by Ann Hunter
It would not have worked, anyway, Glory told herself. He’s a beast. I am a princess. It would have been a fruitless marriage.
Glory walked to her room. Why am I so disappointed to be released from the one thing that I dreaded? Half of my sisters would be rejoicing if given this opportunity. Glory laughed to herself a little. Half of my sisters do not care for their husbands. Glory paused in her thinking. If the reason her sisters would rejoice from being freed from their contracts was that they had not learned to love their spouse yet, had not taken the time to appreciate their souls and connect with them….
It all made sense now!
What I want isn’t what I need! Glory breathlessly raced through the castle and out into the courtyard where a riderless black horse stood.
He looked at her with great, dark, liquid eyes and whickered. Glory approached him with her hand outstretched. The horse threw his head, prancing impatiently.
“Easy,” Glory murmured, rubbing his neck.
A stable hand stepped in front of her. “Sorry, Princess. That’s not your horse.”
Glory chewed her lip. “I shall take my father’s, then.”
“No, Your Highness. His Majesty intends to go riding with the princesses Ophelia and Odessa today.”
Glory’s mouth hung open. “You mean to tell me there is not one horse in all of the stable that is free?”
The stable hand grabbed the reins of the horse in front of them. “Sorry, princess.”
Glory put her hands on her hips. “What about this one?”
“No not this one. He’s not yours.”
“I’m the princess.”
The stable hand shook his head.
The horse stomped his foot impatiently.
“I need to return to Blackthorn.”
“You only just arrived,” the stable hand tried to reason.
Glory stuck her nose in the air haughtily. “I order you to fetch me a carriage at once.”
The stable hand’s mouth opened and closed, but he obeyed and trudged off.
Glory watched him from the corner of her eye and smiled. She stepped to the horse’s side, pulled herself up, grabbed a handful of mane and hung on tight. “Let’s go!”
The horse reared then rocketed forward, his haunches rippling with effort. As they galloped away, the stable hand chased after them with flailing arms. “That’s not your horse!”
CHAPTER NINE
The Great Stag Hunt
Glory rode tirelessly through the afternoon and late into the night. By twilight, she recognized the landscape. The rolling hills were ripe with wheat, and the sea spread out nearby. Glory hunkered down and dug in her heels, urging her mount onward. They bolted over The Middle Kingdom, dragging behind them the orange light of dawn. The light grazed over emerald, dew-kissed stalks, turning back the night. The starlings’ song rose and fell. The tears of the River Trefnwy turned silver with the morning sun, bursting into the air as the horse and rider pounded through it.
Blackthorn Keep loomed in the distance. Glory galloped up to the castle and hastened into the courtyard. She swung herself over the horse’s back and rubbed his sweaty neck, praising him for his very hard, very long run. She charged into the keep and grabbed the elbow of the first servant she saw. “Where is Prince Eoghan?”
“I am sorry, M’Lady.” The servant bowed. “I have not seen him since you left.”
Glory caught her breath and then flew up the stairs to her room. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the castle ghost floating before the mirror.
“Please,” she said weakly, “I need to see Eoghan. Show me what you wish me to know.”
The ghost smiled at her and floated into the mirror. With a blast, the mirror glowed in blinding light. A dark, swirling vortex opened on to a clearing near dense woods. Eoghan soared high above the tree tops. Suddenly, four men rose from the tall barley grass below and snuck into the woods. One of them was blond. Glory recognized the back of Colin’s head. The men drew their bows. Colin reached for Ilyndiil. The mirror went dark. Glory’s breath caught.
“Glory?”
She turned her head. Xander leaned against the doorway.
“I did not expect you to return.”
Glory rose. “Where’s Eoghan?”
“He’s taken up the hunt in Litchwood for the white stag.”
“When will he return?”
“There’s no telling. He’s been trying for years to capture that infernal creature.”
Glory bolted past Xander and down the stairs.
