The Hunted

by Bethany-Kris

  The king told Arelle, “Well, get up. You won’t be sitting there to do it.”

  Gods.

  She should have just asked him to repeat himself.

  Slowly, though it was the last thing she wanted to do, Arelle stood from the table. Turning away from her seat, every muscle in her body froze when a crack echoed throughout the room and an accompanying sting radiated over her backside.

  He’d hit her.

  Slapped her ass, in fact.

  Disgust rolled heavily through Arelle as laughter filtered down the table. Her stare found Eryx, who was now grinding his teeth and not even making an effort to hide it. In the sea, that act alone would have gotten another man killed by her mate.

  Here …

  All the rules changed.

  The man who had been sitting beside Arelle stood, saying, “Perhaps the den would be a better place for a show like that. We’re a bit tight in here, Misael. Care to let me walk her there while you finish your treats?”

  The king nodded. “Sound plan, Mattue.”

  Mattue offered Arelle his arm, smiling all the way. She took it reluctantly, if only because she didn’t trust this man, and his encounters with Eryx before this evening had never seemed to sit right with her. They followed a few others who readied to leave the table out of the room. It was only once the king—and Eryx—were behind them that the man spoke to her.

  “She was right, you know,” Mattue said.

  Arelle glanced his way, wary. “Pardon?”

  “The other slave. She makes a valid point about King Misael. Give him what he wants, and it will always hurt less.”

  He could speak their tongue—or at the very least, understand them?

  What other secrets did the man hold?

  • • •

  Usually when the storm reached its raging peak, the house hunkered down. The servants went to their quarters, while Arelle spent the evening with Eryx watching the rain pour down and the lightning streak across the black skies.

  Tonight wasn’t the same.

  With every spin of her body as she danced, Arelle took in the room around her and the people within it. Their hands clapped in time with the tune being played on the three-string instrument by a servant, but she knew it was forced. Their gazes kept darting to the windows where the rain slapped at the glass—the king didn’t want the shutters closed—and the wind howled louder.

  Every so often, the next crack of thunder boomed. Then, the lightning followed. Besides the flickering candles in the room, the lightning was the only thing brightening the space and people.

  But not the person she wanted.

  Not Eryx.

  Where had he gone?

  Her feet ached from dancing nonstop—how many hours had it been now? Long enough that a man had added more logs to the fire.

  At least now the king had drunk enough ale and wine that he was seeming sleepy and less interested in the conversation. Unless it was Mattue who wanted to talk. Then, Misael gladly chatted with the man.

  Like now.

  “She’ll make a wonderful addition, don’t you think?” she heard him ask the advisor.

  Mattue smiled her way. “Far better than the other one—the sister? The hunter thought so, anyhow.”

  The king made a noise under his breath. “Mouthy, that one. Couldn’t even beat it out of her.”

  “She’s being handled.”

  What did that mean?

  Was Poe—

  “Have it done tonight,” Misael said, “while I take my rest.”

  “Even in the storm, my lord?”

  “Yes, even with the storm. Careful passage, of course.”

  With that said, the king stood from his chair and nodded at a servant and the slave that wasn’t too far away from his seat. They’d barely left his side all night, and when he moved, so did they. Although, always behind him.

  Without even a goodbye or an order that Arelle could stop dancing for the room, the king disappeared through the far entry.

  Her twirling came to an immediate stop, the relief flooding through her veins as everyone turned to watch the king leave. For a single moment, no eyes were on her, and Arelle did the only thing that felt rational—even if it absolutely wasn’t—to her.

  She turned and left the den through a back corridor that led to the rear of the house. Her skirts blew out behind her as she ran as fast as she could down the darkened hallway with only one thing—one person—on her mind.

  Had she been a smarter woman, or even cared of what the people she’d left behind must have thought of her departure, then Arelle would have considered more before acting on impulse. She would have been mindful about her exit so what she was running to or from wasn’t as obvious to anyone watching.

  Yet, she didn’t.

  Couldn’t.

  • • •

  “Well?” Arelle asked, all of her air gone.

  Eryx’s hand flexed on her bare ass; hard enough to hurt, too. “Not a single mark.”

  She swallowed hard, knowing that didn’t make a difference to him or the way he was feeling. She’d known it from the moment she’d stepped inside his chambers and the first word out of his mouth had been strip.

  Arelle dared to ask why.

  The look he returned her was more than enough for her to know he didn’t want her questions. He didn’t want her words or her stares or anything but for her gown to be a forgotten pile on the floor. The second she’d stood in nothing but her skin, he’d crossed the room and began what could only be described as inspecting her.

  “It’s almost fucking insanity the way I can smell you from across the room. And when you lick your lips, I taste you on my fucking tongue. I can nearly imagine the feeling of you milking me.”

  He’d told her those tantalizing things after he had moved to his knees to rove his palms over her backside.

  She knew exactly what this was when he’d said, “He touched you.”

  He wanted to see if the king—his father—had left a mark from when he’d put his hands on her backside at the table. How long had Eryx been stewing on that jealousy?

