The conversation seemed to relax the housewife and take her mind off of their situation. When she spoke again, her voice seemed lighter, though her words were unexpected. “Oh, no—” Anne tried to reply, but her protests got lost in her throat. Of course she knew she could never be king; the pinks her mother had once swathed her in had ensured that. But beyond that, Anne was the least eligible person in the kingdom to take the crown. As much resentment she held for the royal and his ignorance of his own sins, Anne knew she had committed far more. She was surprised Ophelia even considered the thought. She seemed too demure, too obedient to the men in power to ever consider a female king. Maybe Anne had misjudged her after all.
Unfounded as they were, Ophelia’s compliments brought blushes to Anne’s cheeks. She wondered what Ophelia placed her trust in. The fact that Anne was a woman? Was literate? Could wield a blade? Or was it something more? Did Anne have Ophelia so brainwashed that, even with the dubious start to their relationship and the many stumbles since, she still trusted her? No, Anne thought, Ophelia was too smart for that. Whatever Anne had done to win her trust, she hoped it kept working.
Before the assassin could continue the conversation, her attention was pulled to the road before them. Ophelia had noticed it too, the sound of a branch breaking, and Anne could hear the hitch in her breath. It was clear from the strength of the sound that they were in no danger, but Anne reached a hand towards her sword anyway, gaze steady. If nothing else, perhaps her own calm would help Ophelia relax.
Anne ventured a step, then another. Another snap. This time, she unsheathed her sword while delicately moving forward. In another moment, she found the source of the distraction. A boar stood just a few feet away, half-covered by some bushes, eyes wide in fear. It was just a baby, and from its sudden movements, it was lost and confused. Anne lowered her sword when she saw it, and a smile came over her face. “He won’t hurt us,” she called to Ophelia, calling her over with a wave of her hand. “His tusks are in no state to damage us, and he’s far too afraid of us to approach.” She stepped closer to him and motioned her sword at it to shoo it away. It scurried in the opposite direction, clumsily bumping into a tree in its eagerness to escape. Anne chuckled lightly, glad that their assailant this time was such an inept one.
But a realization dawned on her. If that hadn’t been a baby, the boar might have been a problem to them. Anne thought back to the way Ophelia had changed when she held a sword, and she knew she’d be in no state to actually attack, especially not a living creature. But that wouldn’t do out here. Anne could easily handle herself, but if anything were to disarm her, they would both be killed in a heartbeat. “If anything ever does attack us,” she said, turning back to Ophelia, “I need to trust that you’d be able to take care of it. My swords are rusty, but they’ll do the job, even in your hands. If it’s their lives or ours, you always have to choose yourself. You understand that, don’t you?”
But Anne didn’t let the sentiment settle; now wasn’t the time to overwhelm Ophelia further with possible dangers on this journey. It was likely in Anne’s best interests that something happen to Ophelia now, anyway. There would be no witnesses when she returned to their home to finish her job. The thought settled uncomfortable in her throat, and she shook it off. “But nothing will attack us this close to the city,” she said, “so we are perfectly safe.” If her days with Ophelia weren’t numbered, she wondered what it might have been like to gift the woman her own weapon, to teach her how to use it, to be more than the helpless wife she’d been raised to be.
Bookmarks