The King's Cursed Bride

Covering Tracks

Dagger wounds. Small dagger wounds. That's why the man had died, according to the knights. That ruled out the murderer being a Reaper. The Reaper would have just sucked out the man's soul. And she would have sensed a Reaper anyway.

But now she'd best leave this up to Elon and the knights. It was their mystery to solve, not hers. She had to focus on her training before the darkness hit.

One of the ladies, Sybil, plopped a sugar cube into her cider. "I think he was stabbed before he drowned."

Dara waved her fan faster, cooling her plump flushed cheeks. "I say he was drowned before he was stabbed. After all, there was no blood on the cobblestone."

It seemed the story of the gardener's death was already well-circulated among the gossip mongers.

Wylma cleared her throat. "Queen Carissa, it's said you were there soon after it happened. You saw."

All eyes turned towards her, and heat surged beneath her skin. Carissa shrugged. "Honestly, I was too dazed to really observe much. But it doesn't matter. I'm sure the King has everything under control."

Sybil spluttered, her red cider dripping down her porcelain chin. "But–But surely you must be able to tease some details from the King."

Carissa stirred more spice into her drink. "The King said it's best for me not to be involved."

Wylma crinkled her nose, making her freckles cluster together. "Men. They think we women aren't good for anything but—"

Dara cleared her throat and jutted her double chin towards the youngest members of their group—the blond Lady Cylia and the brunette Lady Fern, the two who'd first seen Carissa in trousers.

Wylma continued, "—for anything but cooking."

Cylia plucked one of her curls until it bounced, a slight smile on her face. "Ladies don't cook, Wylma. I don't think that's what you were going to say."

Wylma rolled her eyes. "Well, my point still stands. They think we're all hollow-headed princesses who are too afraid of getting their slippers wet to go outside.

The girls stared at each other, and Lady Fern said, "We aren't?"

Wylma launched to her feet, nearly upsetting the little table with the cakes and cider. "No! We most certainly are not." Her auburn hair fluttered with the movement, as if it'd been set aflame. "And we're going to prove it."

Sybil snorted. "How, exactly, do you propose that?"

Wylma's blue eyes flared with excitement. "Tonight, we're going to sneak into the gardens and find the murderer ourselves."

The ladies erupted into excited chatter.

"I'm going to have to steal my brother's trousers."

"...wonder if the murderer is still hiding there."

"I'll bring my meal dagger."

Carissa cleared her throat, and silence settled over them. "I'm not certain that's a good idea." After all, if she shouldn't discover the identity of the murderer, these ladies likely weren't supposed to either.

Wylma plunked her hands on her hips. "Why ever not?"

Dara clucked. "Show some respect, Wylma."

Carissa set her cider onto the table and clasped her hands in her lap. "It's not safe, and I think the knights and King have this handled."

Sybil somehow managed a graceful eye roll. "They're men. Of course they think they have it handled."

Wylma bobbed her head. "Exactly. We'll likely catch something they haven't. Everyone knows women are the superior thinkers."