She tried to breathe steadily, feeling embarrassed and used, reminding herself this was all for the best. She was one life among tens of thousands. Still, no matter how she reasoned with herself, her gut still churned.
She wasn’t accustomed to speaking to males outside of their family and the Gillfins. Her nerves bunched into tight bundles, making Aerity light-headed, but she managed a nod. “Of course, Father.” She knew this was not easy for him. He sounded just as afraid as she was about what kind of man she’d end up with—what kind of man they’d be welcoming into the royal family. But regardless of who he was or where he hailed from, if he killed the beast, they would owe him respect and gratitude.
“I’ve got servants setting up tents and tables and shooting ranges in the west commons area now. If you could make an appearance during the dinner hour I’d be appreciative.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good.” The king’s adviser bustled to the desk, turning the king’s attention back to work. Aerity swallowed her emotions, and the girls slipped from the room. Wyneth shot one questioning look at Aerity, as if to gauge her thoughts.
“I’m okay,” Aerity said, letting out a long breath. “Not every girl is lucky enough to have hundreds of suitors, aye?”
Wyneth huffed a mild laugh through her nose. Then she got quiet and looked at the princess. “You don’t have to act brave on my account, you know.”
Aerity swallowed. “I know.” She had to stay brave for her own self. They stopped when they reached her bedroom door.
“You’ll come with me tonight to the west commons, won’t you, Cousin?”
Wyneth ran her fingers down a strand of Aerity’s long hair, smoothing it. “I won’t leave you. I promise.”
Aerity smiled. She could do this. With Wyneth at her side, she could resist the urge to escape her fate, to flee somewhere far away where her life and choices were her own. She’d agreed to this, and the wheels were set in motion. Running from her responsibility wasn’t an option. She would have to make the best of it.
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Chapter
9
Mrs. Rathbrook was glad to feel the sunlight on her skin for the first time in months. She needed to restock a few herbs in her cabinets. It was a fine day to be in the markets. Busy. Hunters of all nationalities filled the royal plaza, taking some of the attention off her. But not all. She could still sense the stares, though she no longer let it bother her. Years of stares had toughened her. Officer Vest remained close behind, a constant comfort.
Mrs. Rathbrook couldn’t help but glance around at the nearby men in their strange furs and head wraps, wondering which one of them might kill the beast and marry the princess. A shock of heartache filled her on princess Aerity’s behalf. The king’s decision seemed hypocritical to her, seeing as how he refused his late parents’ wish for him to marry a princess of Toresta. Though she would never voice her opinion aloud.
As she browsed the selection of fresh, dried, and powdered herbs, someone sidled close to her side. Much closer than usual. Mrs. Rathbrook caught a flash of orange fabric from the corner of her eye.
“Good day, royal Lashed One.” The smooth, husky female voice was not Lochlan.
Mrs. Rathbrook turned her head up to the stranger, and sucked in a breath at the sight of her. Shining black hair against light brown skin. Eyes of crystal blue. A brown cloak over a silken, orange dress. The woman gave her a smile, but something about it felt . . . off. Disingenuous.
“Hello,” Mrs. Rathbrook said.
The woman glanced down at Mrs. Rathbrook’s hands, which held a satchel of coins.
“Your hands are very beautiful.”
Mrs. Rathbrook’s heart sped up. Nobody spoke openly of her lashes or her ability, in general. She withdrew her hands, hiding them within her pockets. The woman gave her that ominous smile again.
Officer Vest stepped closer, but the woman ignored him. She only had eyes for the royal Lashed One, and she obviously had something to say. Mrs. Rathbrook could not help her curiosity.
She kept her eyes on the woman as she gave a nod and said, “It’s all right, Officer Vest.”
He stepped back, giving them space.
“Your own guard,” the woman drawled. “How charming.”
Mrs. Rathbrook narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“My name is Rozaria. I hail from the hotlands of Kalor.”
