Page 171 of Settle Down, Princess

Chapter 98

Arik

If history was going to repeat itself, then let it be like this.

I shouldn’t have been pushing my horse this hard. The trip to Fallspire had taken twice as long as it would have my men, so we hadn’t been forced to ride our mounts hard, but still. He’d earned himself a long rest in a well-appointed stable, with lads to brush him down and feed him hay. Instead, my heels kicked into his sides, my arse rising from the saddle as I rode the stirrups, every muscle tight as I chased my brother down.

Magnus was always a madman, but whatever the Raven had poisoned him with had given that barely suppressed insanity a channel to flow from. He whooped and shouted at the trees as he raced ahead, his voice echoing around the forest, driving birds from the branches, as if seeing enemies in the shadows. The duke reined Devil in, keeping pace with the king, but several horse strides back and I…

I glanced behind me, my belt knife finding its way into my hand as I saw the lordlings bring up the rear. Far, far to the rear. These idiots were always slow to get organised, but not us. I could throw this knife, the weight of the blade familiar and comforting. If it aimed true, it’d bury itself in my brother’s back, have him dropping from his saddle like a stone, and then I’d jump down, stride over and plant my boot on his chest. I’d watch his life blood splatter my boots, just as my father’s had.

“Not like that, son.”

The ghost that rode the road spoke to me as if we were standing shoulder to shoulder, his words clearer than anything else.

“But Father—” I said.

“You’ll have blood on your hands, and that’s no way to become king.”

This was a memory, not a real conversation, because that was the nature of ghosts. They couldn’t form new thoughts, couldn’t come to new conclusions. My father, the rightful king of Khean, had said these exact words to me when I proposed a similar solution to the problem of Magnus before.

“Then I’ll never be king,” I told the ghost of my father. “Because my hands are bloodied plenty already.” I rose up as far as I dared, urging my horse on, the knife clasped in my hand, ready to strike. The lords that rode with us, gods, Fallspire himself could kill me when I was done, but this opportunity was too perfect to ignore. Magnus was alone, unprotected, no guards in tow. I could take him down and—

I was nearly thrown from the saddle when the stag rushed out onto the road. My horse came to an abrupt stop, rearing up, and I fought to keep my seat, but as I did so, my gaze caressed the form of the stag.

Every time I saw it, I felt a moment of shock. Part of me tried to convince the other half that I’d imagined its golden pelt, but as I saw it standing there, I knew. Everything I remembered was true.

Memories of the past plagued me. In the dark of night, with nothing to distract me, I saw them all too often. The crimes that Magnus had committed against me with the queen’s approval, my father’s inaction, but most of all, this.

The moment I killed the golden stag.

“Sent you to us then, did they?” one of the hunters said all those years ago, after I’d been banished by the queen. “Well, keep up, princeling. That brother of yours is to kill a very pretty stag today, and we’ll be whipped bloody if it doesn’t happen.”

“What?” My question was ignored, the lot of them turning and melting back into the forest, forcing me to search the trees with my eyes, then stumble after them. “You mean Magnus is going to try and kill the stag.”

“Try?” The man was older with a grizzled beard and a world weary look in his eyes. “That’s not been the way of things for some time.” He tapped his belt where I saw a line of ampoules, each one with its own slot. “They don’t hunt the stag, we do.”

“If we slit its pretty little throat, you reckon we’ll get to wear the crown?” another man asked with a sly smile. He grabbed a few fern stalks from the ground as we walked and then placed them on his head in a crude approximation of a crown. “I reckon I’d made a damn fine ruler. King Micken, first of his name!”

“King Micken the Dick, you mean,” one of the other hunters chuckled.

“They don’t even hunt the bastard thing,” Micken said. “We locate it, stalk it, drive it towards the bloody princes—”

“The king hunts the stag,” I protested. “The king is the only one who can kill it.”

Micken’s eyes narrowed and so did the other hunters, as if they were only just seeing me.

“Is that what they tell you, up in that fancy palace of yours, Bastard?” I flinched at that epithet now, even though he said the word with no more malice than the others did at court. “Is that what this Magnus is going to tell himself when he rides back to his bloody castle? Whatever you think you know about the hunt, boy, let me tell you.” He paused for a second. “It’s all bullshit.”

“No.” I took a step backwards. “No, I read… My father told me—”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” the bearded man said with a sniff. “Now keep up or we’ll leave you here.” He shot me a long look. “Which is better than what the queen proposed. Had her man come down to Fallspire waving around gold coins as payment for the man that ‘accidentally’ cuts you down, Bastard.”

My hand strayed to my sword’s hilt, but he just laughed.

“The Duke pays us well enough not to follow that bitch’s orders.” He pulled out a gold coin from the pouch at his belt. “There’s more to be had if we get you back to the king in one piece once this debacle is over, so keep up, boy.”

I’d stumbled into that forest thinking myself a man. I was tall enough, strong enough to be considered one, but it was only what I saw on the hunt that made me transition from child to adulthood. My feet moved swiftly, stepping where the hunters did, mimicking their near silent steps, right up until we reached here.

---