  Jealous mates could be a dangerous thing.

  So, she grinned when he murmured that pleased, “Not a single mark.”

  “Even so,” she found herself replying, “I’m sorry.”

  His grip on her flexed again. “Don’t be.”

  “I think … I think they’re planning something.”

  Eryx leaned close enough for his hot mouth to drag over the back of her thigh. He kissed the curve of her ass, and then inched over a bit more to bite the plump skin. Her air caught in her chest when a delicious heat shot through her body.

  It certainly wasn’t the right time.

  She should tell him what she heard—the wild things running through her mind that made her think they weren’t safe. That was hard to do, however, when Eryx’s hand was already between her thighs massaging her clit and slit before his mouth was in the same spot to tease her as well. He always looked his best after he’d buried his face between her thighs and ate her until she was a sobbing mess in his bed. There was something about the way he looked with her arousal still damp on his lips and hungry for more.

  Shivers raced through her.

  Like nothing at all, she was sky-high.

  Somehow, she managed to tell him again, “I think … I think they’re planning something.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Shouldn’t we—”

  “They’ll be doing nothing tonight.”

  She decided to trust him.

  What other choice did she have?

  Besides, they always seemed to talk far better when the two of them were tangled in his bed. They could talk after … or plan.

  Arelle panted and moaned her way through the first wave of pleasure. The roughness in Eryx’s touch when he bent her over the closest flat surface said he’d choke the second one out of her.

  That was just as good, too.

  Later, when a man from t
he stables came to knock on the bedchamber door to say there was trouble with the horses that they needed the prince for, Eryx had told her simply to, “Stay.”

  She would wish after that he had done the same.

  Stay.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Eryx

  THE MAN WHO handled the stables had been right—unfortunately. There was definitely something wrong in the stables. Eryx knew it the very second he pushed open the doors, struggling against the wind that only seemed to blow harder now that he’d come outside.

  It was too quiet.

  Something that was incredibly unusual, considering the fifteen to twenty horses that typically boarded in the stables on any given day or night. Not to mention, they had added another twelve horses that belonged to the royal caravan that evening.

  And it was storming.

  That always had the animals acting up.

  Not tonight, it seemed.

  A dark silence greeted him when he finally managed to pull the door open. The smell of hay and hide smacked him fair square in the face. The musky heat of the stables caused him to shove back the cloak’s hood from his head. That way, he breathed a bit easier.

  Shooting a look back at the main house, he let go of the heavy door. At the rear, south-west side of the estate, he couldn’t see very much. Certainly not the front of the house, the barns for the carriages, or anything else. Only a few oil lamps and candles remained flickering in windows, but it was hard to distinguish with the rain.

  Something felt wrong.

  The longer he stood there staring at the house, the worse the feeling became. He didn’t quite know what, but the dread wouldn’t leave, no matter how hard he tried. Instead of feeding into it, he simply let the stable doors close behind him, knowing that soon, he would be back in his bed with Arelle.

  And everything would be fine.

  At least, until the morning.

  “I wish I could find it in me to apologize, but you know me, and I cannot, my lord.”

  The familiar voice had Eryx’s head swinging back around to face the long corridor of the stables that was lined on either side with stalls for the horses. At the very far end, he found the source of the voice.

  Mattue.

  He waited there in a cloak trimmed with black fur—his favorite. Silver rings with black onyx stones rested on each of the man’s clasped fingers. Sitting on a stool under the only current source of light in the stables—a high hanging metal rack with fifteen thick candles sitting in a circle—Mattue smiled grimly.

  Eryx took a step toward the man, and then another. All the while, his gaze darted back and forth in the stables when he passed stalls. He kept thinking … the horses are too quiet; even when they rest in their hay in the storms, they’re never this quiet.

  It was hard to see the beasts in their stalls with the high doors keeping them blocked from his line of sight. Through the slate where the doors didn’t quite reach the floor, he could see the tips of hooves, and even a snout when he reached the middle of the stables.

  “What is wrong with my horses?” Eryx demanded.

  Mattue chuckled, tipping his head to the side. “Do you remember, Prince, when it was me who lived at this estate? You used to love visiting me when the weather was better … you spent more time on these horses than you did talking to me.”

  Though it felt out of place in his current situation, Eryx’s mind drifted to the journal and how his mother must have watched him with Mattue, knowing what the man was like but helpless to stop it when it would mean her death. And which would have been better for him—an altogether dead mother, or one that reminded him without ever endangering her presence in his life that he was not entirely the same as the men around him?

  A lump formed in Eryx’s throat as he realized the only thing he could hear in the stables was the sound of his own heartbeat, and his breathing alongside Mattue’s. The horses made no sound—not even a breath.

  “Mattue—”

  “And then when you came of age, your father had to just … give you anything. A gift for a prince. What was it you said you wanted, hmm?”

  Eryx grinded his teeth as he came to a stop at one of the final stalls in the long corridor. This one belonged to two of the smallest horses—colts, actually. The door wasn’t as high, as he could plainly see inside the stall.