Glory swore under her breath as her skirts caught on the tall grass. She hiked them up and plowed on through to the edge of Litchwood. The downey-birches swayed in a summer breeze. Glory leapt over rock and root into the woods. The trees grew closer together and ranged from birch to pine. The forest floor was fragrant with mulch and cool, damp earth. Birds scattered as she raced by. A squirrel chattered crossly at her. Glory looked up, trying to find Eoghan. How would she warn him of Colin’s presence without being discovered? She wished there was a way for Eoghan to find her first. She swallowed and inhaled deeply. She had to find Eoghan before Colin did. Deeper in she pressed, splashing through a rocky stream bed. Her feet grew sore from the rough, uneven terrain. A white blur bounded through the trees ahead.
The stag! Glory changed her course immediately and dashed after the creature. Voices shouted not far away. Glory whimpered, knowing it was Colin. She glanced up and saw a shadow streak by.
The white stag wove through mossy, lichen-enveloped trees. Glory gasped for air but forged on. The stag broke into a small, earthy clearing surrounded by pines. It stopped and raised its head. Glory halted a short distance off. The stag scanned the sky, his ears swiveling. Glory crept closer. The stag saw her. She held her breath. The stag swished his tail and calmly crossed the clearing to the other side of the woods. Suddenly, a massive form of burnished copper dove in.
Glory burst into the clearing. “Eoghan!”
The stag broke into a canter, narrowly missing the gryphon’s talons.
Eoghan ricocheted awkwardly off the ground, not unlike a coiled spring. He turned in mid-air, swearing. “Damnú air! I nearly had him.” He glared at the intruder, then realized who it was. “Glory.”
Glory ran to him. “Eoghan!”
Eoghan closed the space between them. “You came back.”
Glory was breathless. “I will always come back. I need you.”
They took a step closer to each other. Eoghan bowed his head to nuzzle Glory. “A chuisle mo chro. Mo Breátha.12”
Glory was nearly touching him when a high-pitched noise whizzed into the clearing. Eoghan gasped, and his eyes opened wide. Glory jumped. An arrow pinned the gryphon’s wing to his ribs. Glory stepped back as Colin and his men emerged from the woods, surrounding them. Eoghan couldn’t get a deep breath. He looked at Glory in betrayal and stepped backwards. Glory shook her head. “No.”
She thrashed about as a man locked her arms behind her and pulled her away. “No!” she cried.
Colin and two other men swarmed Eoghan. Colin ripped into Eoghan’s back with Ilyndiil. Eoghan roared and whirled, brandishing his talons at them. One of the men caught Eoghan’s leg, and Colin severed it instantly. Blood gushed, and Eoghan collapsed. “Breátha …”
Glory kicked and struggled against the man’s hold, reaching out to the gryphon’s tense form. “Eoghan.”
The man pulled Glory’s hair, tilting her head back, and pressed a dagger to her throat, trying to bring her under control.
Two of Colin’s men climbed onto Eoghan, pinning him down. Colin plunged Ilyndiil into the gryphon’s belly.
Glory shrieked. “Colin, stop!”
Eoghan’s paws began twitching.
“Colin, I love him!” Glory choked. She stopped struggling and broke into sobs. “I love him.”
Colin looked over his shoulder at Glory and paused.
The man pressed the dagger against Glory’s skin more firmly. “How about we have
some fun with her?”
“Let her go,” Colin growled.
“Fair trade. The girl for the whole gryphon.” the man sneered.
“She’s not part of the deal. Let her go.”
“Or what?” said the man.
Colin pointed Ilyndiil at the man.
Tears streaked down Glory’s face. The man pushed her away, and Glory crumpled to the ground. She wept uncontrollably.
Colin grabbed the man by the collar, sticking the tip of Ilyndiil into his jugular lightly. “Don’t ever cross me again.”
The man grinned toothily.
Colin walked to the gryphon’s carcass and carved out one of the talons for himself, then plunged Ilyndiil into the gryphon’s eye. He walked away and took Glory’s arm.
Glory tore it away from him. “Let me go, you monster.”
