You see? It is the way the Fates order things.
I must submit to them, though I am a king. Can you not, then, bend your head
without shame, and wait with me?"
Reasoning was lost on Randalin. The bitterness of failure had swept over her
and maddened her. Was she mistaken, then, about everything? Could those
trembling old women behind the broken wall read the world like witches? Was
everyone false or a beast? Oh, how her father had been wronged! She shook off
the King's hand and faced him with blazing eyes, seeking for words that should
bite like her thoughts. Then she became conscious that a word would
precipitate a flood of hysterical tears, to the eternal disgrace of her
warrior kin. All that was left for her was to get away without speaking. Out
in the woods there would be no one to see; and the grass would hide the
quivering of her lips. She put up her hand now to hide it and, struggling to
her feet, began groping toward the door.
She did not stop when Canute's voice called after her,--not until she had
reached the entrance, and the rattle of crossing spears, without, had told her
that her way was barred. Then she whirled back with a sharp cry.
"Let me go! I hate you! Let me go!"
He did not bid his guards kill her, as she half expected. Instead, he said
patiently, "I foresaw that you would take it ill; there is the greatest excuse
for you.
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