The Great Hunt

by Higgins,Wendy

Wyneth turned and strode along the cobblestones back to the castle. She wondered where Aerity could be. She’d caught wind of the night’s events from two castle maids, and wondered if the princess had heard that Paxton Seabolt had been injured.

  As the lady rounded the corner she heard low male voices and nearly crashed into several men.

  “Whoa there!” Harrison took her by the forearms to steady her, chuckling. The other men walked around them, except Lord Alvi, who stopped.

  “So sorry, Har—um, Lieutenant. I was looking for Aerity.”

  “Haven’t seen her. We’ve just returned from scouting for signs of the beast. No luck.”

  Wyneth nodded. She hoped with all her heart that Harrison would kill the thing to avenge Breckon and marry her cousin. She’d always wanted him and Aerity together . . . though the princess seemed to have taken an interest in the daring skirt raiser, Paxton. She supposed she couldn’t fault her, though Harrison would be the safer bet.

  Harrison watched her with fondness in his light brown eyes. “I’d better go wash up.”

  “Good to see you, Lieutenant,” she said.

  Harrison began to leave her, but Lord Alvi remained. When Harrison stopped, the Ascomannian lord waved him on with a smile. “I’ll be along momentarily.” Harrison’s face hardened, and he made no move to exit. He looked to Wyneth, who felt unease at the awkwardness.

  Wanting to defuse the tension, she said, “It’s fine, Lieutenant. I shall see you this afternoon.” He hesitated, looking displeased before he finally strode away.

  “Walk with me?” Lord Alvi held out his elbow, and Wyneth took it, letting him lead her off the path and into a nearby grassy area with a smattering of trees. “How are you this morning, lady?”

  His voice was as low as the deep blue sea. Wyneth swallowed hard. Something about this man was disarming. He made her incredibly nervous. His attention was flattering, but Wyneth did not take it to heart. They stopped behind a wide tree, and he turned to face her. His dominating presence was flustering.

  “I’m well,” Wyneth said. Her eyes darted this way and that, attempting not to look into the cool arctic blue of his. “How goes the hunt?”

  He peered out at the glistening ocean beyond. “The beast still eludes us in the day. They watched it enter the water, but we can’t find where it might’ve come back out.”

  Wyneth’s clutched the gray fabric at her chest. “The beast took to the water?” Sudden fear gripped her like fingers of icicles, and she felt dizzy.

  Lief moved closer, took both her elbows. “You look faint.”

  “I’m all right,” she whispered. He slowly let her go.

  She blinked, eyes burning. She hadn’t cried in two whole days. But hearing that the beast could swim—that it could have followed her into the creek that night . . .

  Wyneth covered her mouth, breathing deeply through her nose as she closed her eyes. How easily she could have been killed. Just like Breckon.

  Breckon.

  Lady Wyneth was hardly aware as Lord Alvi led her farther into a shroud of evergreens, out of sight. He took her face in his hands and swiped the tears as they fell. His face was a mixture of confusion and alarm.

  High seas, she was crying in front of a hunter. A stranger. A foreign lord.

  “I—I’m sorry.” Wyneth stepped back, out of his grasp, and his bare arms fell to his sides. She had no idea why she felt the sudden urge to tell him everything. Perhaps his kindness. Perhaps to kill his interest in her. What man would find interest in a woman with a shattered heart?

  “The beast killed my betrothed.” Her voice was thick. She wiped the last bit of moisture from her eyes and stood taller. “I saw it attack. We were together on the docks. I fled, swimming across the creek. I—I left him.”

  Lief’s handsome face slackened. “That was you? You were engaged to the captain?”

  No more tears. Wyneth tightened her jaw and nodded.

  Understanding crossed his face. “So you’ve seen the beast?”

  A flash of teeth and claws and blood flashed through Wyneth’s mind’s eye and she rocked back on her heels.

  “Of course . . .” He moved toward her, and she stepped back, causing him to tilt his head to the side. “I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through.”

  She swallowed. “Why didn’t it come for me in the water? It could have killed us both.”

