everything like what Evangeline secretly wanted.
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“No,” Evangeline breathed.
No. No. No. No.
“This can’t be,” she said, her words coming out more frantic this time. This had to be a mistake.
Maybe Archer just looked like Lord Jacks. Or perhaps this was the wrong drawing. Archer couldn’t be Lord Jacks. He was a guard. He’d saved her life—twice.
“Your Highness,” said Martine as she stepped back into the room, “you look a bit pale in the cheeks.”
“I’m fine. I just saw something in the paper that alarmed me.” She held up the page for Martine to see. “Is this really what Lord Jacks looks like?”
“That is him, Your Highness. I can see why you’ve gone all pasty. He’s just awful, isn’t he?” But her voice came out like a sigh, and Evangeline swore there were hearts in Martine’s eyes as she looked at the black-and-white image, which was anything but awful.
Jacks looked like a happy ending that was just out of reach, and Martine was clearly bewitched by him. Just like Evangeline had been, only she was afraid her feelings for him had been a lot deeper than bewitchment.
Even now she could feel things just looking at this picture.
She didn’t want to believe it. Evangeline still wanted to think the paper had gotten it wrong. Archer—rather, Lord Jacks—had been with her last night.
But he hadn’t been with her all night. He’d found her only after Apollo had been called away. But . . .
She tried to make another excuse. She once again reminded herself Archer—Jacks—had saved her life, so he couldn’t be a killer. Yet last night, he’d as much as confessed to her.
Maybe I just enjoyed killing people, he’d said. And instead of being horrified, she’d felt—Evangeline couldn’t actually think about how she’d felt last night. Now she just felt sick and foolish and stupid and absolutely furious with herself.
She should have known. She should have put it together that Archer was in the memories Apollo wanted her to forget. Apollo had warned her. Jacks has done atrocious, unforgivable things to you, and I think you might be happier if those things stay forgotten.
And he was right, because Evangeline felt awful.
She still didn’t want Archer to be the villain. She didn’t want him to be Jacks. And she definitely didn’t want to have feelings for him.
Her cheeks flashed with something like shame.
Martine looked at her with concern. Evangeline wanted nothing more than to smile and burn the paper and pretend none of this had happened. But even if she could pretend away her feelings—which she doubted, since feeling was what Evangeline did—she could not pretend away all the people Jacks had murdered last night.
She needed to tell Apollo that she had seen Jacks in Wolf Hall masquerading as a guard named Archer.
Evangeline grabbed the first dress she could find—a gown with a moss-green velvet bodice, a sweetheart neckline, and slender straps lined in pale pink flowers that matched the gown’s long gauzy skirt.
Martine handed her a pair of matching slippers, which Evangeline quickly pressed her feet into. Then she started toward the door before she lost her courage. She didn’t want to think she would, but she needed to act quickly.
Jacks needed to be stopped before he murdered more innocents, and Evangeline hoped her confession might help. If Jacks was sneaking in and out of the castle, obviously there were people here who were loyal to him, like her guards from last night. Unless they were also naive like her.
With a deep breath, Evangeline finally opened the door from her rooms into the long hallway.
Her guards from late last night were not there. Instead, Joff and Hale, the same soldiers who’d found her at the well, waited on the other side, wearing shining bronze armor and friendly smiles. Like all the other guards, they had mustaches—another thing Archer had not possessed.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” they said in perfect unison.
“Good morning, Joff. Good morning, Hale. Could you please take me to see Apollo? I need to speak with the prince right away.”
“I’m afraid he’s already left for the Hunt,” said Joff. “Then take me to the Hunt,” Evangeline said.
The day was already halfway gone and she could feel more minutes rapidly slipping away as she stood in the hall. She might have told these guards she had news on Lord Jacks—surely they would listen to that. But she wasn’t certain who in this castle she could trust. She imagined a number of the guards had to be loyal to him or he would not have been able to sneak in and out of Wolf Hall without notice.
Hale frowned. “Your Highness—”
“Don’t say you’re not allowed to take me off the castle grounds.” “Oh no. We wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to go to the Hunt.”
Hale said the word Hunt with a combination of both reverence and excitement, and although Evangeline felt as if she really didn’t have time to waste, she couldn’t help but ask, “What is this Hunt?”
Hale’s and Joff’s square faces both brightened.
“It’s only the most thrilling event of the year!” said Joff. “Everyone looks forward to it,” echoed Hale.
Evangeline didn’t have any brothers, but if she had, she imagined they might have been a little like Joff and Hale. Both young men were so animated, they finished each other’s sentences and echoed each other’s words as the two went back and forth to explain the wonder of the Hunt.
“It’s a tradition almost as old as the North itself,” said Hale.
“It was started forever ago by the Valors,” added Joff. “The story goes that one of their daughters—the pretty one—”
“They were all pretty,” Hale interrupted.
“Well, the prettiest one,” Joff continued, “had a pet unicorn, you see, and once a year, after the first rain of spring, they’d send this unicorn out into the Cursed Forest and everyone would hunt it.”
“And this was supposed to be fun?” asked Evangeline.
“Don’t worry, they weren’t trying to kill it,” Hale promised. “It’s terrible luck to kill a unicorn. And they’re far more useful alive.”
Joff nodded and added, “Whoever caught the unicorn was granted a half wish.”
“What’s a half wish?” Both men shrugged.
“No one quite knows,” admitted Joff.
“There aren’t any more unicorns,” finished Hale. “But now, every year, someone volunteers to dress up like a unicorn for the Hunt. One year Joff almost did it!”
Joff nodded proudly. “I would have, but then that onionhead Quixton beat me to it.”
“May I ask,” said Evangeline in what she hoped was a polite tone, as these men clearly held a high regard for the Hunt, “why would anyone want to volunteer for this?”
“If you’re the unicorn,” Hale explained, “and you can make it through two nights and three days without being caught, you get a proper knighthood and a squire and a pile of gold.”
“And if you get caught?” Evangeline asked.
“Well,” said Joff a little less enthusiastically, “whoever dresses up like the unicorn usually gets maimed pretty badly if captured. And whoever catches them is the one who gets the title—if they need it—along with the pile of gold and the squire.”
“So . . . people love the Hunt because of the prizes at the end?” “There’s also a big celebration afterward,” said Hale.
“And,” added Joff, “it’s the only time of the year anyone is allowed to enter the Cursed Forest.”
Evangeline had never heard of the Cursed Forest. “And people want to enter this forest?” she asked.
“Oh yes, the Cursed Forest is a special kind of cursed. But you should really change into sturdier shoes and put on a cloak or two before we go,” said Hale. “It always rains on the path, which was what I was trying to warn you about before.”
