The Hunt

by Frost Kay

  Subconsciously, she drifted to the edge of the great room, searching for anything out of place. Women spoke secrets behind their fans, men smoked and eyed the women, lush for their pickings. She hid her smile as a small hand darted from beneath one of the banquet tables. Little ones were stealing snacks, and yet, she couldn’t find herself comfortable.

  Perhaps you can find Madrid and ask him about Tomas. The poor boy had been terrified earlier. What has become of him?

  With a purpose in mind, she glided through the throngs of people, keeping a sharp eye out for the Hound master. Tempest breathed a sigh of relief when she exited the ballroom and found a bunch of men drinking ale; they happily handed her a tankard and allowed her to lean against the wall and drink in silence, with only a few curious glances tossed her way.

  They were of a rougher, poorer class than the people from the court Tempest had only just run from—the palace and its grounds had been opened to the public for today and today only. At least around merchants and soldiers and ordinary folk Tempest could be herself… dress or no dress.

  “It’s getting worse in the south,” a man with grizzled hair and a thick, foreboding scar across one of his hands said. “By the mountains bordering Talaga. My brother nearly lost his life last week on the road. Lucky he only lost his horse instead.”

  “Aye, I’ve heard it’s gotten further out of hand than anyone is aware of,” another man said. He eyed up a soldier, who Tempest at last recognized as the handsome palace guard who’d given her the spear she’d used to defeat the lion. “Rane here has been hearing all sorts since he was promoted to the palace. Ain’t you, Rane?”

  Rane glared at him. “It’ll be on my head if anyone knows I’ve spoken of such things.” But the men around him merely waited for him to relent and tell them more, so, with a furtive glance around them—which lingered on Tempest, who smiled slightly in return—he elaborated. “There’s a… sickness… spreading through the kingdom. A deadly one. It’s wiped out whole villages, all along the Talaga mountain range. More bodies are piling up by the day.”

  Tempest stilled. She had not heard word that the Talagan rebellion had gotten so far. In truth nobody had even called it a rebellion yet, since no official attack had been made against the rest of the kingdom yet. The Hounds were like a group of older gossiping women. Surely if one of them knew something, then all of them would?

  This damn well feels like an official attack against us. Just what is the king doing about it?

  Tempest sipped her drink and quietly melted into the shadows, leaving the men to their discussion to search for a bathroom, or a storage room, or literally any kind of empty, quiet space she could make use of. She needed to think away from all the noise and bustle and alcohol of the feast. Her mind raced. How deadly was the disease? Was it spreading through the mountains from the former shifter kingdom? Was it an act of war? If the Talagans were making their move against Heimserya, this could be Tempest’s opportunity to find her mother’s killer. Vengeance was so close she could almost taste it.

  She just had to figure out a way to get permission to look into it all.

  “How odd, to see the person for whom this entire feast was organized for standing all alone in the dark.”

  “I simply needed a moment to breathe,” Tempest replied, irked by the stranger’s audacity and his ability to sneak up on her for precisely two seconds before she turned to see who had spoken.

  King Destin stood there, resplendent in gold-and-ruby finery accented his long, tawny hair and amber eyes. Those lion eyes locked onto Tempest’s, preventing her from bowing or backing away.

  Damn.

  “Y-Your Grace,” Tempest stammered. “I did not hear you approach. I—”

  “Needed a moment to breathe,” he cut in, smiling. “I understand. However, I have been looking for you for quite some time. Won’t you spare your king a few minutes of your time?”

  Tempest knew she couldn’t say no. Destin was the king, after all, and a tall, powerful man to boot. Really, she had no reason to refuse him. He hadn’t done anything to her. Yet.

  Her attention homed in on his fingers gloved in midnight silk. Huge jeweled rings adorned his gloved hands, the stones catching in the lantern light.

  He could crush your windpipe with his bare hands, and you’d have to let him do it.