  There were times, especially during the first couple weeks, when she wished she were dead too. She thought death might have been better than to feel the heartache anew each morn when she woke. Breckon had been her life and her future. He’d been there as her mind-set changed from that of a girl to a woman, and he’d loved her every minute, patiently.

  “There are many things we don’t understand about the beast and its motives,” Lief said quietly. “But the fates kept you alive for a reason. You have a life to live still, Lady Wyneth.”

  Wyneth allowed herself a look at him.

  Breckon had been polished. Lean. His hair had been short, and he was polite to a fault. Lord Lief Alvi was a contrast to all of that. A rogue. Wild waves of blond hair rested on his shoulders. A vest of fur fitted against his massive chest, his shoulders and arms of muscle jutting out.

  It felt wrong, wrong, to look upon another man this way. Especially a man who was in the running for her cousin’s hand in marriage. Surely she was losing her mind.

  “I must go.”

  In a move like a dance, Wyneth turned away, only to feel the warmth of his grip around her wrist, spinning her back around, pulling her with a silent command right into that solid chest and those strong arms she’d just been admiring. Without a single word, Lord Alvi took Wyneth’s mouth with his own, practically lifting her off her feet as his hands circled her waist and tugged her body against his.

  She heard herself make a noise of surprise which morphed into moan at the closeness and warmth, the scent of clean masculinity. For a long moment she shut off her mind, letting her senses have full control. Lief’s hunger for her lips was like nothing she’d experienced before. He was not careful, nor did he bother with niceties as she was accustomed to. He took complete ownership, crushing her body to his in a way that made her long for more.

  All at once, the two names closest to her heart were shouted inside her mind.

  Breckon! Aerity!

  Lady Wyneth pushed against his wide chest, and he let her go. She struggled for air. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb and smiled.

  “You—we can never do that again,” Wyneth said. Her voice was a shaky jumble of want and need and regret.

  “Why not?” His head cocked in that curious way again.

  “Why not?” she repeated back at him in disbelief.

  “I’ve wanted to do that since I first laid eyes on you.”

  Wyneth’s blood raced at the flattery of hearing that from a man like him. But it wasn’t as simple as he was making it out to be. “I only just finished telling you I’ve lost the man I was to marry. My heart . . . still aches.”

  He appeared crestfallen. “I’m sorry, Lady Wyneth. I thought it might help.”

  Oh, the logic of a man, Wyneth thought. “What’s more, Lord Alvi, if you kill the beast you’ll be granted the hand of my cousin. My best friend!”

  Wyneth was still in shock that he’d kissed her, this man she scarcely knew, and that she’d been so completely willing. Being so near him, she felt the lingering lust burning under her skin, and the churn of guilt in her gut. It was the worst kind of situation. Couldn’t he see that?

  Apparently not, based on his easy smile. “Life is for living, Lady Wyneth. You needn’t feel guilty or worried. Fate will intervene to make things right, when necessary. I hope to see you this evening before the hunt.” He brought a massive hand to her hair and let his palm and fingers stroke a lone curl.

  Her chest was still heaving as he walked away.

  Blasted “fate.” Outlandish notions.

  Wyneth grasped her gray skirts and marc
hed back to the castle through crunching leaves and dry pine needles, overrun by a maelstrom of thoughts. She was quite certain that kissing one of her cousin’s suitors mere months after the death of her fiancé was not fate. It was simply one man acting on an inappropriate urge. She was ashamed that her first reaction had been to welcome his touch instead of thwarting it.

  She felt utterly alone. Wyneth could never tell Aerity. She could never tell anyone.

  As she burst into the castle, a gust of wind at her back, she could still feel Lord Lief Alvi’s firm lips against hers. She avoided the eyes of the guards as she passed, bringing a hand to her mouth to hold on to the feel of Lief’s kiss for a moment longer.

  Just a moment more, and then she’d put him from her mind.

