The Hunted

by Bethany-Kris

  Eryx soon figured out Arelle wasn’t wrong.

  There was no title page.

  That was a lie.

  There was a title page.

  Anthia, Queen of the Blu Sea.

  Eryx lost his ability to breathe for a second, his gaze darting up to see Arelle had turned around to let her fingers dance over the flame of a flickering candle nearby. She wasn’t looking at him when he flipped the first page, and he took the risk of looking back down again, though he knew it would be a stab in the heart.

  Queen, he read again.

  The word kept jumping from the page.

  He knew her writing.

  Those soft curves when she twisted the letters with ink on a quill. His mother was one of the first slaves to learn to write, and because of her favor with his father, made it seem like a norm for others when she learned to read and write their language alongside him.

  Yes, he knew his mother’s handwriting.

  That pain in his chest came.

  Why had she never told him her true title?

  Mattue’s words in the House of Miller about the things his mother wanted to hide roared into his mind with a vengeance. He knew the implications; he understood perfectly well what that meant for him and yet, he couldn’t linger on that for long when on the next page he found his mother’s words in the form of a journal entry.

  He swore he could hear her voice.

  Eryx read the first page. The way she’d quickly scribbled a few paragraphs to fill up the page and all at once, explained the journal’s placement in the estate’s library and its purpose.

  Once a summer, they bring him here. I’m leaving this journal here because despite how Mattue claims to be worldly, he does not seem to spend much time learning the words of the world, regardless of what he leads others to believe.

  It’s the only shame about spending any days here because the rest of it is almost perfect. Eryx spends a spread of time with Mattue at his father’s demand … Misael intends for the man to be his advisor. He’s only a spare, the man says, but he should be an educated spare, nonetheless.

  I hate him—Misael.

  My son, I love more than the moons and stars and seas that call for me. But who else will?

  Back to the problem, however. Mattue, that is. Misael adores him—brothers are brothers, he says. The court believes he’s loyal.

  Eryx … well, sometimes it’s hard to tell what he thinks at all about any of them.

  Then again, between the father who would only spoil and ruin him; the court who sees the halfling princes as a twisted, amusing show; the advisor who manipulates him; and the mother who always asks him if he can smell the sea? I imagine it’s a lot for a boy of only four.

  I suppose we’re all giving Eryx one thing—an ability to think for himself. May that save him when I cannot.

  A couple of scribbles marked up the bottom of the page, as though the quill stayed to the paper, but she glanced up. Right below it, the last few lines of the page were clear as day when she’d come back to her writing:

  I have to stop writing—here, I get more time with him than at court. Here, he can smell the sea. As long as I ensure he always knows it’s there, he’ll never forget how to find it.

  Dt. Orchard Season, Journal of Anthia, Stable Estate, yr 762

  “Well?” Arelle asked.

  “Did you open it up?” he asked, snapping it shut. He wasn’t ready to flip the next page; had she written in it again that year, or waited until the next? Did she ever hope someone may find it and that was why she left it there, or did she know his love for the estate might bring them back here someday where she could resume her place? He had too many questions to ask, and now the only thing available to answer them was this book in his hands. “Because it seems to be a journal, of sorts.”

  “Oh.”

  He cleared his throat. “My mother’s.”

  Lifting his gaze, Eryx found Arelle had swung around and was staring at him.

  “What?”

  “Ah, yes, it seems like—”

  “My lord. I have just gotten word your father, the king, is nearly here.”

  He spun on his heels to find one of the servants had come to stand in the doorway. The man waited for the prince to reply.

  The king was coming.

  Unannounced.

  They needed orders.

  Eryx’s hand squeezed tighter to the book in his hand until his knuckles turned white from the pressure. “How long do we have?”

  “The scout said he noticed the royal caravan at Rock’s Turn.”

  Not long, then.

  “He traveled in the storms?” Eryx demanded.

  “Apparently, my lord.”

  “Eryx?” Arelle asked softly.

  There were many reasons his father could be coming. None of them good. He suspected there was only one reason, however.

  The woman behind him.

  To the servant, Eryx switched into royal mode because he had to. “Ready the house and everyone in it for a proper welcome.”

  The man bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  He didn’t wait for more direction; he also didn’t need more.

  Then, Eryx turned to Arelle. Her hand reached out, an unspoken request for the item he still held.

  “I will put it under your pillow while you man the house—I swear I won’t open it.”

  He gripped the book tighter; his mother was a topic he didn’t want to touch with Arelle. Not when it still felt raw, and avoiding it altogether was easier when he looked at her and knew Anthia’s last moments had been in this woman’s presence. He was well aware that no, she had not killed his mother, but the twisted thoughts in his mind made everything far more difficult and complex.

  “I—”

  “Eryx, I know we haven’t spoken again about your mother, but I am sorry. You were right about one thing—I did see your pain that night. I have apologized for what happened though it wasn’t me who landed the final blow and your mother asked for it nonetheless … but this is not the same. I am sorry you lost your mother. I am sorry you hurt.”