  She inclined her head slightly, hoping it would suffice enough as a response until her voice came back to her.

  “You were quite wonderful during your Trial today. Tell me, have you ever faced a beast as large as a lion before?”

  Tempest had to assume he knew she hadn’t. Who else could have set her up against a lion than the king himself, after all? Which meant she could only conclude that King Destin was testing her—to see what she would say in the face of such an obvious attempt on her life.

  “No, Your Grace,” she said, forcing a smile to her face. “Never. A wolf once, in the woods, but that is all.”

  “You did not seem frightened by it.”

  “I would not make a very good Hound if I displayed all my emotions on my face.”

  Thank you, Maxim, for your training. She was putting it to use right now.

  King Destin smiled, and amusement glinted in his amber eyes. He waved a hand back toward the center of the party. “The people clearly adore you. It is good that you secured such an outstanding victory today.”

  Tempest snorted in derision before she could stop herself. “I am but a novelty to them. A female Hound. Soon the novelty will pass, and I’ll be naught to them.” How she prayed for that day.

  “You give your opinion freely, even to your king,” Destin said, cocking his head to one side as he regarded Tempest. There was something akin to admiration in his gaze that had been decidedly absent during her Trial. “It is a good trait to have in a wife, if one wishes the marriage to be fruitful. And you are quite beautiful. Truly, any man would be lucky to have you. Any man indeed.”

  Wife? Marriage? Fruitful?

  Tempest felt as if a spider was crawling up her spine when the king reached forward and stroked the back of his huge gloved hand against her cheek.

  Do not flinch. Do not flinch. Do not flinch. He is testing you. He never wanted a female Hound. He is seeing if he can scare you. Fear does not rule you.

  “You are kind to say so,” she replied, curtseying slightly. Relief rushed over her as his hand fell away. “However, I must profess to finding myself not at all ready for marriage quite yet. I have only just embarked on my future as a Hound, after all. I will not lay my sword down for hearth and home for quite some time, if ever,” she tacked on, not able to help herself. What would he make of that?

  There was a long, drawn-out pause. And then King Destin said, quietly, “You are a fascinating woman, Tempest. I would very much like to discuss your future as soon as possible, in a setting a little more private than a corridor. Come up to my chambers in an hour—I shall have a servant escort you.”

  Tempest stared at him, torn between dread and curiosity. If there was ever a time for her to use her new-found position to begin looking into the Talagan shifter, now was that time. But she wasn’t stupid. The way King Destin was looking at her… well, he wasn’t thinking of the kingdom.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” she said eventually, careful to keep her voice as level as possible. She could not allow the man to know she was afraid of him, nor could she refuse him. He was her sovereign, and she had to obey, whether she liked it or not. And she had chosen this path. “I look forward to continuing our discussion.” Lie.

  Tempest wanted nothing more than to run away from the grin he flashed her way, but she forced herself to stay rooted to the spot until the king turned and left her, blessedly, alone.

  She’d never thought she’d wish to be back in the arena with the lion, but there was a first time for everything.

  Tempest

  It wasn’t until the servant calling her name was practically standing on Tempest’s toes that she finally broke from the pa
nic clinging to her heart. Truly, it was a testament to just how nervous she was—and, perhaps, a sign that she’d had one glass of wine too many as she had not sensed the servant’s presence.

  She eyed the silver goblet distastefully and set the wine on the table to her right.

  King Destin was even quieter when he crept up on you. Get your wits about you.

  “The king will see you now, Lady Tempest,” the servant said, inclining her head politely. “If you would follow me?”

  “I’m not a lady,” Tempest mumbled, following the woman from the hall. Temp had been raised with crass, rambunctious men. The ladies of court would have swooned at some of the things she’d seen growing up.

