Chapter 38
Belle
The king turned a deaf ear to my protests, but three days after the revel, Loreli arrived with a glorious set of riding leathers—as well as a heartwarming note from the king.
Don’t get yourself killed.
My heart had soared. For one night, I would be free.
The boots were butter-soft against my calves, the leather still warm from the fireplace as I slipped my feet into them.
I’d buried myself in research to survive the week-long wait for the hunt, and even finally managed to meet Isolde for tea.
The countess had been as indiscreet as usual, regaling me with court gossip between sips of blood-laced whiskey—who was bedding whom, which lords were feuding, and the apparently well-known fact that the king never kissed the women he took to bed.
“With a mouth like that,” Isolde had lamented, “it’s a godsdamned waste.”
There was no way I was going to admit how many times I’d thought about those lips myself.
“Perhaps his mask gets in the way,” I said, and Isolde cackled in delight.
Did he really never kiss? Rumors of his love affairs permeated the castle. Nothing about him made sense. He was a rake who didn’t kiss. A tyrant. Yet every so often, he surprised me with his kindness.
I shook my head. Best not to think of him at all.
Despite the distractions, each day the wait grew harder.
By the night of the hunt, my restless energy had consumed my patience, and I kept overtaking the guards as they led me toward the castle courtyard.
Loreli had braided my hair back into an elaborate style, reasoning, “You’ll be surrounded by immortal warriors, so you must look the part. ”
It made me feel like one of the shield maidens from the snow lands, fierce and ready to slay. Now I just had to live up to that.
Frost bit my cheeks as the guards opened the doors. Dusk had settled over the castle, and torchlight illuminated the uneven flagstones.
Valen waited beside an ebony stallion and a silver mare, saddled and covered with woolen horse blankets.
The king turned to me, and my chest tightened.
He wore a fitted midnight-blue jacket that accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist, and the matching pants stretched over his muscular thighs.
I cursed the gods for crafting such a dangerous beast into such a breathtaking specimen of a male.
Better that the tyrant had been hideous and uncouth.
Then perhaps my dreams would’ve been free of him.
The king’s gaze drifted down my body, assessing—and if I wasn’t mistaken, admiring—before it returned to mine.
“You look extraordinary,” he said, his voice thick. “I’m going to have to keep you especially close tonight.”
I paused several feet away, shivers dancing down my spine. “And why is that? I told you I’m not going to run.”
His lips curled into a hungry smile. “Because I fear the other males will mistake you for one of the creatures they’re hunting.”
My lips parted in shock. “Are you comparing me to a wild animal?”
The king quirked his eyebrow in the roguish way that made my stomach do somersaults. “No, princess, you are far more beautiful than any of the Vaythir. But men hunt for more than just game.”
My cold cheeks flushed with a sudden heat. I looked away and brushed my hand along the mare’s neck. “What exactly are the Vaythir?”
Valen nodded to the groomsmen, who quickly whisked the heavy blanket off the back of the silver mare.
The king stepped close, carefully inspecting and readjusting the mare’s tack himself.
“They’re creatures from the Feylands. When there’s a hunter’s moon, our worlds collide in places, and the Vaythir may cross the seam into our lands.
Tonight, you and I will be hunting for a bloodgolt—which you’ll recognize as a large boar with poisonous spines along its back and tusks the size of your forearm. ”
I’d encountered a boar only once, and it had eviscerated one of the lords in our hunting party. I swallowed, a nervous anticipation prickling in my stomach. “Okay. So don’t get gored.”
Valen glanced at me, then adjusted the position of the saddle slightly, tugging the girth hard and following each strap with his fingers, searching for weakness.
“The bloodgolt aren’t even the most lethal of the fey creatures who cross.
There are wildcats that move between shadows, and the dyrwulfs, which are wolves as tall as your shoulder, with a venomous bite. ”
“Are they all monsters?”
“No. The rarest are the dyrivar, silver stags who run with the moonlight. Once, I would’ve said that they are the most beautiful creatures I’d seen.”
“And now?”
He didn’t look at me, but the faint curve of his lips sent my belly tumbling.
Gods, why did I let him have this effect on me? He was as much of a monster as any of the fey creatures, and just as dangerous.
I cleared my throat awkwardly, more nervous about enduring his heated looks than facing the beasts. “Where are the others?”
“We’ll join them at the feasting grounds.”
I moved to take the reins of the silver mare, but the king held them out of reach. “The woods are dangerous beyond the Vaythir. Perhaps you should join me in the saddle. Storm can carry two with ease.”
My body was already too conflicted, and I couldn’t handle that kind of proximity.
“I’d rather risk falling off than ride alongside you.
” I brushed past his outstretched hand and snatched the reins of the mare from him, yet my fingers lingered for a second.
I lifted my boot to the stirrup, desperate to escape the pull of his orbit, when his hands slipped to my waist and lifted me into the saddle.
“I’d much prefer it if you didn’t break your neck tonight, princess.”
“I’m quite capable of keeping my seat, Your Highness. Don’t worry.”
The moment he looked away, I uttered a silent prayer to the gods that the mare wasn’t hot blooded. I’d ridden occasionally growing up and during our journey on the road, but unlike my sister, I wasn’t comfortable in the saddle. She’d been born to ride, while I’d been born to read about it.
