2. Discussions
He had prepared for this.
Killian straightened his quill, shifted his parchment, and pulled back his shoulders, always sure to keep his face stoic but polite. He swallowed back the nerves that were clambering up his throat, reminding him of what had happened last time. But today would be different. Today, his father would call on him to speak. The gentle murmurs of the nobles buzzed around him, indiscernible as he read through his proposal again. His hand trembled with each beat of his heart against his rib cage.
The scrape of the opening door brought everyone to their feet as King Harolt strode into the room. His boots boomed across the wooden floor to the large table where the nobles had gathered. He took his time, surveying the group of advisors. The servants stood frozen, barely breathing from their places along the walls. With a nod, he took his seat, and the rest followed with the susurrus of fine clothes and the squeak of chairs.
“Thank you all for joining me on such short notice to address the drought threatening Norwood’s upcoming harvest. Reports claim Acacia suffers the same, with wildfires taking hold on the other side of the Spires. We meet to solve this problem today.” His father—the king—raised his glass. “I come to serve the people.”
Killian and the nobles raised their own goblets, replying as one, “We come to serve the king.”
They all drank.
Killian’s heart rate ratcheted, pulsing in his ears. He leaned forward and set his hand beside his prepared notes, waiting for his opportunity.
His father examined the nobles, his gaze finally drifting to Killian. Their eyes met. Killian swallowed to moisten his mouth, ready to speak.
His father scratched just below his crown and turned away. “Lord Farsha, what is your report from the west of Norwood?” The king’s gaze flicked to the elderly man at the end. Lord Farsha hesitated and cast a furrowed glance at Killian before he pushed on the table’s edge to stand on rickety legs.
Killian blinked. Perhaps … perhaps his father had forgotten? But he had promised. They had discussed it only two days ago. Killian’s thoughts raced as Lord Farsha spoke. He knew what the lord was going to say, he had asked him himself. Killian had done the research. He had the numbers stained in black on the papers before him. He had come up with a plan already. He had been prepared to present the solution.
Perhaps it was a test. A test of … patience?
Killian straightened his spine, staring at his father’s bearded face and listening distantly to the reports the nobles lay before the king. Reports that should have been Killian’s to share.
Killian shifted his papers so his plan for the crisis was on top. He was ready to contribute several solutions to the problems the kingdom of Norwood was currently facing. But his father never looked back at him. Ideas from others were thrown out, but when Killian opened his lips to share his own, his father lifted a single finger from the table and shook his head, never glancing over. The message was clear. And it was for Killian alone.
It was all he could do not to slouch under the disappointment.
“Very good.” His father stood, casting back the chair behind him a few feet. “Lord Ryker will be sent as ambassador to the Isle, while Lord Farsha will concentrate on drought improvements. Let’s get this wrapped up quickly, gentlemen. The prince’s wedding approaches, which makes this discussion almost fruitless. In two months, his marriage will save us all. But until then, the people are hungry.” He cleared his throat. “We’ll meet again in three days.”
Then the king turned to leave. Killian’s mouth dropped open to protest, but the king had already swept out the door. Ignored again. Looked over again. Everything rested on a betrothal and some old, alleged magic. But Killian had a plan. Yet the king still left before he let Killian speak, or lead … or even try.
How could Killian fix the past when the king suffocated every opportunity? Killian dragged a hand down his face before dropping his forehead to his fist. Again and again, Killian tried. And sure, he had failed before, but …
He shook his head. Perhaps that’s all he could do—he could only fail.
Killian’s hand clenched the useless parchment as he glared daggers up at the massive portrait hung in the middle of the room across from him. A childish face peered back, round eyes wide with what was certainly terror as he held a tiny pink swaddled newborn. A portrait of the then three-year-old prince’s betrothal to that very infant.
Killian was certain his place at the table was deliberately across from the portrait to press on him during meetings and beat into him the whole purpose of his existence. A marriage. His marriage. Themarriage that would finally unite the countries and solve all the world’s problems. The moment of his cursed contract captured in oil, as solid and unbending as stone. His father’s ultimate plan for Killian’s life and their country’s future happiness.
Long live the king.
In a fury, Killian gathered his things, kicked back from the table, and stalked out of the room.