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  Chapter

  20

  After her studies, Aerity donned her leotard and a soft pullover tunic. Another day had passed, and the beast was still at large. The only good thing to happen was that the king was feeling a bit more comfortable about letting his children out of the castle during daylight to places other than just the commons. The hunters’ presence seemed to make everyone feel safer. The beast had never attacked or been seen during the day, and it hadn’t set foot on royal lands since the night it took Breckon’s life.

  At least not that they knew.

  Vixie had sprinted from the doors toward the stables, her guards racing to keep up. Donubhan and several of their young cousins were accompanied by maids and guards down to the royal beach where they could dig for sandcrabs and enjoy the autumn sun a bit before winter began to show its face.

  Flanked by several guards, Aerity headed the back way to the side of the castle, avoiding the entrance of the commons. The giant oak tree loomed, awaiting her company, with magenta silks hanging from a high, thick branch. The guards kept their distance, making a square around the tree. She hardly registered their quiet presence anymore. She gave the silks a tug to be sure everything was sturdy before taking off her tunic and dropping it to the ground.

  This was Aerity’s favorite silk. Rather than two separate strands, this one was connected, making a U at the bottom like a hammock. Aerity held the silks up high and lifted her knees, sliding her pointed feet through the gap, feeling the burn of her abdominal muscles. She hung upside down a moment by her knees, letting the tips of her hair drag the ground, twisting side to side to warm up and stretch. Then she lifted herself until she was sitting in the silks, like a swing.

  A breeze blew and Aerity looked up at the rays of sunshine shooting through the canopy of yellow and orange leaves. In that moment, there seemed to be peace in the land, but an ache deep in Aerity’s gut reminded her that all was not well—that all might never be truly well for her again, even after this monster was killed. She pulled herself to standing, the silks pressing into the bare arches of her feet. Then she let her body take over in a series of climbs and wraps, twisting and stretching, leaning her body in unnatural ways that pushed her flexibility to the limits. She split her legs and struck an upside-down pose, where she hung by her hips, her whole body tight to keep balanced. With a twist of her waist, she spun, her arms and legs out, hair flying.

  Nearby cheers sounded, causing Aerity’s core to momentarily loosen and make her wobble. She reached up and pulled herself quickly to sitting, turning her head to see her audience—nearly all the hunters had climbed the side wall where the wooden risers were, and were sitting on top of the stones, watching her. She became acutely aware of her tight leggings and leotard.

  “Don’t stop on account of us, Princess!” Tiern yelled.

  Her face flushed as men of all nationalities smiled up at her, clapping. The Zandalee women cupped their hands around their mouths and let out keening sounds. She gave them all a small wave, feeling exposed.

  Then Aerity’s eyes caught the still form of Paxton on the end beside Tiern. He leaned his elbows on his knees, watching her with his unreadable stare. Those dark eyes made her feel more than exposed. She felt naked.

  Despite their protests, Aerity slid down from the silks and grabbed her tunic. She walked quickly toward the castle, giving a polite smile in their general direction before she disappeared.

  “Deep seas, she’s something, isn’t she?” Tiern raved. “Did you see her, Pax? And when she walked off, all bashful like? Adorable! Did you see?”

  “Aye, I’ve got eyes, don’t I?” Paxton had seen, all right. And he’d heard every word the bloody Ascomannians had muttered in lewd laughter out of earshot of the guards. He thought there’d be a fight between Harrison and one of the men when the lieutenant told him to shut his mouth, but Lief had defused the situation, making them all laugh with a story about a coldlands woman who’d dumped her ale over the man’s head when he’d commented on her bottom.

  Paxton didn’t move a muscle, even after the other hunters climbed down and went about their business. The Zandalee three jumped from their high perches into the field with the oak tree, landing in impressive crouches. He stared absently as they took turns on that fabric thing. Judging by the way they struggled and grunted, it must have been harder than it looked.

  Aerity had made it look easy. He thought about that morning in the infirmary, the way she’d hugged Mrs. Rathbrook and kissed the woman’s cheek. It was one thing to be polite to a Lashed, which few were, but to show that level of affection? It had taken him completely by surprise. Aerity was the future of this kingdom—she’d someday be queen. She could change these lands for the better. Was there hope to be had after all? Paxton gave his head a shake.