The name meant nothing to Mrs. Rathbrook. This woman must have accompanied the Kalorian hunters. The pleasant look never left the woman’s face, even as she spoke abrasive words.
“How does it feel to be a slave to the Lochsons?”
Mrs. Rathbrook went still. She’d never been to Kalor. Perhaps open rudeness was acceptable there, but she did not appreciate it. She lowered her voice and responded curtly.
“King Charles and his family treat me very well, thank you.” She turned back to the herbs, hoping the woman would take the hint and leave her be. No such luck.
“A comfortable room in a lavish castle, while others of your kind suffer throughout the land.”
Mrs. Rathbrook stood tall and faced the woman again. Her words had cut deep. She often thought about her own comfort compared to the despair of other Lashed, but she felt powerless to do anything about it.
“What would you have me do, Miss?” Then she remembered that Rocato, the root of prejudice against Lashed, had been from Kalor. “Perhaps if the Lashed in your land had not pursued their greed and hatred, these issues would not be upon us.”
The woman’s eyes hardened with anger.
Officer Vest stepped forward. “I’m going to have to ask you to move along, Miss.”
The woman, Rozaria, ignored him. “You know nothing,” she hissed at Mrs. Rathbrook. “But you will soon learn.”
“And just what is that supposed to mean?”
The woman’s sneer transformed her beautiful face into something frightening. Then she briskly turned and walked from the stand, keeping her hands deep in her cloak pockets, disappearing into the multitude of bodies. Mrs. Rathbrook noticed people quickly turning their heads away when they saw her looking.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Rathbrook?” Officer Vest asked. The crinkles around his eyes were further deepened with worry. “Did she threaten you?”
Mrs. Rathbrook shook her head. She wasn’t quite sure what had just happened, but it had left her weary. “I think I’ve got all I need for now.” She kept her head down as Officer Vest walked her back to the castle, her heart burdened with the woman’s words.
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Chapter
10
Paxton could immediately tell the true hunters from the ones motivated only by the king’s promised reward. He couldn’t help glaring at the gentlemen with their pretty bows and pristine arrows as they took their time aiming at the wooden targets. No doubt they’d never had to raise a bow for protection or a meal. He’d be happy when the hunt began and the impostors cleared out, wetting their fancy trousers in fright.
Aye, being on royal lands put him in a fine mood.
The west commons area was surrounded by a stone wall, a miniature version of the wall protecting the royal lands. The area’s single entry had two iron gates that swung inward, covered in vines. At the far side were long tables for eating. Against the wall by the tables were sets of stone and wood steps, likely used for spectator seating at events. The middle area of the commons consisted of fine grass where the men gathered for target practice and exercise. Tents had been erected at the southern end.
Next to Paxton, Tiern shifted from foot to foot, unable to stay still. “When do you think these idiots will finish? They’ve been at the targets forever.”
Paxton peered a
t the current archer and grimaced as his arrow missed the target completely, wobbling to the side and clanking into the wall. The archer frowned at his bow and grumbled, as if the bow were the problem. The man next to him commented about the gust of wind that likely took the arrow off course.
Paxton could take it no longer. He ran a hand through his unruly waves to get the locks out of his eyes as he walked over to the shooters.
“Oy, there. Time to rotate.” He didn’t bother with niceties. Paxton wasn’t there to make friends, but he nearly smiled in amusement at their startled expressions.
“We’re allowed five shots each,” one of them protested.
“Then get a move on. There’s a bloody line forming.”
The polished young men looked like they wanted to argue, likely unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a way, especially by a townsperson. Paxton stepped back and crossed his arms. He saw Tiern press his lips together to keep back a grin. The men, appearing rattled, turned back toward the targets and fired off their last shots.
Soon after, Tiern was up.
“Don’t show off,” Paxton warned Tiern, who sighed with disappointment.
The brothers made quick work of their time at the target, angling their bodies from different positions for each shot, and hitting within the middle circle each time. Paxton heard whispers from the handful of wealthy men surrounding them, but didn’t care to gauge their reactions.