Killian roared as he slammed his sword repeatedly against his opponent’s, his mind whirling as fast as his weapon. Clash. The king. Clash. Struggling harvests. Clash. Failure. Clash. His father. Clash. Each strike was a desperate attempt to unburden himself from the many frustrations of his princely life. Thankfully, Phineas could take it. The hulking man parried every blow with a swiftness that should have been impossible for someone so massive. His size, however, certainly contributed to the vibration of Killian’s bones when Phineas struck back. Killian slipped, throwing his weight on his heels as his friend dodged around the training arena and then pressed forward.
Killian spun and tried to feint, but Phineas anticipated it and blocked before retorting with his own thrusts. Phineas hammered him backward incessantly until he knocked Killian onto his backside with a swipe of his leg. Killian was an excellent fighter, the best in the whole army—except for one. He could never beat his best friend.
Brushing aside the cold metal on his neck, Killian sat up and threw his weapon to the ground, wishing for half the bulk that Phineas carried so easily. “Overmuscled cheater.”
“Hyper-expressive loser.” Phineas winked as he sheathed the practice sword. “Don’t give hints. Stop flinching when you’re struck. It’s not a surprise. Take the hit and hit back.”
Killian glared at Phineas’s offered hand before taking it. Phineas flung him to his feet. Rubbing the back of his head, Killian stalked away from the field, bending briefly to snatch up his own sword. Thankfully, they were in a blocked-off part of the arena, so his men couldn’t watch his embarrassment.
“Just once, you could lose,” Killian muttered as they entered the field armory.
Pursing his lips, Phineas passed his sword to the weapon master’s apprentice, a boy of twelve, before taking Killian’s and handing that over too. “It would just inflate your already oversized head.” The boy’s eyes widened at Phineas’s words. Phineas blinked and corrected himself. “Uh … I mean, your royal head, Your Highness … sir.”
Killian snorted as he crossed his arms dismissively. Lord Phineas, the son of the highest-ranking noble family in Norwood and second only to Killian in the army, had been a part of Killian’s earliest memories. Beside Killian during tutoring and training, he had been a key participant in all the mischief that Killian could conjure. Killian loved him like a brother, even if his father did regularly threaten to make Phineas his heir. Phineas was the only person who treated him like a human and not a prince. Sometimes that blessing was mixed.
As they walked back to the archery field, Phineas nudged Killian with his shoulder. “You are a particularly sore loser today, my friend. What’s going on?”
“The usual.”
Phineas winced, as if weighing his next words. “You’ve been struggling more and more lately. Today seems … worse …”
“It’s just …” Killian slapped his gloves into the other palm. “I’m never going to be good enough for him. I snatched that trade deal with the fishermen a couple months ago, we squelched that rebellion along the coastline, but it’s like he’ll never let go of that failed rent issue up north or the debacle with Tallen.” Killian swallowed, shoving his thoughts in another direction from his failed negotiations with that distant nation. “I’m doing everything he wants, but he’ll never trust me again. How can I be king if he keeps me silent?” Killian huffed, his chest heaving. “He treats me like my only contribution to this kingdom is my marriage contract.”
Phineas reached for one of the bows before bending it to catch the bowstring. “I thought you said the king was going to let you lead the meeting this morning?”
“He said he would.” Killian passed Phineas an arrow. He laced his own bow, then aimed. “He changed his mind, apparently. Again. I had the proposal ready and everything.” Killian released the string, and the arrow went wide, missing the target completely.
Phineas sucked a breath through clenched teeth. “You’ve spent days working on that.”
“I’m just another nice little trade agreement. I’m only good to him obedient and quiet and marriageable. ‘The magic will fix it all.’ Bah. Probably just some excuse. I’ve never seen magic …”
Phineas shook his head, all mirth lost. “Don’t get lost, my friend. You know you’re more than a contract. And magic, well—”
“I’m the prince. I should be training to be king, but he won’t move past the past.” Killian shrugged. “Why keep trying? I’ll just marry that princess and let her lead the country, I guess. That is, if she exists.”
With a frown, Phineas turned to him fully. “Of course she exists.”
“Allegedly.”
