Defeat tasted like iron on my tongue, bitter and familiar as blood. I hadn’t lost a competition in fifteen years, and now some princeling with more privilege than talent had managed to best me by a hair’s breadth. That final arrow that struck just outside the center would haunt me for days.
My fingers still burned from the string, muscle memory confused by this unexpected outcome. But I wouldn’t let it show.Not here, not now, not as I sat at the king’s table with wine worth more than all of Thorndale coating my throat in false sweetness.
“To Prince Alain,” King Geraint declared, raising his goblet in a toast that made my teeth grind together. “A worthy competitor indeed!”
“To Prince Alain,” I echoed, forcing warmth into my voice while ice crystallized in my chest. I raised my own goblet, the heavy silver cool against my palm as I took a measured sip. “The student surpasses the teacher. As it should be.”
Prince Theron snorted, sprawled in his chair like a great lazy cat, all predatory eyes and entitled languor. Unlike his brother, this one had never bothered to master any skill beyond drinking and fucking. Yet I preferred his company to Alain’s cold perfection.
“You’ll best him in the sword, Gaspard,” Theron said, gesturing for a servant to refill his already half-empty cup. “My brother got lucky. That’s all.”
The king chuckled, tearing into the roasted pheasant before him. Grease glistened on his fingers, catching the midday sun streaming through the garden pavilion’s open sides. “Lucky or not, it was a fine show. The people love a royal victory. Good for morale.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty,” I agreed, slicing into my own bird with precision that betrayed none of the rage simmering beneath my skin. “The crown always comes first.”
Servants moved silently around us, refilling goblets and replacing empty platters with fresh ones laden with fruits, cheeses, and thinly sliced meats.
The pavilion had been erected specifically for this luncheon, positioned to capture both the breeze from the western garden and the shade of an ancient oak. Everything about the setting spoke of carefully curated luxury, from the damask tablecloth to the gold-edged plates.
I had been dining at the king’s table since I was twenty, when I first proved myself the finest huntsman in the kingdom. Fifteen years of royal favor had taught me how to smile through clenched teeth, how to swallow insults with wine, how to wait for the perfect moment to strike. Today would be no different. One arrow hadn’t ruined me. One loss didn’t erase a lifetime of victories.
“Your leg troubles you?” the king asked suddenly, his sharp eyes missing nothing as I shifted in my seat.
I straightened, banishing the grimace that had momentarily crossed my features. The wound, a reminder of the Dark Lord’s hold over me for the rest of my days when he snapped my leg bones. Alf had to rescue me from the cold ground, rehabilitate me the last few months, but I wasn’t better yet. “A minor discomfort, Your Majesty. Nothing that will affect the remaining competitions.”
“Good, good,” he nodded, satisfied. “I’ve wagered heavily on you for the sword and spear.”
Theron grinned, lifting his goblet in my direction. “As have I. Alain may have improved his archery, but he’s never had your killer instinct with a blade.”
The compliment soothed my wounded pride slightly. Killer instinct. Yes, that I had in abundance. The second son would learn that soon enough.
“It seems your brother has developed... other interests lately,” I remarked casually, watching Theron’s reaction closely. “He appeared quite distracted this morning.”
The king waved a dismissive hand. “The boy’s infatuated with his latest rescue. It’ll pass.”
Theron’s face split into a lecherous grin that reminded me of myself in my younger years, before I’d learned to mask my baser urges behind courtly manners. “Oh yes, the fair damsel from the forest. You should see her, Gaspard. Tits that would make asaint weep and eyes like...” he trailed off, searching for words his wine-addled brain couldn’t quite grasp.
“Like amber,” the king supplied, rolling his eyes at his eldest son’s crudeness. “Unusual coloring, resembles my late daughter, Odette’s eyes after her curse at birth. Quite striking, I’ll admit, though hardly worth the obsession Alain’s developing.”
I took another slow sip of wine, my interest piqued despite myself. A woman with amber eyes, rescued from the forest. Something cold slithered down my spine, a premonition or memory, I couldn’t yet tell which.
“My brother found her locked in some dungeon in the heart of the Forbidden Forest,” Theron continued, clearly enjoying having my full attention. “Half-dead, according to the gossip. Now he guards her like a dragon with its treasure. Won’t let anyone near her without his supervision.”
The servant girl refilling our wine cups—older than the others, with work-worn hands and eyes that had seen too much—paused almost imperceptibly at Theron’s words. Interesting. She knew something.
“And where does this mysterious maiden hail from?” I asked, my voice carefully neutral even as suspicion bloomed in my chest. “Before her forest adventure, that is.”
Theron laughed, oblivious to the tension suddenly coiling through my body. “That’s the best part! She’s from that dismal little village you oversee. What’s it called? Thorn-something?”
“Thorndale,” I supplied, my mouth suddenly dry despite the wine.
“Yes, that’s it!” Theron slapped the table, making the silverware jump. “Same place as you. Isn’t that a remarkable coincidence? Father says you might even know her family.”
The king nodded, studying my face with newfound interest. “Indeed. I mentioned your name at dinner last night, and the girl had quite a reaction. Though she tried to hide it, of course.”
My goblet froze halfway to my lips. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t have left the dungeon the Dark Lord trapped her in, her body becoming a tether as punishment for her disobedience. For daring to use her unnatural powers against me when I sought only to tame her wild spirit, to mold her into a proper wife. Then the Dark Lord cursed me too, making sure I could never have her again. The last time I touched her, it was helping drown her.
Yet something had troubled me about that attempted execution. The way the water had seemed to resist, to part around her even as the villagers held her under. The strange amber glow that had illuminated the depths when her powers came out again.
