Page 169 of Settle Down, Princess

But when my brother’s head swung to the left, my heart sank. He took in the much more stolid looking white horse that stood before the Duke.

“Oh, I think this one will do fine. What’s your name, pretty?”

He moved forward to stroke the horse’s muzzle, but animals sense a predator in their midst. The white horse shifted restlessly, its hooves pawing at the cobblestones, then jerked its head up before he could touch it.

That made Magnus angry.

He was wavering on his feet, no doubt being fed a steady supply of the slow-acting poison the entire way here as per the Raven’s plan, but that hadn’t dulled his responses right now. His hand snatched the horse’s reins, jerking on them viciously when the horse tried to rear up and pull away. The groom made soothing sounds, trying to settle the horse, but not Magnus. He wasn’t capable of soothing anything.

“Skittish, are you?” I felt Jessalyn join me rather than saw her, a sudden warmth at my side. “Just like a woman, not wanting to be ridden for the first time and with such a pretty blonde mane and all.” Magnus glanced over his shoulder, his eyes dancing. “I think I’ll call you Jessalyn.”

“That bastard…”

The princess barely breathed that out, all of her royal training required to stay where she was and match the king’s stare.

“Don’t worry—” I started to say.

“I won’t.” Her eyes cut straight into me and a warning rose to my lips, telling her that even a small thing like this would be noticed by these idiots and gossiped about. I wanted to tell her that other princesses had died for less, but I couldn’t. Not when her chin jerked up, nor when her eyes glittered with a dangerous light. “You mean to kill that little toad?”

“It’ll be his head rolling free of his shoulders tonight,” Roan growled. “I’ll see to it myself.”

“Not if I get there first,” Silas promised.

“Well?” Magnus pulled himself into the saddle with ease. His mother knew that to be king he needed to be able to sit well on a horse, so he’d mastered that. We’d just see how well he did when his saddle was slipping from its back. “The stag awaits!”

The court moved sluggishly, no doubt assuming they’d be lolling around in the manor at least for a few days to ‘recover’ before they made a show of hunting the stag. Some of the lords were already engrossed in fondling the playthings they’d brought along for just this purpose, but Magnus wheeled his horse around.

“Today, a great wrong will be righted.” He’d been taught to speak in a statesman-like manner, a tutor spending quite some time helping him develop the ability to project his voice, the right intonation and cadence to stir others into action. “The stag only appears when a new prince is to have his claim to the throne ratified.”

His gaze found me.

“Or when the king dies. The last time we came to Fallspire to hunt, an attempt was made to steal my birthright, to replace a true-born son with a bastard. I have been forced to deal with the indignity of having this malcontent haunt my court every year since, due to the superstitious mutterings of the beast men. But no more.” I watched Magnus shift with his horse, his body swaying with no more import than the reeds might when the wind blows. “This is a sign. Our enemies mass at our borders, ready to take what belongs to us. The gods have sent us this challenge. I ride forth for all of Khean, to prove once and for all that I am your king and under my rule our country will prosper!”

It was the waste of a perfectly good speech because the audience would have cheered and clapped if he just bared his arse and slapped his cheeks, then farted out his response. The men all pulled themselves up into their saddles, though, ready to fulfil their role.

My tutor had told me that some academics theorised that in the very early days, all the contenders for the throne gathered at the sighting of the golden stag. Each of them raced to hunt the beast, to bring it to ground, then be the one to deliver the killing blow. The crown of antlers was not a hereditary crown, passed from father to son, but one won through blood and death. They were two spectres that had haunted my entire life, so when I hauled myself up onto my horse’s back, I wasn’t swayed in the least.

“Protect Jessalyn with your life,” I ordered Roan and Silas.

“Where are you going?” she snapped, stepping forward. “Isn’t that your job? You promised to keep me safe.”

I smiled down at her, trying for acerbic but it felt just like a death’s head grin.

“For as long as I’m alive,” I said with a nod. “But I never specified how long that would be. The only way I can protect you properly is to see my brother dead.” I glanced over my shoulder to where the lordlings were all starting to mass. “I can’t trust the Raven, the Duke, anyone to do a job I know I must do myself.”

My focus shifted to the others.

“I’ve changed my order. Get Jessalyn back to the capital or hell, beyond the borders themselves. I’ll either come back victorious and find you wherever you are or…”

I nodded slowly, the ghosts of Fallspire rising again, crowding out my reality. Not Ariel this time, I saw someone else altogether. When I looked to my left, my father was there, smiling on horseback, the bridle of his steed jingling. Jessalyn had more to say, because of course she did, but I couldn’t hear it, not when my king spoke.

“Time to go, son.”

I nodded and then kicked my horse into a gallop.

Chapter 97

“Arik?” I snapped, trying to get the insufferable idiot’s attention, but he just stared into space, like it was better company. “Arik! Don’t you dare ride out. Do you hear me?” But he didn’t, his heels digging into his horse’s sides as he urged it on. “Arik!”

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