Yes, this would be a perfect spot to bring her court.
“I wish we could leave the other riders and go swimming,” Prince Phillip remarked.
Aurora laughed. “Lord Ortolan’s heart would stop.”
“And we know Lady Fiora would faint,” he returned, “especially when I dunked you under a lily pad.”
Aurora shoved his shoulder. “You wouldn’t dare dunk me!”
“You’re free to consider it an act of war from a neighboring kingdom,” he said.
She opened her mouth to give some reply when the words struck her. A neighboring kingdom. His kingdom.
“Phillip,” she began, “is it true—”
But before she could ask, shouts came from the men-at-arms. Phillip and Aurora shared a glance, and then both started back down the hill.
Halfway there, she spotted a raven wheeling through the air. A very familiar raven.
What was Diaval doing?
When she got to the bottom of the hill, she found her men-at-arms surrounding a large bush. Their weapons were drawn.
She thought of the missing boy, Simon. Could he have just gotten lost in the woods?
“Wait!” she cried, jumping down from her horse’s back. “Whatever you have trapped there, don’t hurt it.”
Phillip was beside her in an instant, his sword drawn.
“It’s no beast or faerie, Your Majesty,” said one of the men-at-arms with a smirk.
Another stuck a pole arm into the bush. A howl went up—a very human howl.
“Stop!” Aurora said. “That’s cruel.”
The soldiers looked rebellious, apparently unsure whether to obey. After a moment, they drew back from their quarry.
A man crawled out of the bushes, carrying a brace of rabbits close to his chest. He had a scraggly beard, and his ragged clothing hung on him. He looked around at the riding party, staring openmouthed at Aurora, then took off running.
Three soldiers chased him down, one tackling him into the dirt. Then the other two grabbed the man by his arms and forced him up to his knees.
“A poacher,” said Lord Ortolan with disgust. “Hunting on the queen’s lands, no less.”
Lady Fiora was huddled with a few of the other young women, their horses drawn into a knot. They looked a little frightened, and Aurora began to realize that they expected her to punish the man on the spot.
“Your Majesty,” he said, clutching the rabbits in his hands anxiously, “please. My family is hungry. The yield on our farm was poor this year and my wife is very sick.”
A man-at-arms hit him in the side with his pole arm. “Silence.”
Another pulled the rabbits from his hands.
The farmer looked down and spoke no more. He was visibly trembling.
“What punishment does he expect?” Aurora asked Prince Phillip. For the man to be so afraid, it must be very bad indeed.
Lord Ortolan pushed his way to the front, clearly glad to be of use. He spoke before Phillip could. “Blinding would be considered merciful.”
Aurora was astonished.
“Have him sewn into the skin of a deer and we will set our dogs on him,” said one of the men-at-arms. “That’s what your grandfather King Henry would have done.” A few of the others laughed.
The man began to weep and beg incoherently.
Were these the same humans who thought the faeries of the Moors were monsters? Did they not see how horrible it was to have so much and not be willing to give anything to someone in need?
Aurora bent down near the farmer. “What is your name?” she asked.
“Hammond, Your Majesty,” he managed to get out through his tears. “Oh, please…”
She hated the idea of hunting, but Hammond was no more cruel than any fox or owl or other animal that killed to feed its young—and she could no more justify punishing him than one of them. He was only trying to survive. Nobles killed far more than they could eat and had to justify nothing.
“You may take rabbits from my woods so long as your family needs food, Hammond,” she said.
She turned to the soldiers and drew herself up. This time when she spoke, she didn’t hide her anger or her horror at their treatment of the man. “Give him back the rabbits he caught and let him go.”
No soldier hesitated to obey her.
“Surely there must be some punishment,” Lord Ortolan sputtered, “or peasants will take advantage of you. Your woods will be picked clean.”
Aurora wanted to contradict him, but it was probably true that no rules around hunting on royal land would result in the forest being emptied, and not necessarily by those in need. “I hereby decree that from now forward, any citizen of Perceforest may take one single rabbit from the queen’s woods without punishment. Furthermore, anyone who is hungry may come to the palace and be given a ration of barley for every member of their family.”
“The royal treasury cannot possibly sustain that,” Lord Ortolan said in a quelling manner.
“If the people are fed, they won’t have to steal. And they can pay their taxes.” If the treasury could afford to pay for all the confections that were set before the nobles, it could afford grain for families in difficulty, Aurora thought. “Furthermore, I proclaim that no one, under any circumstances, shall blind another person or sew them into a deerskin and set dogs on them. Is that understood?”
Hammond bowed over and over again. “Bless you, Your Majesty. You are kindness itself.” Then, stumbling over his own feet, with his rabbits once more clutched tight against his chest, he started back toward the village.
The entire hunting party was silent. Aurora was sure they thought she’d made a terrible mistake, but she regretted none of it.
Then Lady Fiora shrieked.
Chapter 8
Aurora spun around.
“What are those?” Count Alain demanded, pointing.
Three wallerbogs stood on a fallen tree, blinking at the human riding party with wide, expressive eyes and snuffling with their trunk-like snouts. The mischievous faeries must have heard the commotion and crept over from the Moors.
They were the size of human toddlers, with frog-like bodies and enormous ears that stuck out from their heads.
“Wallerbogs,” Aurora said. “They don’t mean any—”
“They’re hideous!” said Lady Fiora.
Giggling, one of them chucked a fistful of mud at the girl. It struck her right in the side of her head, spattering across her face. Aurora sucked in a breath.
Prince Phillip covered his mouth. One of the other courtiers began to laugh. It was contagious, spreading to the rest. Only Lord Ortolan was grim-faced.
And Count Alain, whose eyes narrowed.
The wallerbogs pointed, laughing so hard that one of them fell over.
“You’ve given offense to my sister and I will have satisfaction,” Count Alain shouted, riding toward them.
With shouts of glee, the wallerbogs scattered, heading back toward the Moors, their frog-like bodies half hopping.
Count Alain kicked his heels into the sides of his mount, sending his horse galloping hard after them.
“Stop!” Aurora shouted. She ran to Nettle and swung herself onto her horse’s back. “Do not follow them into the Moors!”
“I will not stand an insult like that to my sister,” he shouted back.
“Don’t be a fool,” Prince Phillip called out.
She could tell the moment Count Alain crossed into the Moors. He passed one of the enormous stones that marked the boundary, and it seemed as though he dropped into smoke, briefly disappearing from view. When he rode out the other end of the fog, he had an arrow notched in his bow. He trained it on one of the retreating wallerbogs.