  Tempest had been to the palace just once before, when she was five. Dima had taken her to see the king so the Hounds could work out what to do with her. Much of that time had been a blur. The bizarre thing was that the king looked the same today despite the passing thirteen years. Her lips curled as she remembered how he’d ordered her to be placed with a governess of the court, a fine lady who’d preened like a peacock. It hadn’t taken long for the woman to throw Tempest out. She’d complained that all Tempest did was cause mischief and mayhem—that she was too unruly to become a lady of the court. She might have Madrid blood, but she was just as wild and crass as the poor she’d been raised with. Now that Tempest was older, she had a sneaking suspicion the woman had been his mistress because it only took one or two words and Tempest had been thrown in with the Hounds.

  It would have helped her nerves to know the layout of the palace better. She glanced over her shoulder and hiked up the silver silk of her skirt before catching up with the servant. They wound their way up a helical staircase lit by torches set into recessed sconces. The shadows writhed and danced like pagan wraiths and put Tempest on edge. The staircase was too dim and narrow to be a main access point to the king’s chambers. It felt too confining. It was either reserved for servants or… Her gut twisted.

  For the women sent up to see the king under the veil of night.

  Tempest gulped.

  Don’t dwell on such things. You’re not here for that. Humor your sovereign and then you’ll leave with your honor intact.

  It was a good plan. All she had to do was keep up a strong, self-assured front during her meeting with the man, lest he take advantage of her. It was Tempest who would get something out of their talk about her future, not him.

  Living and being raised by men should have prepared her for this moment, but each step closer to the king’s chambers made her question her decision to visit.

  There was never a question of obeying.

  “The lion was definitely easier than this,” she mumbled, only narrowly avoiding tripping up over the skirt of her dress in the process. The servant turned her head slightly to raise a questioning eyebrow.

  “Pardon, Lady Tempest?” she asked politely.

  “It’s nothing. Just talking to myself.”

  “My lady, may I offer a word of advice?”

  “Yes,” she drawled.

  “Do not let King Destin know that the lion was easier to handle than him.”

  Tempest hesitated before responding. That wasn’t what she expected. And it was a gross breach in protocol, not that she cared. “And why is that?”

  The servant sighed. “He will take it as the highest of compliments. So, please, keep in mind that less is more in some situations. It will be to your benefit.”

  Translation: don’t talk to the king more than you have to or you’ll encourage his attentions.

  Tempest’s gaze locked with the young woman. The servant was bold and her words alone could get her a lashing.

  “And why would you tell me this?”

  The woman didn’t look away. “You’re our champion, my lady. A warrior never lets anything take her by surprise.”

  Tempest studied her blankly as she came to a realization: the servant was on her side. Going by the bead of sweat on the woman’s brow and the way her hands twitched slightly, she was not happy about having to show the kingdom’s first female Hound up to the king’s chambers so late at night.

  That didn’t bode well for what the king had planned.

  Tempest pasted a smile on her face. “Very wise words. I’d be a fool not to listen.”

  The woman sighed in visible relief, her shoulders sagging as she continued to lead them through several more minutes worth of winding, smooth-stoned corridors covered in richly woven tapestries of knights, battles, kings, and shifters. The servant stopped in front of perhaps the grandest, most ostentatious set of doors Tempest had ever set her eyes upon. They were carved from a ruddy wood—mahogany, perhaps—which was shot through with impossibly intricate gold scrollwork.

  She squinted and leaned a little closer, trying to make out the words inscribed on the door. Odd. It was a language she’d never seen before. Tempest straightened and lifted her chin when the servant knocked upon the door softly and opened it a fraction a moment later.

  “Your Grace,” the servant said, bowing her head. “Lady Tempest is here.”

  A pause. And then: “Send her in,” a deep voice rumbled from the other side.

  Even though she’d prepared herself, the sound of his voice alone caused her stomach to drop. So unlike herself, she reached for the young woman’s hand and squeezed, inhaling deeply.

  You can do this. Come on, Tempest. You’re stronger than this. You passed the Trials.

  “You’re a lioness,” the servant whispered and squeezed her hand once before stepping away.

