TWENTY-FOUR
By all that was holy, what had Xylander been thinking? That she wanted the girl dead? If she had, she'd have asked for the princess's head, not her heart. As if she'd ask for anyone's head. What sort of mad queen would demand such a thing?
And that dripping heart...Guinevere shuddered. She might not be squeamish at the sight of blood, but when he'd pulled the organ out of that wine jug, red with wine or blood or a mixture of both...why, she'd challenge even the strongest man not to shrink away at such a sight. It would churn anyone's stomach.
Except Xylander's, of course. They'd called him the Huntsman for a reason back home. When he'd splashed gore down his front from it, he'd barely blinked.
She hoped he hadn't splashed any...Guinevere swore under her breath. There were