  The two colts lay dead.

  It was apparent by the lack of breath, and the tongues lolled out of their mouth. Their eyes were open, staring dead at the wall where they had died in a bed of hay.

  “Are all of them dead?” he asked.

  Mattue chuckled coolly. “Every single one. Seems they still enjoy their little bits of fruit. Don’t even question it, even if the first taste is a little bitter. We’ll blame that on the poison powder I sprinkled on them. Don’t worry, it was quick, my lord. I know you fancied the beasts.”

  Eryx spun a fast circle, eyeing the stalls and realizing something else. They were missing horses—at least a dozen.

  His father’s horses.

  “Where—”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Mattue interjected. “What was it you told your father you wanted?”

  Gods.

  His chest ached.

  “This estate,” Eryx murmured. “I wanted this estate, and the House of Miller, too.”

  “Things that were mine. Much like the crown your father wears upon his head.”

  “Those properties were appointed to you by the crown, but they didn’t belong to you.”

  “Mmm, same difference, no?”

  “Where are the royal horses?”

  Mattue sighed, shifting on the stool a bit and crossing one ankle over his knee. “Gone from the estate right about now, I imagine. See, we came here with intention and a plan. We will leave here with the same, Prince.”

  “What have you done?”

  The man stood, letting his cloak fall around him and fixing the ring on his middle finger as he smiled at Eryx. “I did warn you.”

  “You bastard.” Eryx lurched forward, the threat already falling from his lips. “I will kill—”

  Before he could reach Mattue, the man swooped down, grabbed the stool, and then swung it high. The wood crashed against the metal holding the flickering candles. They spilled to the floor, catching dry hay and sending flames licking across the floor to Eryx’s boots.

  He took three quick steps back.

  On the other side of the fire, Mattue continued smiling. “I never did like the way they kept these stalls—always too much hay and dryness everywhere, with all these candles. Let it burn, Eryx, it’ll be an easy way to dispose of the horses.”

  The heat climbed higher.

  “Oh, and the king wanted a message passed along,” the advisor added.

  Eryx didn’t reply.

  Mattue didn’t seem to care when he said, “All slaves are the possession of the king, and as such, he can remove whichever one he pleases to keep in his personal collection. Your slave has been confiscated to the crown of Bloodhurst. She will not be returned.”

  A shuddering exhale left his lips, and when he sucked in a breath, all he could taste was death and fire. “You’ve made a grievous error, Mattue. One I will make you pay for dearly.”

  “She’s only a slave—you’ll find another. Your father always did.”

  Except he was not his father.

  Arelle was not his mother.

  The flames licked higher, making shadows dance on the walls and ceiling. He didn’t have long before the embers sparked a bigger fire in one of the stalls.

  Eryx shook his head. “She is far more to me.”

  Mattue hesitated as he turned to leave, ready to exit out a back door. Over his shoulder, he said to Eryx, “Everything you’ve taken from me, I’ve now returned for it. All you had to do was give me the crown, Prince.”

  “I would have!”

  “Not fast enough.”

  The flames jumped higher and Eryx pulled his arm up to cover his face from the em
bers dancing off the heat. By the time he dropped his arm, Mattue had already exited from the rear of the stables. The beat of hooves against wet ground was the last thing he heard before he turned and ran for the other exit.

  An echo started in his heart.

  The mantra for his soul …

  Arelle, Arelle, Arelle.

  Eryx ran through the rain, uncaring how the wind bit at his skin and the droplets fell hard enough to leave welts on his skin. He burst through the rear door he’d used to leave the house to check the stables, only to find it as dark and quiet as he’d left it.

  That only had his heart racing faster. The blood in his body seemed to thicken, and everything slowed as his long strides carried him through the house. The closer he came to the bedchambers where he’d left Arelle still naked in his bed, the darker his mind became.

  Twisted with hate.

  Scarred with worry.

  Aching with all the what ifs.

  Surely, nothing could feel worse than this. If they’d taken her from him, he would burn this kingdom down. House by house. Name by name. He would ruin them.

  Eryx’s walk and his violent thoughts came to a halt when he found a servant standing in front of the open door that belonged to his bedchambers. The woman—Mara; the only one who Arelle really seemed to have taken a liking to—passed him a tearful glance.

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” she whispered. “I tried. I did.”

  He’d been wrong.

  That was the moment everything blackened.

  His thoughts.

  The heart in his chest.

  Every breath leaving his lungs.

  They would regret this.

  All of them.

  And when he tore apart the room in his rage, that rage only calmed enough to make him hesitate when he found the journal resting under his pillow. Exactly where Arelle promised she would leave it. Just like that, everything changed. He turned to stone. But it was long enough for him to know he didn’t have time to waste.

  So, he opened the journal; he read the next year’s entry from his mother.

  And began to plan.

  • • •

  Arelle

  The carriage rocked as the man sitting at the front with water dripping from the rim of his hat snapped the reins hard against the two horses. The animals slowed their trot at his order. “Easy, boys, the road is washing out.”