Huntsman
Love will find A Way
Rebecca Davis
Copyright 2015 Rebecca Davis
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
This book is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to any person,
alive or deceased, is purely coincidental.
Rebecca Davis
[email protected]
-Also by Rebecca Davis-
The UnFairytales Saga
Hatter: Only the Best are Mad…
Peter: It Only Takes A Wish…
Wolfsbane: Not everyone is As They Seem…
Dedicated to all of my amazing readers who have stuck with me since the beginning.
You guys are amazing.
-Contents-
Prologue – Huntsman
Chapter 1 – Lara
Chapter 2 – Huntsman
Chapter 3 – Lara
Chapter 4 – Huntsman
Chapter 5 – Lara
Chapter 6 – Huntsman
Chapter 7 – Lara
Chapter 8 – Huntsman
Chapter 9 – Lara
Chapter 10 – Lara
Chapter 11 – Huntsman
Chapter 12 – Lara
Chapter 13 – Huntsman
Playlist
Authors Note
“Who will you be when faced with the end?
The end of a kingdom,
The end of good men,
Will you run?
Will you hide?
Or will you hunt down evil with a venomous pride?
Rise to the ashes,
Rise to the winter sky,
Rise to the calling,
Make heard the battle cry.
Let it scream from the mountains
From the forest to the chapel,
Because death is a hungry mouth
And you are the apple.
So who will you be when faced with the end?
When the vultures are circling
And the shadows descend
Will you cower?
Or will you fight?
Is your heart made of glass?
Or a pure Snow White?”
- Lily Blake
Prologue
Huntsman
The tales you hear only tell one side of the story.
They only tell you the story of a girl whose hair was black as ebony. A girl whose lips were red as blood. And, and whose skin was fair as snow. This is the girl in your stories.
But, her name is not Snow White.
And, she was not who she portrayed.
That girl was evil hearted, bitter, and with an ugly spirit. She was not an animal lover, and she hated the outdoors. But, most of all. She despised her sister.
Her sister is the missing piece.
This girl was older, wiser, and kinder than the girl of your stories. She had hair the color of Amber, and eyes the color of the forest floor after the rain. She had the ability to speak to animals, to speak to the trees. She had a love for every person, creature, or thing she crossed paths with.
This is the girl who had gone unnoticed.
This is the girl who was looked over.
This is the girl who deserved to have her story told.
And now, it will be.
Chapter 1
Lara
I was running.
Faster and faster I would go. The trees of the forest that surrounded me seemed to close in, the bushes and shrubs closer to the ground catching and tearing at my skirt. My heavy breathing and bare feet pounding against the forest floor were the only sounds that I heard. Even the arrows whizzing by, barely missing my head, were silent in their streaking. The tops of the trees seemed to form into a canopy, capturing me onto the straight path I was on with no means of escape.
I couldn’t remember why I was running, just that I couldn’t stop. I had to keep going, keep moving, and keep putting more and more distance between myself and those chasing me. Keep running, keep running, and keep running. That’s what was going through my head. Over and over again as if stuck on a broken record.
When I saw the small opening in the distance, it was the push I needed to move faster. That small, almost miniscule opening held the promise of escape, of relief. I needed to escape. I moved my feet as fast as I could, pushing the pads of my feet into the damp earth, just to push off of the ground just as quickly. The opening became clearer, became larger, and became closer.
I was almost there.
And then, it was a dead end. There was no opening, no salvation.
No escape.
I stopped, looking around me. Searching the trees that caged me in for some break, some way to get out. I felt the tears try to well in my eyes, but I wouldn’t let them come out. I needed to stay level-headed, I needed to keep my mind clear. I needed to forget everything around me. I needed to listen to the breeze, the words of the leaves brushing against each other.
So, that’s what I did.
Survival instincts set in. I quickly fell to my back, letting my body sink into the ground, leaving my imprint in the earth. I didn’t move, staying entirely still, barely breathing. I listened to the breeze, to the wind, to the dying grass and to the leaves. I listened for their guidance, for their wisdom. I pushed the noise of my oncoming opponents to the back of my mind, focusing entirely on the voice of the forest.
Soon enough, I heard the leaves whisper “ground,” the grass murmured “base,” and the wind cried out “trees.” My eyes flashed open and I rolled to the side just as a large axe came down where my torso had laid. I saw the small hole in the base of the trees, barely big enough that I could make it through. I quickly sled through it as a sword sliced through the air were my head should have been. Before I could even breathe a sigh of relief, though, I was falling.
I watched the world pass by me, first in vivid color, then in black and brown. I watched as the sky got smaller and smaller, until I couldn’t see it at all.
I woke up to the sprinkle of rain that had slipped through the canopy of leaves above me as they fell on my face. I blinked a few times, trying to regain a sense of my surroundings before I tried to stand. I ran my fingers through the wet grass, the cool dew melting against my fingers. When my fingertips reached the edging of my book, I sat up with a sigh.