After they’d retrieved their arrows, Paxton sat with Tiern on the stone seats by the wall, eyeing the crowd of hunters. Tiern rambled on about each of them, telling Paxton snippets of things he’d overheard, mostly braggarts boasting of their kills.
“That one there hunts lions down in the Kalor hotlands,” Tiern whispered excitedly, pointing to a man with what appeared to be lion hair around the sleeves of his shirt. “He had to wrestle one and kill it with his bare hands!”
Paxton almost laughed. “Don’t believe everything you hear from these hotheads. They’ll try to intimidate.”
“That’s a good idea. . . .” Tiern thought. “I could start a rumor about how we had to take down a twelve-point buck on a rampage with only our daggers.”
Paxton chuckled. “How about we ignore the ridiculous politics of the hunt and just kill the grizzly boar, aye?”
“Fine. Rob all the fun from it, won’t you,” Tiern said with a smile.
In a way, Paxton agreed with his mother, and wished his brother hadn’t wanted to participate. Tiern was a good hunter, but he was still naïve in so many ways. Paxton understood his mother’s fear for the lad, though he would never crush Tiern’s confidence by saying so. From what he’d heard of this beast, it was strong beyond belief and its skin was hard to penetrate. The last thing Paxton wanted was be distracted by worry over his brother while they were facing down the monster. But he knew Tiern was capable of being serious when necessary.
“High seas!” Tiern shouted as he jumped to his feet and pointed. “It’s the king!”
Paxton shielded his eyes against the angle of the sun, and, sure enough, the king was walking along the balcony, with its ornate pillars of stone, that overlooked the west commons area. He was flanked by several heavily armed men. All through the commons, Paxton saw guards dispersing themselves through the crowd, eyeing the hunters.
“Brave hunters of Eurona!” called one of the king’s advisers from the ledge above. “I respectfully ask that you lower all weapons to the ground while His Majesty King Charles Lochson speaks.”
Paxton reluctantly obeyed. The king stepped forward, the sun glinting off his gold crown.
Paxton had been expecting an arrogant man with cruelty in his eyes, but he saw none of that. This man appeared to hunch with fatigue. His eyes, lined with dark circles, glistened with emotion. It somewhat annoyed Paxton, who didn’t care for surprises. He had his reasons for not liking royalty, or many other people for that matter. Reasons he wouldn’t share with anyone. Ever.
Reasons only his late grandmother understood.
“Welcome, each of you, to the kingdom of Lochlanach,” King Charles said in a powerful voice. Paxton and the other men squinted in the midday sun above the king. “I am honored and grateful that so many brave men have responded to my proclamation. Our kingdom is in dire need of your expertise. Throughout the day my men who have faced the great beast will be among your ranks to share their experiences and provide insight. Maps of the land are available. You will each be fed and housed here in these quarters until the waterlands are freed of the beast. I have no doubt that one of you will achieve this feat of greatness and reap the rewards.”
A roar tore from the crowd. Tiern punched the sky and hollered his own war cry. Paxton never took his eyes from the king.
“And to the one who does . . .” King Charles paused, and turned to gesture behind him, as Paxton felt the breath he was drawing stop short. “I would like to introduce you to my daughter Princess Aerity . . . whose hand you will have in marriage.”
Was it Paxton’s imagination, or did the king’s voice falter?
A hush fell over the hunters as a shocking beauty walked gracefully to the king’s side. He put an arm around her slender shoulders, and she moved close, fitting her own arm around her father’s waist before eyeing the crowd somewhat shyly. She certainly didn’t look as if she hated her father for being willing to give her away.
“High seas,” Tiern whispered.
Paxton stared at the girl. Like her father, she was devoid of the haughtiness he expected to see from someone who lived a life of privilege. Around her head she wore a small golden circlet, which held a sapphire in the center of her forehead that sparkled like the sea. Her arm seemed to cling to her father with nervousness, though her face appeared assured and resolved. The princess’s act of kindness was well played.