Valen mounted his stallion without checking its tack, then shot me a needling glance. “Keep up if you can, but don’t fall off Briar’s back. She won’t wait for you.”
I cast him a sharp look, then patted the mare’s neck and eased her after the king. We exited the courtyard and rode through the castle gate, our horses’ hooves clopping against the stones.
The full moon rose above a low crest, casting a warm hue over the cobbled road I’d fled across on the night I’d arrived.
My thoughts drifted from Marcel and then to my sister.
Finally, I had the chance to do something that might help protect them.
If I could get Ella one of the tusks, she might be able to find a way to use its magic to protect the Vale.
We’d ridden only a mile when Valen veered left into the trees and onto a wide beaten road that curved around the base of the mountain.
I must’ve missed it the night I’d arrived.
I angled my head back to memorize the turn, but my horse jolted into a sprint that nearly sent me careening sideways as Valen and his midnight stallion surged forward.
The moonlight reflected in the beast’s glossy coat as his mane and tail streaked behind him in the darkness.
My chest tightened as I admired the pair, a vision carved for battle.
The king rode with lethal ease, hair wild in the wind, every line of him taut.
As if feeling my eyes on his back, he slowed to match Briar’s pace. “Are you alright, princess? You’re looking a little pale.”
“You realize that I’m not actually a princess, right?” I shouted over the wind.
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I like the sound of it. It suits you.”
It absolutely did not suit me, and he knew it.
We turned off the road into the forest and followed a narrow trail through the moonlit trees. I hadn’t been on a hunt since the beasts had started raiding the Bloodvale. And here I was, heading into the cursed woods with my enemy.
The forest smelled of damp earth and fallen leaves, the stillness broken only by the plodding of our horses’ hooves. I’d almost forgotten how much I’d missed it.
My attention fell to the white glow that lingered above the horizon, shimmering like reflections on black water. “What’s that?”
“The Fold,” Valen said, slowing his horse. “It’s the seam where our world brushes the fey realm. It’s only visible beneath the light of a hunter’s moon. It’s particularly striking tonight as this is also a blood moon—a good omen.”
I would’ve pressed him further, but we emerged through the thinning trees into the embrace of a large clearing.
An open-air pavilion lit with braziers rose in its midst, with dozens of immortals milling about the grounds, all dressed in various styles of hunting outfits with ornate embroidery and riotous color, likely representing the different noble houses.
Once, I would have feared them, but I’d grown used to being in their presence, and with the king at my side, I knew none would dare touch me. My grip on the reins tightened all the same, and I kept my gaze ahead.
Lord Locke emerged from the pavilion and made his way toward us.
He was the only one not dressed in hunting attire.
We hadn’t spoken again since the debacle in the kitchens, and I hadn’t seen him except in passing.
There was a part of me that missed his cutting jibes and company—that fact alone proved how strange my life here had become.
“You’re late,” Locke stated flatly. “The houses are waiting.”
The feeling of loss evaporated, and the familiar comfort of irritation returned.
“Yes, well…” Valen’s gaze tracked to me as if I was the reason, which I undoubtedly was, as preparing my hair and attire had taken far longer than anticipated. It had been all for myself, of course, and had nothing to do with the scoundrel of a king.
Valen slid off his horse, then moved toward me. I dismounted quickly, as the last thing I needed was for the king’s court to see him helping me off my horse. I would never hear the end of it from Isolde.
“Take her to the pavilion for the ceremony,” the king said to Locke. “I have some business to tend to.”
A groomsman took Briar’s reins as Valen stalked away, so with no other option, I followed the high magister.
The pavilion was framed by a series of wooden posts carved with what looked like depictions of various forest animals, and in the center of the space was a large slab of rock with dark ruddy stains on it.
Though they didn’t approach, the eyes of every immortal around us burned into me.
Most were males, and their gazes sharp with interest—and danger.
“I didn’t realize there were going to be so many hunters tonight,” I said softly.
“A hunt like this hasn’t been called in ages,” Locke mused. “For the immortals, it’s a sacred rite.”
We paused beside one of the carved posts. It depicted a giant razor-backed boar with savage tusks. A bloodgolt?
“I didn’t realize immortals held anything sacred,” I said.
“When it comes to immortals and blood, everything is sacred,” Locke chuckled, dragging his fingers over the ancient slab at the center of the pavilion. It rose at an angle from the cold earth, its surface covered with carved runes and stained by dark rivulets. Blood, for certain.
My stomach knotted. Doubtless, I’d be seeing more of that before the end of the night.
“A sacrificial stone,” Locke said, leaning close. “Wondering if it’s going to be you tied to it and offered up?”
A cool sweat rose along the base of my neck, and my gaze drifted toward the king who was deep in conversation with two males.
Their hair was cropped close like the soldiers in the Bloodvale, and they wore matching jackets emblazoned with a pair of entwined serpents.
They exuded danger, but they paled beside the king.
“Maybe once,” I said. “But not now.”
Valen had very different intentions for me, of that I was certain.
His eyes slid to mine, and I swore I saw something hungry in them. I didn’t hate it as much as I should have.