The Great Hunt (24 page)

Lady Wyneth held her skirts tightly in her hands as she walked over the cobblestones.. This morning she had started to choose a pale yellow dress, a favorite of hers. But even touching the fabric made her feel traitorous to her love’s memory. She chose gray again, though she knew Breckon would want her to be happy. He wouldn’t want her to continue mourning, but her heart was not ready to let go of what they’d had. A part of her would always long for that sweet love. Wind whipped past and she grasped the shawl at her chest.

A great divide had taken up residence within her—the half that ached to see Lord Lief Alvi each day and the half that dreaded it, knowing it was wrong to feed this interest for so
many reasons. She hated herself for having these torn feelings for one man, as she wore the bereavement color for another.

Her heart became a rapid drum as she approached the entrance gates. Thankfully, Harrison and Tiern were standing close by with their bows strung across their backs, talking in low tones.

“Oy, lads,” she called to them. They raised their chins and smiled as she entered. From the corner of her eye she saw a group of men emerge from the tents, geared up. The tallest, broadest, blondest of their ranks stared in her direction.

Feeling his eyes on her, she was momentarily too distracted to speak.

“All right then?” asked Harrison.

“Oh, yes.” She cleared her throat. “I came to see what happened this afternoon.”

“Pax finally kicked that coldlandman’s arse,” Tiern said, grinning. “Been asking for it since day one.”

Wyneth raised her eyebrows. “But they’re both all right?”

Harrison shrugged, like people beating each other was commonplace, and perhaps it was. “They’ll survive. Probably even be back for the hunt tonight.”

“Well, all right then.” Wyneth could see Lief moving in their direction now, and her stomach rattled with nerves. “Good. I’ll just be going, I suppose.” She gave them nervous smiles as she turned to leave.

“Are you all right, Wyn?” Harrison called, his voice tinged with worry.

“Aye, fine,” she responded over her shoulder.

When she was nearly at the gates, his smooth, deep voice called out to her. “My lady.”

Wyneth slowed, her stomach giving a massive stir of satisfaction, which quickly filled her with shame. Her hand clung to the gate, but she didn’t turn. The guards watched, and when Wyneth looked at them they turned their faces away.

“Are you well?” Lief’s concerned voice asked her.

Wyneth shut her eyes. “I’m ready for this cursed beast to be killed, and this hunt to be over.” Come what may, she meant that with all her heart. She was ready for this sense of doom to lift from the kingdom so they could all seek a normal life again, though “normal” would likely have a completely different meaning once the hunt finished.

“Walk with me?” He held out a bare arm, and Wyneth looked toward the guards. The self-preserving part of herself hoped the guards would suggest against it, as they would with Aerity, but they only moved aside. Wyneth’s heart flipped and then fell in a single swoop. Past Lord Alvi, she could see Harrison still watching her, a terse frown on his face. Guilt churned within her.

“My lady?” Lord Alvi was holding out his arm.

Wyneth tore her gaze from Harrison and hesitantly took the coldlandman’s arm, her fingers curling over a small portion of the muscle there, and he led her away from the castle. He felt so nice, so masculine and safe. But her brief feeling of comfort quickly morphed into one of misgiving. He wasn’t
hers and he wasn’t safe. Nobody was.

“Lord Alvi,” she said as they turned the corner toward paths into the forest. “I should return to the castle. This—it’s not proper.”

“It’s merely a walk. I’ll have you back soon.”

She pulled his arm to stop him and dropped her hands, a sense of resolve settling over her. “This has to stop. Please. I don’t want to think about you anymore—”

“Have you been thinking of me?” His light blue eyes trapped her, and his white smile dazzled her senseless.

“I . . .” She cleared her throat. “I mean it, Lord Alvi. I can’t see you alone anymore.”

“Why won’t you call me Lief?”

“Your wife may call you Lief. But I will never be your wife.”

His head tilted downward. A brisk wind came up from the waters and rustled through the nearby trees, causing Wyneth to shiver. How could he stand there, half naked, and completely unfazed by the elements? He reached for her arms, as if to warm her with his broad hands, but she stepped back in a hurry.

“You can’t do that.” Her voice held a plea, and his eyes fell. “Doesn’t it bother you at all that you might be married to my cousin soon?”

He blinked, his lips pursed. “In Ascomanni, as it used to be here in Lochlanach, royalty marry for purpose—land, ties,
wealth, politics, carrying on the bloodlines. Our commoners marry for companionship. It is understood that I will marry for the reasons all my fathers before me have married, but that does not mean I cannot have a separate relationship with one I love.”

Wyneth swallowed down a bout of bile, sickened by the bitterness. “I will not be your mistress. To even suggest such a thing is offensive. Here, in this time, it is a great dishonor to your spouse to love another. And I would
never
do that to my cousin. You should be warned that Lochlans would withhold their support of any prince who treated their princess in such a way.”

The look of ease never left his face. “Lady Wyneth, surely your king and your kingdom understand by his proclamation that Princess Aerity’s marriage is not likely to be one born of love. And if I kill this beast, which I fully intend to, it would be a great dishonor to refuse the king’s offer. I will treat your cousin with the utmost respect, but I will not deny myself or her, of taking another. It’s simply how it’s done.”