  Tempest’s fingertips pressed against the door, and then she entered the king’s chambers. The heavy wood closed behind her with barely a sound, though Tempest had expected it to thunder back into place. The silence of it was deafening.

  It took her only one glance—thanks to her Hound training—to pick up on all possible escape routes and potential weapons should she need them. Flames roared in a massive fireplace on the left-hand wall, surrounded by various, ornate tools covered in suitably pointed and jagged edges. For a moment, Tempest entertained the idea of skewering the king with one of them and fleeing back down the corridor.

  Morbid, Tempest, very morbid. Keep those thoughts off your face.

  Her second sweep revealed much more. Over on the right-hand side of the room was perhaps the largest four-poster bed Tempest had ever seen. It was made of the same wood as the door, with heavy, draping curtains of burgundy fabric obscuring much of the interior. Winter’s bite, it could sleep her entire barracks. Not that the men would ever be caught dead sleeping in such an atrocity. At least a dozen pillows and embroidered, claret-colored, velvet cushions decorated the mattress. To top it all off, a gaudy matching coverlet had been thrown over the bedsheets.

  She took another step into the room, and her slippers sank into the plush carpet. If she’d been barefoot, Tempest imagined it would have felt wondrous between her toes.

  Stop that train of thought right now, missy. Focus.

  Directly in front of her, moonlight shone through an immense stained-glass window, showing the entire kingdom of Heimserya. A handsome wooden table with a carafe of amber liquid—possibly fire whisky—and a blue, crystal goblet set beside it.

  Finally, she turned her attention to the other inhabitant of the room. The one she’d been ignoring.

  Right in front of the window, bathed in silvery light, was King Destin himself, lounging in a throne-like chair as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Tempest cast her eyes from the spirit and took him in: barefoot, leather trousers, no shirt, and a blood-red robe. The king's long, bronzed hair was braided and tossed over one shoulder.

  Tempest's mind blanked. Oh Dotae, be good.

  The man might have been years older than her, but he sure didn’t look it. Tempest would hazard to say she’d never seen a more attractive man, and she’d seen her fair share of the male form having lived with men most of her life. There was absolutely no way she'd be able to keep meeting with King Destin if he'd de
igned to greet her half-naked. How many women had he tempted into his bed with such a look?

  He beckoned for Tempest to come closer with a finger. "My Lady Hound. I am glad you did not run away from the palace with your tail between your legs."

  She took a steadying breath before walking a few careful steps forward, keeping her calm façade in place. "My king called for me. Of course, I must oblige." She curtseyed, the picture of courtly manners.

  He smirked. "Indeed, you must. Come, take a seat on the bed. You must be tired, especially since you are not used to wearing such uncomfortable shoes."

  Damn him. That was one of the only things he could have said to entice her to break propriety. Well, more than she already was. She was skating on thin ice as it was. But even if her tight, restrictive slippers were killing her feet and all she wanted to do was tear them off, burn the infernal contraptions, and curl up someplace comfortable, she would not sit on the bed. Must not.

  She looked around for somewhere else to sit—a look the king noticed immediately with an arched brow.

  His smirk became a grin. "Smart girl. Intelligent, capable and beautiful. You really could have everything you want, you know. You need only ask for it."

  She had everything she wanted, except vengeance for her mother’s death. But she kept that thought to herself.

  Tempest inclined her head politely and phrased her words carefully, "All I want is to serve my kingdom to the best of my ability. My lord, I have heard distressing murmurs of the brewing Talagan rebellion, which I was hoping to discuss with you this evening.”

  King Destin quirked an eyebrow and slowly placed his tumbler of spirits onto the table. He stood up, worked out a crack in his right shoulder, and closed the distance between himself and Tempest with lazy strides. It was like watching the lion prowl toward her again, his intense gaze pinning her to the spot. She bristled despite herself. If there was one thing she hated, it was being backed into a corner or having her space invaded; both led to her coming out swinging.