“Glory, it’s okay now. The creature is dead. You’re free.” Colin knelt beside her, caressing her tear-stained face. “It’s me, Colin.”
Glory pulled away.
“We can go home now,” Colin murmured. “We can have our life together.”
Glory’s throat was dry. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“You don’t mean that.”
Glory gritted her teeth. Her stomach knotted. She swallowed back bile.
Colin helped her up. “If we hurry, we can make Lucullia’s home in Council’s Realm by nightfall.”
“I never want to see you again,” Glory hissed.
Colin grabbed her by the waist and made her look at him. “Please try to understand that your head is not in its proper place. What you want right now isn’t how your little fairytales work. The hero slays the monster and lives happily ever after with the girl he loves. Now let’s go.”
Glory had no fight left in her and followed. After an hour or two, Colin gave up trying to “talk sense into her” as he put it, or make any sort of conversation for that matter. Glory’s feet shuffled along as though they were some other autonomous part of her. Her mind was filled with the image of Eoghan lying still in the forest, his last breath uttering her name. Several times she swore she caught a glimpse of him just ahead, or around the corner, but knew without a doubt he was dead. The men had begun skinning his body just as they were leaving.
By nightfall, Colin was knocking at the door of Lucullia’s estate as promised. He nudged Glory forward, announcing that Princess Glory was here to visit her sister. Lucullia settled them in and took Glory aside.
“You’re a mess.”
Glory did not meet her gaze.
Lucullia closed the door of Glory’s room. “What happened?”
Glory collapsed into Lucullia’s arms, burying her face in her sister’s shoulder.
Lucullia’s arms hung stiffly for a moment, obviously in shock, then embraced their sister.
Glory wailed and choked, unable to catch a breath, shaking. Lucullia stroked her hair and pressed her cheek to Glory’s. “It’s alright. You’re safe here. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Glory could barely muster the words. “Colin murdered Eoghan.”
“Eoghan. Your betrothed?”
Glory nodded, clinging to her sister.
“I thought you loved Colin? Why would you be upset over such a convenient termination of your marital contract?” Lucullia’s brow knit. “Unless…” She held Glory back and looked at her gravely.
Glory nodded again.
Lucullia pulled her close once more and rocked her. “Oh, Glory.”
Glory felt sick again and choked back tears.
Lucullia led her to her bed and tried to make her comfortable. Quickly, she scribbled a note on paper and called upon her courier. “Take this at once to Castle Winterholme. Take Lord Davenport’s fastest horse. Do not stop, on pain of death, until this note finds itself in the hands of High King Balthazaar. Is that clear?”
The courier nodded emphatically. “Crystal.”
The courier scurried away, and Lucullia turned to Glory who was staring at the wall. “Do not worry, pet. Colin will pay for what he has done to your prince. I will make sure of it.”
When Balthazaar learned of what had transpired on the field of Spirit’s Barrow, he commanded that a dispatch be sent to Barwn Xander, letting him know that all of the lands were open for a little hunting. He also requested that his horse and dogs be made ready to join in the hunt. The troupe rode out the next day and met Barwn Xander at The Fox And Wolf Inn at Council’s Realm. Together, they drew up a strategy to right the wrongs committed at Spirit’s Barrow. The following morning, Balthazaar presented some of Colin’s affects to the scent hounds. They did not pick up the trail at first, but by early afternoon they were on to something. With his new falconer made ready, Balthazaar gave the nod to send forth his Merlin falcon, who had a certain relationship with Colin. The little hawk flew, and Balthazaar and Xander watched carefully and waited. Within a few miles, the Merlin dove into a forest.
Balthazaar gathered the reins of his steed. “Barwn Xander, I believe we have found our quarry.”
Xander sat deep in the saddle of his own mount and with a mighty yell, dug his spurs in to the horse’s sides.
