Page 168 of Settle Down, Princess

“Why is your by-blow here?” I was sixteen again, standing just behind my father as if the king and his crown was enough to erase me from the queen’s sight. It wasn’t. She stared past her husband at me, eyes narrowing. “Why on earth would you bring the single greatest threat to your son’s future reign to this hunt?”

“For exactly that reason.” His hand on my shoulder, it helped to settle my nerves, calming the rapid twist of excitement in my guts. “With Arik here as one of the witnesses to Magnus’ ascension, it sends a message.” He gave me a gentle squeeze. “That he will support the rule of his older brother.”

“Support…?” Whenever the queen’s eyes took on that kind of hectic light, I knew I would not like what came next. “It is good that you seek to make clear the bastard’s place, but I think the message needs to be made clearer.” Her gaze locked with the king’s. “Send the boy to the hunters.”

“What?”

I let that slip out without thinking, then slapped my hand over my mouth when I realised. That saved the queen for doing just that, her fingers twitching as she glared at me.

“He is a bastard.” I’d stopped flinching at that particular epithet, having heard it so many times before. “He has no place among the nobles of Khean. He will need to serve someone when he is grown, so let that start now.” Her focus snapped back to the king. “Send the boy to the hunters.”

I asked why he acceded to her wishes later. My father was king, not her, so why did the queen’s opinion matter?

“A king rules because others allow him to,” he’d replied. “I married the queen due to her connections. She is the daughter of the King of Margravia, her mother once a princess of Gravennia. I expected her to create alliances when she came here for my benefit.” His lips thinned. “Instead, she created a network for herself.”

One she used now to good effect. Lords and ladies drew closer to the king and queen, appearing to stare down their noses at me, even though I towered over most of them, but those looks… Ones of scorn, of vicious amusement, were all too familiar. I stared up at my father, willing him to assert his authority, to insist that I stay for the hunt, but when he turned to face me, I got my answer. That apologetic look, so at odds with his crown and royal regalia, had me taking a step backwards before he even spoke.

“Watch the hunt from the sidelines, son,” he told me. “It’s the safest place for you.”

It was only later than I found out what that meant. The queen had tried to get rid of an inconvenient bastard before, but never in such a public arena, though it wasn’t attempts on my life that had me staring into my father’s eyes, mutely begging to stay. He was the one who showed me the tapestries made to commemorate each king’s claiming of his antler crown.

Every heroic tale fell on fertile ground inside my mind, my heart, my current powerlessness forgotten each time we talked about our ancestors. Some of the old kings had also come from ignominious origins only to be the one that killed the stag and take the crown. They’d filled me with hope, something that must’ve shone plainly in my eyes–why else would the queen step in to crush it? I’d nodded and slipped backwards and into the trees, because what more could I do? Confront the queen, name the small, vicious feelings that lurked in her breasts whenever she saw me in front of the entire Kheanian court?

I would’ve if I’d received even the smallest of encouragements. List the queen’s failing and her foul son’s, all of them over and over until the poison was drawn out of my veins, leaving me empty, but instead, I did what bastards always did well and disappeared.

Tears filled my eyes, the shame of that dragging more from my eye sockets, turning me half blind and stumbling as I clambered over tree roots, through bushes and past trees. I had no idea where these hunters were, but they had identified me, men in dark-brown and green homespun clothing emerging from the trees.

“And what do we have here?” their leader said, nodding in my direction. “Thought it was a deer with a broken leg, all the noise you were making walking this way.”

“I am Arik.” As I drew myself upright I scrubbed at my eyes, then wiped away the snot on my sleeve. “Son of the king.”

“The bastard?” The men gave me a thorough look over. “We were told to expect you. This way, lad.”

“Then we go to hunt the beast down,” Magnus announced now, to the crowd, not the Duke.

“But Your Majesty, you’ve just arrived. The symbol of your kingship won’t be going anywhere. You’ve got time to rest, eat, wash the dirt of the road off your—” Fallspire said.

“No.” Magnus threw his arms wide, obviously unaware he revealed neat circles of sweat and grime under each armpit. It appeared having a steady supply of high-quality roseblood had made self-care impossible. “Destiny awaits.” He found me across the crowded courtyard, his gaze locking with mine as he smiled slowly. “I was robbed once of the chance to take the golden stag. I won’t allow that to happen again. Tonight I’ll wear the crown of antlers on my brow and…”

Jessalyn always seemed to have a talent for appearing right at the wrong time, the carriage door being thrown open as she stepped out.

“I’ll have my wife in my bed, the marriage consummated.” Magnus’ smile widened as he watched my hand stray to my sword hilt. “And the usurper prince’s head lopped off and laying at her pretty little feet.” His focus shifted. “I’m still to decide what will happen to the rest of your ‘band.’ The general is all in a flap about security on the border, so perhaps sending him some new recruits will help resolve the problem.”

Send them to die, that’s what he was implying. I knew Magnus would make sure Silas, Creed, and Roan went to the worst-defended, pissant garrison, sure our enemies would come streaming across the border once they had their troops marshalled.

So I had best make certain that didn’t happen.

“You heard His Majesty,” I drawled. “He wishes to hunt, and to do so he’ll need a fresh horse.”

I stared at Fallspire, trying to get an indication that he was well prepared for this, that he had a horse ready, complete with a razor attached to the girth strap. A tiny nod was all I got in acknowledgment.

“Your Grace?” Henry, the Duke’s head groom walked out leading two horses by the rein. One was the Duke’s charger, Devil. He was a massive beast, complete with a satin black coat and muscles that quivered with barely repressed energy. We’d selected him as the king’s mount, thinking the flashy appearance of Devil would appeal to Magnus’ overweening ego. “Your horse.”

“That’s a fine piece of horseflesh if ever I saw one.” Magnus propped his hands up on his hips, looking just like a farmer at market, not a king, as he inspected Devil.

“Perhaps you’d like to ride him on the hunt?” the Duke suggested smoothly. “I know he looks spirited, but I’m sure you’ll handle him with ease. All that power,” he slapped Devil’s withers, “could be useful when you ride down the stag.”

Say yes, you bloody idiot, I thought furiously. Say yes.

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