A breeze lifted her strawberry blond strands, which fell gently back against her waist. Tiern whispered something else, but it was lost in the wind. Princess Aerity was the very image desires were made of. Her silken cream dress was cinched at her waist, accentuating her femininity.
“You don’t live with the looks,” his mother had always told him. “You live with the personality, so try and be pleasant. And choose a girl with a loving heart.”
Paxton wasn’t here for the girl anyhow. He was here to kill the beast that terrorized his people. Despite whatever show the king and princess were putting on for them, he had no doubt she was a spoiled lass, probably incapable of passion for anything other than herself. Paxton would not be fooled. He would do as he must to keep his family healthy and at peace.
But, seas alive, she was sweet on the eyes. He unabashedly took his fill.
As the king turned to escort his daughter from the balcony, Paxton caught his brother’s starstruck eyes.
“I think I’m in love, Pax.”
He grabbed his younger brother around the neck and ground a knuckle into his head, pulling hair from his perfect ponytail.
“Gerrof me! Not the hair!”
Paxton chuckled, but let out a grunt when Tiern put a fist in his stomach. Tiern was smiling as Paxton released him. The boy’s hair stuck out everywhere.
“You always were a fool for a pretty face,” Paxton told him.
“And gorgeous hair,” Tiern added. “And perfect curves. Don’t forget those.” He pulled the leather strap from his hair and smoothed the strands back again.
Paxton shook his head, trying not to smile. “She’s probably as cold as the far seas.”
“Don’t speak that way of my future wife,” Tiern said.
Beside them, a group of older men in fur-lined vests and dark trousers were passing. They had beards of differing lengths, and hair of dark blond past their shoulders, some balding on top.
“Only in your dreams, little boy,” one of the men said to Tiern, making the others laugh. The man was squat and wide, like a hairy boulder. “You probably wouldn’t even know what to do with a lass like that.” More raucous laughter.
Tiern’s joking de
meanor shed, and his spine straightened. Paxton stepped closer to his brother, making his loyalties known. When their eyes raked over him, their laughter quieted a fraction, but the man who’d spoken only smirked. With a jerk of the man’s head, the foreign hunters walked away, talking loudly once again.
“Ascomannians,” Paxton murmured of the coldlands natives. “Best not to engage them when they provoke.”
“Aye,” Tiern agreed. Paxton could see the tremble of anger in his brother’s chest. “That big one is called Volgan. I’ve deemed him Volgan the vulgar.”
Paxton chuckled. “You’ll earn their respect in time, Brother.”
Tiern gave a stiff nod.
In the meantime, Paxton would have to remember not to put his brother in any more headlocks or do anything to undermine his right to be there hunting.
Paxton was there to kill the great beast, not brawl with big-headed men who thought to pick on his brother. Although he’d been known to do the latter plenty of times.
Two Lochlan men approached then, one obviously a peasant with his threadbare tunic and mess of brown curls, the other dressed sharply in thick trousers with a military-short haircut.
“I’m Samuel Gullet of Loch Neck,” said the peasant. They shook hands, Paxton and Tiern introducing themselves in turn.
“Lieutenant Harrison Gillfin,” the other man said.
“Gillfin?” asked Tiern. “As in, related to Captain Breckon Gillfin?”
A shadow passed over the young man’s face. “Aye. The very one.”
Tiern swallowed and glanced at Paxton to save him.
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Paxton said.
Samuel clapped the lieutenant on the shoulder. “He’s become something of a legend, your cousin. The way he took on the beast single-handedly.”
Harrison nodded, grim.
At that moment royal soldiers came into the commons area, carrying oversized rolled papers. Maps of Lochlanach. Hunters flocked around the tables as soldiers pointed out marked areas where the beast had been spotted, places where people had been killed, and lands where the beast’s paw prints had been found. It didn’t take long before voices were raised, tension spanning like bands between the bodies as men shouted out the areas they wished to claim.
The Great Hunt Page 7