She gaped. “But you’ll lie with your wife to carry on the bloodlines?”

He let out a breath. “Yes.”

“Well, I will not be that
other
whom you take.” Tears welled in Wyneth’s eyes at the fact that Lord Alvi could be so cold. In that moment, it was no longer about herself or him, but about her cousin, who deserved so much better than the
vision of union this Ascomannian was willing to offer. She couldn’t stand the thought that her cousin was doomed to such a marriage.

“I am not a heartless man, my lady. This is simply how it has been for generations. It works well for our royals. You only have to get your mind past the barriers of social norms you’ve accustomed yourself to. It’s a different path of thought. Different, not wrong.”

Wyneth shook her head. Romantic delusions or not, she could not get past this. “It’s my hope that your feelings for my cousin will grow so that you don’t need another. This ends right now.”

“Lady Wyneth . . .” His warm, strong fingers reached for her and slipped away from her arm as she walked off, hurrying out of his reach. She kept her head down, hiding the heartache that was undoubtedly etched across her face.

The smart thing for Paxton would have been to stop the kiss. The smart thing would have been to ignore his feelings for Aerity, and the calming words of the Lashed healer, and to leave as planned. But all of Paxton’s wisdom had filtered away like water through sand when Aerity’s kiss of acceptance had seized his heart, claiming it as easily as if it’d never been guarded at all.

And then there was Mrs. Rathbrook. The Lashed woman had appeared unsurprised when she saw his marks. She’d healed him, then returned with a small jar of a milky substance. She dabbed a bit on each of his nails and Paxton had strained to hear her quiet words.

“This will act as a temporary paint that matches your
normal coloring. I’ve invented this mixture myself. You’re not the first I’ve had to hide. If you scrub or scratch your nails, it will chip off. Be careful, lad.” She patted the top of his hand when the paint dried and sent him on his way. As he exited he heard her call out. “Will you hunt tonight? I think you should.”

He thought about it solemnly before giving a nod. “Aye. Perhaps I will.”

The woman grinned and set to cleaning the table. “Very good, then.” She began to whistle a tune. It took Paxton a moment to recognize the folk song as he left the hall. He could almost hear his grandmother’s voice singing it in her old cottage . . . something about the winds of change blowin’ o’er the loch—a sea of change a-brewin’.

Paxton groaned when Tiern saw him gearing up for the hunt, because his brother looked as excited as a child at the fall carnival. Paxton wanted to tell him not to get his hopes up, that he might have to leave at any moment without notice, but he didn’t bother. Tiern’s hopes were already too high. So much so that they were unperturbed by the sharp glances being thrown their way by a healed Volgan. Lord Lief Alvi met Paxton’s eyes and though he gave Paxton a nod, he seemed disturbed by something.

The Zandalee entered the commons, dressed in their hunting clothes.

“How are you feeling?” Tiern asked.

“Good enough to eat you.” Zandora made a move to bite him, her white teeth clicking an inch from his nose, which she touched with her finger before smiling. Her sisters laughed.

“All better then,” Tiern said, his back stiff. “Well done.”

“Though I am not happy with your healer.”

“Why?” Paxton asked.

“She gave us a potion to sleep and we missed all of the fun.” She appeared indignant that she’d been held back from joining them in their freezing hike.

“You have the heart of a true hunter, Zandora,” Harrison said.

“Of course I do.” She strapped on her bow. “Now you will tell me every detail we missed.”

As they set off with the Ascomannians and Zandalee, Paxton furtively checked his nails. Then he wondered what in the high seas he was thinking remaining in this hunt. It was foolhardy at best for him to stay. His mind felt like a sapling caught in a gale, leaning this way and that.

When he’d decided to reveal his true nature to Aerity, he’d been fairly certain she would keep his secret, yet thought for sure she would be disappointed enough to finally let him go. What he’d not expected was for her to kiss him with more passion than he’d ever felt before. It turns out that the princess, in all her riches and innocence, was as hot-blooded as he. Even now his blood heated, warming him against the chill in the air, imagining her soft lips and the island scents of coconuts and berries that lingered over her fresh skin.

Deep seas alive, that kiss . . .

But even if Aerity accepted him, the kingdom never would. Secrets had a way of revealing themselves. If the people found out there was a Lashed among their royals, Paxton imagined riots, looting, and uprisings. Worst of all, he imagined the people would take their fears out on innocent Lashed and their families. Paxton would be selfish to take such a chance. He couldn’t see himself living in a castle, anyhow. Though he could imagine himself sharing a bedchamber with Aerity.

Cursed thoughts.

Paxton shook his head and made his way quietly through the fallen leaves to the same spot they’d hidden in last time. They would line the same river, and the watermen had agreed to help once more, their boats offshore. Their hope was to lure the beast down from the mountains or out from the water.

They waited hours, feeling the frost set in around them. Paxton crouched under the drooping branches of a persimmon tree, his frozen ears perked for any sound. From a distance he could see Tiern shivering, even in his fur-lined leathers, but Paxton wasn’t worried. The temperature was cold, but not quite freezing like last time.