Colin sat with his back against a tree, resting. In his hands, he held a polished knife-like talon. Lucullia had asked him to catch her a little something for dinner, suggesting that a show of his hunting prowess might remind Glory that he was a capable provider and could win back her favor. He spun the talon between his forefingers, admiring the way it caught the dappled sunlight through the trees. He gazed up at the sky and was surprised to see a shadow streak by. He wondered if it would respond to a call. He gave a sharp, high pitched whistle, not unlike an eagle’s cry. The shadow screamed back and dove. Colin was further surprised when it lighted on his shoulder and even more so when he recognized the bird.
“Rouen, what are you doing here?”
The bay of hounds in the distance made Colin stiffen. Were they hunting him? His blood turned cold when Rouen flew from Colin’s shoulder back to the pack with a cry. The forest seemed to spin. Colin bolted.
The hounds were hot on Colin’s scent now and grew increasingly more excited. Their howls and barks became more frequent as they raced through the woods. Crashing into daylight near the river Trefnwy, they could see their prize now. They were closing in quickly and bayed for blood. Both Xander and Balthazaar hunkered down, urging their mounts onward.
Colin stumbled through narrow stream beds, looking back over his shoulder. His legs were failing him, and there was no air to be had. Why were they hunting him? He sprinted with abandon, but his two legs were no match for the hundreds coming after him. The hounds leapt upon him, taking him down like a stag. They pinned him and tore his clothes, snarling and gnashing their teeth. Colin tried to fight them off, but he was overpowered. The thunder of hoof beats rumbled over the ground, and a loud whistle streamed over the air. The hounds withdrew, and Colin sat up. The sun blazed in his eyes. He shielded his sight from the light to see King Balthazaar looming over him, high on horseback.
“Falconer Colin—“
“My Lord, why am I being hunted?”
Xander rode up beside Balthazaar. “You do not speak, you treacherous whelp!”
Balthazaar’s face was solemn. “Falconer Colin, you are under arrest for consorting with a princess, and the most heinous offense against the kingdoms, the unlawful murder of Prince Eoghan. For which you will be publicly tortured, humiliated, and executed, to the pleasure of Lord Regent Barwn Xander.” Balthazaar motioned to Xander who rode restlessly in circles, his horse on a tight rein.
“Murder? Colin’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “No… I would never… Princess Glory… I didn’t know!”
Balthazaar waved his hand, and his guards beset Colin. He stared wildly up at Xander who growled under his breath. His horse pawed the ground, snorting uneasily. Xander turned his mount. Balthazaar’s guards bound Colin by his wrists and strung the tethers to Xander’s saddle. Colin struggled against them. “
Please, no! No!”
Xander looked over his shoulder and spat. “By the god, Arawn, you will suffer for what you have done, and slowly, as my son did.”
Xander dug his spurs in once more and launched back toward Council’s Realm. Every rock, thorn, and burr tore into Colin’s flesh, and he yelled. The louder he yelled, the faster Xander rode.
Glory stared blankly across the lawns of Lucullia's estate. The sun was setting behind the forest. Colin would be dead by now. She had tried to ask that he be shown mercy, but even the High King could not change the law, for what had happened at Spirit's Barrow was in Xander’s realm. Xander would carry out the execution. Glory sensed the presence of her father, but did not turn. Balthazaar approached her tiredly.
“It is finished.”
A tear slipped down Glory’s cheek. “It brings me no solace.”
Balthazaar stroked his daughter’s hair gently. “Oh, my dear heart.”
“The death of Colin only makes Eoghan’s passing worse.”
Balthazaar took Glory into his arms and hugged her close. “Be of good cheer, sweetheart. We can move forward now. We can begin to heal.”
Glory shook her head. “I can not bear it.”
“I know it seems impossible now, but I promise you it will get better. A piece will always be missing and hurting, but it dulls over time.”
Glory buried her face in her father’s shoulder and wept. “I mourn what will never be.”
Balthazaar kissed Glory’s forehead gently. “There, there now. It will be alright. You will love again someday, when the time is right.”
“I do not wish to love again, Father. Love kills more people than war.”