  That made him pause.

  His grip loosened after a second. “Sometimes, you make it hard for me to keep hating you.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?” she asked.

  Eryx swallowed hard. “Take the journal; put it where you promised.”

  “Of course. Is the king—will it not end well when he arrives? For us?”

  How did she just know?

  He wanted to lie.

  To reassure her.

  Those words stuck to his throat like tar, refusing to leave his lips. Instead, he was left with only the truth and he knew it wouldn’t help.

  “I don’t know,” he murmured.

  “They whisper, you know? The servants. They say your father has a penchant for pretty slaves, and he can take any single one that he wants whenever he wants.”

  His next breath ached. “It is the law, yes.”

  “Including me?”

  “You’re not his, Arelle.”

  “But—”

  “You’re not his.”

  But would that make a difference?

  That was the real question.

  • • •

  Eryx’s gaze swept the entrance hall of the stable estate’s main house. Every single servant had come to stand on either side of the corridor to wait for the impending arrival of the king. They kept their gazes straight ahead, never once looking Eryx’s way as his boots hit the floor with soft smacks while he did his final check.

  They had very little time to be perfect.

  It didn’t matter.

  Everything would have to be perfect.

  The king expected nothing less.

  The clanging of the bell outside had Eryx stiffening as his gaze went to the guards standing ready at the doors. He gave one last glance over his shoulder, his stare zoning in on the woman who stood at the very far end of the line of servants. He’d wanted Arelle to attempt to blend in. He’d
even had her change her dress to something less … attractive.

  It didn’t make a difference.

  She still stood out.

  Beautifully.

  Perfectly.

  Fuck.

  The bell tolled once more.

  Eryx had no more time to waste.

  The galloping of hooves from the royal caravan accompanied the third and final toll of the bell. Eryx headed for the doors and didn’t even need to say a word to the guards before they opened them for him. He came to stand under the large enclave that led into the stable estate’s main house. There, he was able to watch the caravan come to a stop.

  It was quite a show.

  All four large carriages. He knew exactly what they carried without even needing to be told. Whatever his father might want and need, whether the king’s stay was for a minute, or weeks.

  The heavy rain fell in sheets, creating a distorted curtain Eryx was forced to watch through while the men jumped from the caravans to ready for his father’s exit. They readied the makeshift cover they had created using one of his father’s seals embroidered on a flag that was tied at all four ends to golden poles. Standing on either side of the carriage with the gold trim, the men waited for the door to open.

  Misael exited his carriage under the safety of the cover, hidden from the heavy rain. He even wore his crown—the large bulbous top nearly tall enough to touch the cover with its ruby jewel.

  Behind his father came a man Eryx should have known would accompany him.

  Mattue.

  Because of course.

  It was right then and there that Eryx knew exactly why his father was here. He’d suspected, sure, but Mattue’s presence only confirmed it further.

  It didn’t take long for Misael to make his way to the safety of the enclave. Eryx, though his stomach clenched when he did it, gave his father a small bow.

  “Your highness,” he murmured, “quite the weather to travel in, isn’t it?”

  Misael eyed his son, a cold gleam telling Eryx all he needed to know. “I was told you were doing very interesting things here that I might find … curious. How much truth is there to that, my boy? And if there is something interesting here, I would certainly like to see it.”

  Eryx’s gaze darted to the man waiting behind his father.

  Mattue only smiled back.

  He would kill him for this.

  That was a promise.

  “I’m not sure—”

  “Is the house ready for my arrival?” Misael asked.

  Eryx didn’t know how many passings of the two moons it had been since he’d last seen his father, but it was almost funny how things hadn’t changed a bit in all that time. Misael was still the same, rancid asshole he had always been. The only problem was, Eryx no longer had the motivation to care about keeping the king pleased.

  “It is,” he said simply, “if you consider the lack of time you gave us to prepare.”

  Misael smirked ever so slightly. “Perhaps, Eryx, that was the point. I would like to go inside.”

  He had no other choice but to move aside when his father took a step forward. Misael entered through the opened doors, and because everyone else had to walk behind the king, that left Eryx with Mattue beside him.

  “I warned you,” the advisor said quietly. “You gave me your word. We had a deal.”

  His jaw clenched from holding words back. He had more important things to deal with at the moment than Mattue’s feelings.

  Like the fact his father had already spotted Arelle. He didn’t even greet the guards at the doors like he usually would. Instead, he headed straight down the corridor past the servants. If he even seen their bows and curtsies, Eryx couldn’t say.

  “Your highness.”

  “King.”

  “My lord.”

  The greetings rang out from every person Misael passed. He returned none of them.

  At the very end, Arelle stood in front of the entry table piled high with melting candles. Eryx’s steps caught up to his father’s only a second or two after the king came to a stop in front of the red-headed mermaid who held her head high.

  “Were you not informed on how to greet a king?” his father asked.