  He turned and hung his feet over, facing the commons area, and dropped to the rafter rows of seating below.

  Lord Lief Alvi was waiting for him at the bottom. They clasped hands when Paxton reached him.

  “Quite the prize, is she not?” the coldland lord said, nodding in the direction of the tree on the other side of the wall.

  Paxton shrugged, sort of wanting to silence Lief with a punch to the throat at that moment. “If you fancy the circus life.”

  Lord Lief Alvi gave a loud laugh. “If only marriage were as entertaining as a circus. But at least that one would bring a bit of fire to the arrangement. Not all royal lassies are so . . . interesting.”

  Paxton said nothing, unsure if Lief was baiting him for his stance on royals. He sometimes forgot the hunter was royalty in Ascomanni.

  “Your man Harrison, though. He’s got a history with the princess, aye?”

  Paxton shrugged. “They know each other.”

  Lief’s eyebrows went up and down, and he chuckled. “The lad’s in love, I’d say. This hunt’s a dual purpose for him—vengeance and love.”

  This turned Paxton’s stomach for some reason, and he found himself saying, “I believe there is only friendship between them.”

  At this, Lief laughed and slapped Paxton’s arm. “He’s after her hand, just like you and I.”

  “I don’t fancy the idea of marriage,” Paxton stated.

  “Aye. I probably wouldn’t either if it wasn’t expected of me.”

  Paxton supposed each man and woman had their struggles to overcome, but he was glad not to be a royal with all the ridiculous things expected of them.

  “I daresay you will fancy the idea of marriage a bit more if you kill the beast and earn a plump bed inside that castle.” Lief elbowed Paxton in the upper ribs, making him grunt.

  Paxton grumbled, and the Ascomannian lord chuckled, walking away.

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  Chapter

  21

  The next morning, after the night’s silent hunt and silent breakfast, Paxton and Tiern sat with the other hunters around the fire pit to discuss. Though it was daylight, the fire was good for ke
eping them warm against gusts coming up from the sea. The Zandalee were the last to join, one of the women shamelessly rubbing her hip against the back of Tiern’s head as she passed. His mouth froze midsentence. Samuel and Harrison choked back their laughter.

  “I agree, Tiern,” Lief said from across the fire, not having seen. “It seems to set out at random. There’s no pattern to where it chooses.”

  “Jes,” said Kalorian man who’d seemed to have a leadership role among his men, and one of the few who spoke Euronan. His hair was shaved along the sides, a strip of black slicked down the middle. “This is like no animal I have hunted. I cannot predict.”

  Paxton and the others nodded.

  “Auda,” Zandora said in a low voice from where she sat behind him. Paxton nodded. He recognized the Zorfinan word for water.

  A hissing sound was made from across the fire. Paxton was surprised to see the Zorfinan men staring at the Zandalee with contempt. When Zandora made a gesture with her fingers, they all looked away.

  “Why do you think they hate each other?” Tiern asked Paxton.

  “They say our tribe is cursed,” Zandora murmured from behind them. “They are fools.”

  Paxton, Tiern, Samuel, and Harrison all swung their heads around.

  “You speak Euronan?!” Tiern said.

  Zandalee gave a shrug. “When it suits me.” Her accent was strong.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Samuel chuckled, shaking his curly head.

  The three Zandalee looked smug in their black head scarves wrapped securely around their dark faces and necks. They each sat on the grass lazily, two leaning back, Zandalee in the center with an elbow on her raised knee.

  “My sisters speak only Zorfinan.”

  “They’re your sisters?” Tiern nodded to the other girls.

  “Jes. I am the oldest. Some call me queen of our tribe.”

  “So, the girl you lost,” Paxton said respectfully, “she was your sister, also?”

  Zandalee kissed her fingers and touched her shoulder in some kind of tribal sign. “Jes. Our youngest. She brings our tribe much pride with her bravery.”