“Silly talk, that!” someone else snapped, not taking wary eyes from the girl.
Rose Red, oblivious to the talk, waited, watching the road down which Lionheart, the baron, and Lady Daylily had disappeared.
The baron and his daughter returned, and Rose Red breathed a sigh. This meant Lionheart had indeed crossed the bridge and gone on his way. Whether or not she was relieved, she could not say. She rose as the baron approached, curtsying when he drew his horse up before her and dismounted.
Like Daylily’s, the baron’s eyes were large for his face; but unlike Daylily’s, his were not beautiful. They penetrated like cold daggers. Rose Red, in the moment those eyes bore down on her, was thankful for her veil.
“Get out,” the baron said.
Rose Red drew a short breath. “I was promised a goat and a cart—”
“Guards.” The baron’s voice did not rise, and his eyes did not leave her.
Two guards approached and grabbed Rose Red by the arms. “Father!” Daylily cried, dismounting in a rush of skirts, but had no chance to say more. For Rose Red, after an instant’s surprise, screamed and, with strength the guardsmen did not expect, hurled first one and then the other from her. They staggered back, surprised, and Rose Red turned upon the baron.
“I was promised a goat and a cart,” she declared and held up Prince Lionheart’s signet ring. “You heard the prince yourself, and you saw him give me his ring. Now do as he wished!”
The baron’s mouth hardened into a thin line, his gaze fixed on her. “You will not order me about on my own land, witch,” he said. “I am not under your spell.”
Terror filled her, and Rose Red stepped back, turning from the baron to the guardsmen and back again. “The prince—” she began.
“He is as good as dead.” The baron spoke smoothly, without emotion. His focus shifted briefly to the ring in her hand. “That will do you no good now.”
Rose Red stood frozen. Then she clutched the ring tight to her chest, slumping into herself. The baron motioned, and the guards stepped forward again; this time when they grabbed her, she made no protest.
“Father,” Daylily said in a voice as cold as the baron’s own, “you cannot gainsay Prince Lionheart’s wishes. The Eldest could be dead, for all we know, and Lionheart, your sovereign. You dare not disobey him.”
The baron gave his daughter a mirthless smile. “Lionheart will not leave the country alive, my sweet child. He’s a fool to try, and he will not return.” He reached out and patted her cheek. Daylily stood woodenly, as though enduring some offense. The baron continued, “There is no king in Southlands now, save the Dragon. And when he eventually tires of us and leaves, there will be no king at all. Then we shall see where we are.”
Daylily said nothing. Rose Red stared at her from behind her veil, desperate to read her thoughts. “M’lady,” she said, trying to draw her gaze. “M’lady, help me.”
But it was the baron, not his daughter, who turned at the sound of her voice. His face suddenly became vicious, and he snarled to his guards, “Take her from here and . . . get rid of her.”
“Father—”
“Not a word from you, child.”
“Listen to me!” Daylily’s voice was sharp, a voice that would kill if it could. “I was there at the Eldest’s House when . . . when he came. I heard what he said to the prince and to this girl. I assure you, Father, if you harm her, your new ‘king’ will make you pay. Depend upon it.”
Her heart thudding so hard in her chest that she could scarcely think, Rose Red watched Middlecrescent and his daughter stare at each other like wildcats vying for dominance. At last, without breaking Daylily’s gaze, the baron spoke. “Guards, get the creature off my land. See that she leaves Middlecrescent. Alive.”
They hauled Rose Red off her feet in their haste to obey. She was bound at the wrists, placed on a horse—which was terrifying in itself, for she had never ridden before in her life—and escorted across Middlecrescent by several armed men. They passed towns and villages as silent as graveyards as the people, like so many ghosts, sequestered themselves into the recesses of their homes, hoping to escape the ever-growing stench of dragon smoke as it crept across the land. Farms were abandoned, flocks and fields left untended. Nowhere was there clean air to breathe. Rose Red watched the guardsmen gradually succumb to the poison, their faces losing color, their eyes losing light.