Page 141 of Settle Down, Princess

I was jerked back to the present, a fine drizzle now coming down from the clouds, but it wasn’t a weather report that my brothers sought to give me. There was an intruder on the road, though not one I’d draw a weapon against. Never in my life did I expect to see it again.

A golden stag.

I twisted my father’s ring on my finger to reveal the signet caved in the top and as I stared my eyes traced the shape of the magnificent beast as he stood there, pawing at the cobblestones. The stag carved into my father’s ring did the same, frozen eternally by cast gold. My head throbbed and my heart felt like it beat far too hard in my chest, because we… We’d just discovered the ultimate pretext to draw my brother out on the hunt.

The golden stag was a symbol of kingship for time immemorial in Khean. My father, wore a golden crown, as did Magnus now, but in days of yore, it would’ve been made from deer antlers. The stag only ever appeared when a prince was to be confirmed as heir.

The first time I saw the golden stag I was beside myself, quivering with an entirely different energy than what had manifested when I was with Ariel. I’d been told stories of the way each king brought down the stag, claiming his kingship, but none caught my attention more than the story of the twin kings. Each one born heir, each one with an equal claim to the throne, their father had prayed to the gods for guidance on how to keep the country from being split into two halves to accommodate each boy. The gods sent the stag. He who brought it down became king.

And he who failed became the Duke of Fallspire, the largest duchy in the country.

I stiffened in the saddle, memories of an entirely different kind coming rushing up. Of a stag stumbling across the road, bellowing in distress. Of ugly little cuts. Of blood and bone and—

“This is all the excuse we need,” Silas said, the excitement evident in his voice. “We’ll bring word of this to the king, and he’ll be forced to ride out.”

But I didn’t want that. As I stared into the beast’s eyes, I was caught in the net of gold, bronze, and copper there. When his head lifted, so did mine, and when I did, I felt it, the weight. I was one of few men who knew how a crown of antlers felt on his head, and that’s what had me standing tall in the saddle.

“Rah!” My shout echoed out across the forest, sending birds flying from their perches, but not the stag. It merely let out a huff of breath, its damn hoof raking across the cobblestones again. “Are you tainted, stupid beast?”

“Arik,” Roan rode closer. “Arik, what are you doing?”

“Run!” I slapped the reins against my horse’s neck and kicked it into a canter, the two of us going careening down the road, aiming for the stag. Its haunches bunched, the muscles quivering, as I silently told it over and over what to do. Run, I urged. Run!

I was that boy again, relegated to the sidelines to watch this horror play out. The queen was there, as was that repellent child that slithered from between her legs. My ‘brother,’ the crown prince. He and all his cronies in the hunting party ringed the beast with cruel smiles on their faces as he approached, knife in hand. Not a sword, like a true king, but… I blinked, seeing the concerned looks on the faces of my true brothers, then the steady gaze of the stag.

He shouldn’t exist. The golden stag died years ago when I was still a young man, when Ariel still breathed. When the world seemed filled with possibilities rather than hollow and empty, but I nodded to the beast on the road, seeing the poetic justice to its appearance. The stag appeared when a prince was due to be confirmed as the future king.

Or an old king would die.

As if noting that his message had been conveyed, the stag did as I asked and ran off into the forests.

“What the fuck was that?” Roan asked, pulling up beside me. “That fucking deer was the colour of a newly minted coin.”

“Why do you think there’s bloody gold stags on every one of our flags?” Silas snapped. “He is the symbol of the royal house of Khean. His call cannot be ignored—”

“So we better move then,” I said, not waiting for an answer as I kicked my horse into a gallop.

Silas was indeed correct. We’d talked long with the Duke and his allies about how to prick the king’s pride and get him riding down to the duchy of Fallspire, but this? No king worth his salt could ignore the presence of the golden stag. To do so was to announce to everyone that he feared to meet the challenge the stag represented, bringing his entire reign into question.

“Arik!” the Duke said as he walked into his drawing room. We’d arrived to be met by his seneschal, who’d offered us refreshments and left us here to wait until the duke was ready to greet us. I’d left my ale undrunk on one of the tiny side tables, pacing back and forth, unable to stand still under this roof. “What brings you down here, my boy?”

Boy? That still rankled, even after all these years, and as if in response to that, I stood straight, affecting the same stance we were forced to use on the parade ground. The duke was always a quick study, nodding as he noted that, the others falling into line beside me.

“We bring some devices that may assist in our plan to…” My throat closed up for just a second. “To bring our problem to an end, as well as news.”

“That this is all a feint on the part of the Raven?” he replied, smiling when I blinked in surprise. “One doesn’t live under the shadow of the Raven of Khean without seeing some of the patterns in his behaviour. Apologies, Silas.”

He nodded to my brother.

“No need, Your Grace. No one feels the cold of his shadow more keenly than I.”

“Just so.” The Duke turned to me. “So, was that all you needed?” He peered at my untouched tankard. “Let’s get you some of the good ale and—”

“The golden stag has been sighted.”

It was a strange thing, seeing the Duke’s face smooth free of every expression but naked shock. Courtiers, nobles, they never let on what they were thinking or feeling for fear of making themselves vulnerable to attack.

“The stag…” His eyes studied mine, then my brothers’, searching for a sign, some kind of confirmation of truth or a lie. “But you—?”

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