The Zandalee were as still and quiet as ever.

The night was silent. No horns. No beast. No hunters calling out. No fishermen throwing rocks toward shore. Paxton nodded to himself as the far sky began to lighten. The creature had probably taken the night off to tend its wounds.
He clenched his teeth in frustration at another unsuccessful hunt.

As the hunters marched stiffly back to royal lands, tired and sullen, Tiern and Paxton kept toward the river, talking in low tones in case Harrison or the Zandalee caught up to them.

“How long will that last on your fingers, whatever she used?” Tiern whispered.

“Few days, maybe a week if I’m careful.”

They walked in silence a few moments until Tiern looked around to make sure nobody had come near. “Listen, Pax. In no time at all those marks’ll be gone, and nobody will ever know. If you kill the beast, you can marry the princess, and—”

“No. Tiern, get it through your mind. I cannot marry her. Lashed . . . we don’t even live full lives.”

“What do you mean, you don’t live full lives?”

Paxton shrugged. “Lashed need to work magic to live longer. Haven’t you seen how quickly they age?” His brother’s eyebrows were drawn together. Of course he hadn’t noticed. “I’ll most likely die in my forties, as ragged as an old seafarer.” He hadn’t let himself dwell on this part, though it bothered him far more than he let on.

“Deep seas,” Tiern mumbled. “But you could secretly use magic and just keep wearing that paint—”

“Why are you so keen on having me marry her, Pax? I thought you wanted her for yourself.”

Paxton could feel Tiern staring at him when he didn’t respond, as if trying to work a puzzle. “I know you care for
her, you bloody brute. At this point, I would only marry her so that I might take care of Mum and Papa.”

Paxton gave a dry laugh. “How quickly your attitude has changed. You make marrying Princess Aerity sound like a chore.”

“Not a chore. It just feels . . . wrong now. And perhaps I fancy another.”

The little sister. Paxton chuckled for real now. “She has several years before the king will let you sniff around her, Brother. She’s bound to fall in love with a dozen officers and lords between now and then. Long after the hunters’ invitations have expired.”

Tiern looked down at his feet, and Paxton immediately regretted what he’d said. Yes, it was known that the king wanted his children to marry whom they chose, but this hunt was a special circumstance. The royal children did not regularly interact with commoners in normal life.

Tiern glared at him. “Why are you bothering to hunt, then, if you don’t even plan to marry her? For the glory? One last show of your mighty greatness before you disappear forever and the rest of us are left empty-handed?”

Tiern’s huff of angry air made a cloud of steam as he stomped ahead, leaving Paxton on the sandy, leaf-ridden shore.

Paxton turned toward the water and crossed his arms. Why did he stay, if not to claim Aerity’s hand? He stared down at the broken oyster shells and smooth stones gently batted by the moving water.

The truth hit Paxton’s chest with powerful force, but he couldn’t admit it to his brother. Yes, he wanted Aerity, but in reality he felt he could not have her. If he couldn’t have her, he wanted none of these other hunters to claim her either. Perhaps it was selfish, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stand the thought of any of these men, including his own brother, smelling her scented skin or tasting her soft lips as he had. If he killed the beast and forfeited his “prize,” it would baffle everyone, and perhaps even bring the royal family a moment of shame, but it would leave Aerity free to choose of her own accord.

No, he could not explain that to Tiern. His brother might keel over from shock to find out Paxton was capable of such thoughts and feelings. Indeed, Paxton was even astounded at himself.

He turned at the sound of footsteps in the sand. Harrison and the three Zandalee joined him in the surf.

“If I do not kill something soon,” Zandora said, “I will need to fight.” She rubbed a fist into her palm.

Paxton held up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’ve had my brawl. You’ll have to pummel Harrison here.”

The lieutenant laughed. “Have the healer at the ready for me!”

Zandora punched Paxton’s arm. “Who did you fight?”

“Volgan.”

Her eyes gaped wide and she punched him again. “I miss all the fun! Did he bleed?”

“We both bled.”

“Who shed more?” By the seas, her eyes were hungry for details.

“Paxton was declared the winner,” Harrison told her.

A rustle sounded from the trees, a squirrel jumping from branch to branch, showering the ground with colorful foliage. Paxton heard a whiz and the squirrel was suddenly falling to the ground, a shining arrow through it.

Zandora lowered her bow. “I feel better. A little.”

Paxton grinned as Zandora stomped away with her sisters, grabbing up the impaled rodent on her way.

Harrison shook his head. “Remind me to stay on her good side.”

“Bloody right.”

They walked in silence, a strange unspoken tension between them.

Paxton was relieved to return to his tent, where Tiern had wound himself tightly in his blankets with his face to the wall. Paxton sighed quietly to himself and climbed onto his own cot. He looked at each of his fingers and thumbs—the paint was still intact, so for now he would stay. He would play it day-by-day, though it was more reckless than he cared to be.

He fell asleep, dreaming unwillingly of coconut and berry breezes.