  Arelle’s gaze darted to Eryx over Misael’s shoulder. Eryx nodded once to her—a command as much as it was a silent plea.

  She curtseyed for the king.

  “My lord,” she murmured.

  Eryx couldn’t miss the way his father’s lips pulled into a pleased smile. Before any of them even knew what had happened, Misael reached out and caught one of Arelle’s loose curls between two of his fingers. He wrapped the strands tight to his fingers, and his gaze drank her up and down as though he’d found something he very much wanted.

  Misael then glanced over his shoulder at Eryx. “Seems you and I have more in common than I thought—hunted this one in particular, did you?”

  Eryx pulled in a stinging breath but said nothing.

  Besides, his father had already turned his attention back on Arelle. “Mattue was right—there are very interesting things happening here. Dinner will be soon, yes?”

  “Within the hour, Father,” Eryx replied thickly.

  “I would like for this slave to sit beside me.”

  Of course, he would.

  And Eryx decided right then that he hated hearing his father call Arelle a slave. Except that’s what she was now, wasn’t it?

  After all, he’d hunted her. He’d done this.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Arelle

  DINNER RAN much later than it usually did. King Misael positioned himself at the head of the table where he could see everyone, and the first thing everyone else saw was him. And unfortunately, Arelle, too. Sitting directly beside him, she had the perfect view of everyone else sitting at the table—most who had come with the royal caravan—and of Eryx at the far end.

  He sat at the head of his tables.

  Not tonight.

  Arelle didn’t think that was the reason for rage swimming in Eryx’s gaze whenever his stare came his father’s way, however. Oh, he was quite good at hiding it. So good, in fact, that his expression stayed neutral and blank throughout the dinner. If one didn’t know what his icy irises looked like when he was angry, then they wouldn’t be aware of his current state.

  She did know.

  And she could feel it.

  That bothered her more. Mostly because for the moment, she couldn’t do anything to help calm his rage. And also because a part of her just knew … this evening wouldn’t end well.

  “Hmm, no,” the king said, leaning over to swat away the hand of a servant who was currently offering the second pick of what was apparently Misael’s favorite sweet to the slave across the table from Arelle. The man tipped his crown-topped head in Arelle’s direction, saying, “Her first, and then the other.”

  The servant never missed a beat. “Yes, your highness.”

  A shuddering sigh echoed from the other end of the table, but with the amount of noise between the people eating and the quiet discussions reaching across the room, no one really heard it.

  Or they didn’t care.

  Arelle did.

  “Would you like one?” the servant asked, having come around to Arelle’s side of the table. It drew her gaze away from Eryx at the other end whose gaze still burned with the fire of a thousand suns. Not at her, she knew, but right then she was the only thing he was staring at. “They are—”

  “I know what they are,” Arelle interrupted. “Water fruit dipped in white cream.”

  “My favorite,” Misael said with a grin.

  One couldn’t tell the man enjoyed sugary treats. Though she knew Misael had to be at least in his fiftieth year, or beyond, if not nearing them, he had not a touch of gray in his hair, no age showing in lines on his face, and he seemed fit and muscular as both the men of her kind and those who walked solely on land preferred. Shame that she’d bet his good looks and healthy appearance came from the enchanted medicines
made from the mermaid blood and not a single thing else.

  A click of a tongue and a chirp came from across the table, making Arelle lift her head subtly to answer the call of the mermaid on the opposite side of her seat. With a large metal collar around her throat, and her hair pulled back to showcase it with the royal stamp engraved at the front, the woman’s piercing violet eyes made her still in place.

  But what she’d said—in their mother tongue—wasn’t lost on Arelle, even if the merwoman had said it quietly and quickly so that the exchange was missed by the others at the table who were still busy between food and conversation. Even the king.

  Do not refuse him—the punishment is always far worse than giving him what he wants. Always.

  She swallowed hard, and nodded to the slave, grateful for the help she hadn’t had to give, when the king was clearly treating Arelle like a favored whore over her for everyone to see.

  “Yes,” Arelle told the servant, “I’ll have one, thank you.”

  “Of course.”

  The servant didn’t move the silver-plated tray until Arelle had taken her pick of sweet from the bunch. All the while, the table’s movement continued on, the king grinned her way as though he was quite pleased, and Eryx’s jaw became tenser when she brought the sweet to her lips for a bite but passed a look his way at the same time.

  It was bad for her to do that.

  He was screaming for her on the inside. She heard it as clear as a bright day in her heart and soul.

  “Is that true, little thing?”

  Arelle’s head swung around to find the king was looking at her expectantly. She hadn’t a single clue what he was asking but thought it better to behave as though she did than to ask him to repeat himself. “Likely.”

  The man flashed his teeth in a pleased smile before saying, “Then, you should dance.” His hands clapped together loudly, silencing the table all at once while every pair of eyes turned on him. “Find the music, I want to watch the slave dance—find the music!”

  Servants rushed to obey.