Not bothering to move my damp locks out of my eyesight, I stared in dismay at yet another ruined piece of literature, caused by my inability to think a plan through all the way. Standing, I wiped the wet grass and pine needles that had clung to my skirt off, sending them spiraling through the short distance back to the ground were they belonged. I slipped my damp feet into my shoes, and started making my way along the long, twisting path towards my home, giggling a little at the squishing sounds caused by my wet toes moving against the dry leather of my shoes.
I had traveled that same path multiple times throughout my time at the Castle. My mother had begun the tradition, instilling the sense of adventure in me from a young age with daily wanderings, as she called them. We would take a path and follow it until the end, full of nervous excitement as we anticipated what would be at the end. Every afternoon would be a new path. The days we couldn’t find a path, we would make our own, taking one of the master farmers with us to help cut down the shrubbery and saplings that would be in our way.
We kept up this tradition religiously, until the day my mother died. It had happened suddenly, when she and
my father were visiting in one of the neighboring kingdoms. She died in her sleep, at least that’s what I was told. My sister and I weren’t allowed to go with them on the trip, and likewise were not allowed at the funeral. It was no place for a princess, is what my father told me.
But, oh how I wish I could have seen my mother one last time. Even if it were just the shell of the woman I had grown to know would love and nurture me. Even if it was just a simple glance inside the simple, marble casket she had been put in. But, I wasn’t granted a final look. So, instead, I take to the woods every day, at the same time as we would always start out on our wanderings, and travel down the last path she took me down. As a way of keeping her close to me, I suppose. Or, at least, that’s what the castle’s physician had said when my father called him after I had gone wandering in the dark hours of the morning.
It took me a few tries before I could remember the exact path. Weeks of walking and retracing my steps. Months of getting lost. Finally, after almost a year, I was able to walk the path perfectly, and was confident I could do it with my eyes closed as well. Not long after, I wasn’t only following the path during the day, but early in the mornings, and late in the evening as well.
It seemed as if I spent every free moment out on that path, simply laying in the small, circular clearing at the end. And, I didn’t mind it that way. I actually preferred it. I was not the kind who could be cooped up within the castle walls day after day, hour after hour. I longed to be outdoors, among the trees and hills and animals.
As I reached the castle, I sighed one final sigh of defeat, straightening my clothes the best I could, preparing myself for the scolding I would surely get for being out past dusk, in the rain nonetheless. As I walked through the empty halls, there was no sound except for the echo of my barefoot steps against the smooth tiled floors. I stared out the windows as I passed them, already missing the freedom that was promised outside of the castle.
I stopped outside of the throne room, staring at the large doors that stood as the only barrier between me and my father’s anger. Waiting for as long as I could before going in, hearing the ticking of the seconds as they were passed on the grandfather clock in my head.
My father was never physical when he was angry. But, since my mother’s passing, he could barely stand to sit at the same table as me during a meal, but less actually speak to me. My handmaidens said it was because I reminded him of my mother too much, but I couldn’t be sure of anything. I wished he would at least look me in the eye once, just a full stare, instead of the shifted glances he struggles to pass me every now and then. But, as much as I prayed and wished, it seemed as if he would never look at me the way he did before my mother died.
With a heavy, exhaled breath, I pushed the doors open and walked into the drawing room. It was as if it were a painted picture, the scene before me. One that, ironically, looked alright without me. My sister was quietly playing a historical piece at the piano, filling the room with a beautiful atmosphere of sophistication. My father was at his regular spot by the fireplace, the crackling flames casting shadows on him, making the king look almost eerily mysterious. My stepmother was sitting diagonal from him, at the proper distance from the fire for a lady, working on one of her many crafts. I stood there silently, taking it in in its entirety.
Realizing that no one in the room would acknowledge my presence, I spoke up, keeping my voice low and even, as I was taught a lady should. “Father, I’m home.”
He simply nodded, never taking his eyes off of the book in his hands.
I cleared my throat slightly, hoping that the breach of etiquette would cause him to look up from the ivory pages. “Is there anything that you need before I retire?”
“No, thank you, Lara.”
I did my best to hide my smile as I said my goodnights and exited the room, closing the door behind me. I hadn’t gotten him to move his eyes from his reading, but I had gotten him to talk to me, and that was as good as if he had looked at me.
I quickly made my way up to my room, stripping of my damp clothes and putting on a clean cotton nightgown and lace robe. I didn’t want to think of my father’s inattentiveness towards me. Instead, I wanted to think about the dream I had earlier that day. Running a brush through my Amber curls, I tied them loosely with a ribbon. Before I left my vanity, I sat there, staring at myself in the mirror. Not in vanity, mind you, but in curiosity and wonder. Did I really look that much like my mother?
