Prince of Dogs

“Not if she miscarries—”

He hit her, hard, on the cheek with an open hand.

“I carried your child,” she gasped, jerking away, but she could not get free. “Ai, Lady, I am glad you beat it out of me.”

He hit her again, and then again, harder, and the fourth time she staggered and fell to her knees—but this time she drew her knife.

“I’ll kill you,” she whispered hoarsely. Tears stung her eyes and blood dripped from her nose.

He laughed, as if her resistance delighted him.

“My lord Father!” A servingman ran out of the mist, leaping between her knife and Hugh’s body. He jumped in to grapple with her, but she flung the knife away before he could touch her. What use was a knife against Hugh’s magic—if it even were magic? Hugh wielded his earthly power as effectively as any magic.

“My lord Father, are you unhurt?” Numb, she listened as the servingman fawned over Hugh. “God Above! That an Eagle should threaten you so! I’ll take her into custody until the king—”

“Nay, brother.” Hugh broke in with a gentle smile. “Her mind is disordered by the minions of the Enemy. I thank you for your watchfulness, but God are with me and I need not fear her, for I intend to heal her instead. You may go on, but be sure I shall remember you in my prayers.” He nodded toward Liath. “As you must pray for her soul.”

The servingman bowed. “As you wish, my lord.” He shook his head. “You are all that is generous.” Clucking softly under his breath as if with veiled disapproval, he walked away.

Hugh’s gentle demeanor vanished as soon as the man was out of earshot. “Don’t provoke me, Liath, and don’t mock God.” His tone was as hard as the rocks digging into her knees. He picked up the knife and used the point to lift her chin so that she had to look at him. “Now go in. The princess wants to see you.” Then, in an action meant to flaunt his power and her weakness, he flipped over the knife and handed it to her, hilt first.

Still numb, she sheathed it. Her nose still bled. She pressed one nostril with a hand, to stem the blood, and walked stiffly back to the princess’ tent; Hugh walked right behind her. Her eyes stung and her head pounded, but her heart was frozen. Nothing she could do mattered. She had no recourse. Perhaps it was true that she could stop him physically should he try again to rape her … but he was still her jailer, and she was in every other way his prisoner.

Sapientia did not even notice Liath; she was gossiping with Lady Brigida about who might be named as the next Margrave of Eastfall. But Sister Rosvita was there, attending the princess.

“Good child,” she exclaimed as she noticed Liath. “What happened to your face?”

“I tripped on a stump. I beg your pardon, Sister.”

“No need to beg my pardon, Eagle. Your Highness, your father has sent me to get news of your health.”

“I’m feeling better,” said Sapientia. “I can ride today.”

“Perhaps not today,” said Rosvita gently, glancing curiously over at Liath again. “Your father wishes you to remain here resting another week before you attempt the journey to Echstatt.”

“I don’t want—!”

“Your Highness,” said Hugh softly.

Sapientia stopped dead, looked up at Hugh with a most disgustingly exultant expression, and smiled. “What do you advise, Father Hugh?”

“Heed the king’s advice, Your Highness. You must conserve all your energy to bring this child safely to term.”

“Yes.” She nodded soberly. “Yes, I must.” She turned back to the cleric. “Tell my father I will abide by his wishes.”

“I will. There is one other thing. King Henry wishes to interview your Eagle about Gent.”

Liath waited stupidly, stripped of purpose, until Sapientia gave permission for her to go. Hugh begged leave to attend the king. Together, Liath, Rosvita, and Hugh left and crossed to the king’s tent. Not even in such a small way would Hugh leave her alone. Henry was awake, seated in his chair while his servants packed what remained of his possessions into chests for the journey.

“There is the Eagle,” said the king as he looked up from a consultation with a steward about the outfitting of the new Dragons. He indicated Hathui, who stood over to one side of the tent with Hanna and a redheaded Eagle named, of course, Rufus. “You will give your report to your comrades. One of them will be riding to Count Lavastine. Father Hugh! How may I aid you?”

Hailed by the king, Hugh could hardly follow her over to the others.