Going to my night table, I carefully pulled the only picture I had managed to salvage of my mother from its protected home between the faded pages of my childhood journal. I held it up next to my reflection in the mirror, studying every detail of my mother’s face before comparing them to every detail of my own. The more I stared at her picture in my reflection, the more I realized that I did, in fact, resemble my mother.
We had the same almond-shaped eyes, and the same large curls in our auburn hair, though the shade of hers was lighter than mine. Our skins had the same olive tone, and our mouths both had a slightly crooked bow on the top lip, only visible if you really stared at it for some time. If she were still alive, I could more likely than not pass for my mother’s younger sister. It would definitely be more believable than being her oldest daughter. My mother always looked impeccably young for her age.
Feeling drowsiness start to overcome me, I tucked my mother’s picture into the frame of my mirror. I wasn’t worried about my father finding it, as he rarely came searching for me in my room. He rarely came searching for me at all. Making sure that the picture was securely placed, I pulled back my top blanket, the thickest of them all, and carried it out on the balcony. Laying on the large cream colored, knit chaise lounge, I wrapped myself in my blanket. When I was cocooned, I laid my head back and looked out over the balcony edge, watching as the treetops swayed in the evening breeze, the bullfrogs and crickets working together to create a lullaby as they sing me to sleep.
Chapter 2
Huntsman
There were days when I wished I wasn’t the Huntsman of the Northernmost Kingdom. There were days when I wished above all else that I were just another commoner, or perhaps a wanderer like Wolfsbane. I most certainly wouldn’t mind being a wanderer. It would be considered a raise from my job recently. Today was one of those days when I wished I could have been someone else.
It started out like any other morning. I woke up before the sun, ate a quick meal, and went out to check my traps. It had been one of my better days, having caught three jackrabbits and a small doe. I took my haul back to my small hut, where I proceeded to clean and package all of the meat in brown paper, packing it in the icebox that was behind my humble home. After that, it’s time for tea.
I spent the trip to Hatter’s house in deep thought, as it was probably one of the only times that I would get the peace and quiet to do so. One of the many things that was continually on my mind was my singleness. I had enjoyed being a bachelor for many years, never thinking about commitment or settling down. But, with each of my friends now with their Perfects, having completed the Bonding and their stories being permanently written down, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more for me out there than living as a bachelor all of my life.
I had to admit, I had been thinking about if I had an Other Half or Perfect, and what it would be like. And, I have to say, it wasn’t entirely unappealing. I actually liked the idea of having one girl. Knowing that I wouldn’t have to go home alone at night, and that I wouldn’t have to sleep in an empty bed. For a bachelor, I didn’t like solitude.
When I reached clearing, the clan was already there, pouring tea and picking finger foods. I took my usual seat, glancing at each of the happy couples – Hatter and Samantha, Peter and Angela, Wolfsbane and Ina – before glancing at the empty seat next to me, wondering if it would ever be filled. I wondered if I would ever come to an afternoon tea, a girl on my arm, happy and smiling as my friends were.
“You look a little down,” Hatter commented as he poured himsel
f a cup of tea. “Is everything alright, my friend?”
I nodded, quickly busying myself with filling my plate and tea cup. “Everything is fine. I just have a bit on my mind. The frost is just around the corner, you know.”
Wolfsbane and Hatter both nodded their heads. Angela and Samantha, on the other hand, were practically jumping out of their seats, eyes full of excitement. Hatter laughed. “In case you can’t tell, Angela and Sam are just a wee bit excited.”
“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.” I said, practicing the art of sarcasm I had been learning from Angela and Sam. Apparently, I had been using it all along, but never realized it.
“Are you kidding?” Sam shrieked, making me wince. “It’s like winter over on the Other Side. It’s my favorite time of year! With the snow, and the lights, and the way everything looks like it came out of a snow globe, and Christmas! It’s just the most perfect time of year.”
“What’s Christmas?” I asked hesitantly, knowing from experience that asking either Angela or Samantha a question like that could send them into an excited, boisterous frenzy that could last for days.
“It’s a holiday they celebrate on the Other Side,” Hatter said, quickly cutting in before Samantha had a chance to answer, thus keeping her excitement at bay. “Apparently, it’s a day when you spend time with your family and friends, exchange gifts, and eat as much food as you possibly can until you’re sick.”
Sam and I sat there for some time, silently starting at each other. I finally spoke, voicing my confusion. “I don’t get it. It just sounds like a glorified birthday.”
Samantha playfully slapped Hatter’s arm. “This is why we are having a Christmas party.” She laughed, turning to me, “And you are all invited.”
“Maybe you’ll have a pretty little thing on your arm to show off,” Wolfsbane chuckled, and I threw a croissant at him. He caught it effortlessly in one hand. “You never know, Mate. The party isn’t for almost three full moons, you could find someone by then.”
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