“There are portraits. Her parents are friends of your father. I’m sure they know—”
“She hasn’t been seen or heard from since she was a newborn—immediately after that cursed portrait.” Killian’s mouth filled with a bitter taste. “Whatever.” He huffed out a breath, drowning in resignation, his heart suffocated into a state of desolation. “He won’t let me in.” Killian kicked a rock into the archery field. “Why keep me as heir at all if he hates me so much?”
Phineas sighed, clearly frustrated. “Killian, your mother wished for this betrothal too. Don’t give up on your father. I’m sure he has his reasons for all of this—maybe it’s part of a plan to train you. Furthermore, the rest of us see what you’re doing …” He studied Killian before reaching for Killian’s bow. “You need a break to clear your head.” He tilted his head toward the stables. “Go for a ride. I’ll cover for you.”
Killian tapped his fingers on the top of the rail. “But …”
“Just take Jax with you.”
Nodding, Killian walloped his friend on the shoulder. “As if I could escape that old hound.” He took a few steps before turning back and watching Phineas sink another arrow in the center circle of the target. “Thanks, Phin.”
Phineas wagged his eyebrows. “Come back less prickly.”
Rolling his eyes, Killian turned, snatched a thick blue cloak, and led a saddled mare into the southern meadow.
The horse required little encouragement before she galloped at full speed through the tall whispering grasses. The acreage around the castle to the south had always been free and open grasslands, and the people, superstitious and afraid of the spires, built the village to the north. Killian never minded the vast and free expanse. Gentle hills rose and fell with clusters of trees and a small meandering creek. Most days he found it beautiful.
The early fall wind cut through Killian’s dark brown locks as they surged over a fallen tree. But even the wind couldn’t whisk off his frustration. Why couldn’t his father see that he was trying? Killian knew he could handle more. He could lead more. But every small win as a leader was always overshadowed by his failed attempts and political embarrassments. If only he had worked harder to learn Tallenish all those years ago … then maybe? Killian shook his head. Even so, he could be a good king. He had great plans and ideas that didn’t rely on superstition and magic curses and a princess who would save them all. Anyway, she was a princess, not a sorceress. Why couldn’t he help his dry, famished kingdom through more conventional means? Killian had at least five ideas that would bring in trade to help during the very normal, very unmagical drought. They wouldn’t have to rely on some distant magic fairy promise.
But his father would never see reason. He never saw all Killian was doing. Why continue to put himself out there if he was nothing more than a bargaining chip or an ingredient for a magic spell? He was the eye of newt needed to cure the supposed curse on the land. Or at least, his marriage was.
Stupid contracts.
Stupid fathers.
He pushed the horse harder, but all too soon, the other side of the meadow ended at the huge pine forest, and he had to pull on his horse to slow. The mare heaved massive breaths as she walked slowly along the impassible wall of trees near the gate.
He had passed this gate so many times as he was growing up that he almost skipped it in mindless inattention. The southern edge of the kingdom was sealed as ever. Beyond the forest, an impassible mountain range stood, its tall spires dark as a storm. As he moved to pass, something pulled him to a stop. His attention fixed on the crusty metal and blackened rot. He felt a pull to touch it but only clenched his fingers more firmly around the leather reins.
Crossing the gate was forbidden to everyone, and especially the prince. One of the many rules about some old curse or other old contract. Nothing but another weighted chain designed to control him. He closed his eyes, fighting the draw of temptation. He was a prince, dutiful and faithful to the role. He shook his head and pressed his legs to push the horse on toward the eastern pasture, but again something tugged at his chest, and he turned.
The gate was enormous, arching, and ancient. Thick vines seized the iron bars and held fast to the black, twisted hinges. The grass stopped a few feet away, exposing cracked earth as it approached the base of the threshold. Beyond the gate and on each side of the entrance were impossibly large pines and impenetrable brush that reached and snagged around the sharp iron fencing. The sweet sunny heat of the meadow was now sliced by an icy breeze laced with an acrid and putrid scent that pulled through the gate. The air felt … wrong.
Despite this, he hopped off the horse and halfheartedly tied the reins to a nearby branch. Reaching a hand toward the gate handle, his chest lurched with a frisson of nerves, and he stepped back. But that tug in his chest pulled again, wooing him … toward the gate … toward breaking the law.
He glanced behind him to the high towers of the castle that rose high above the northern tree-covered hill. He could almost see his father’s office window from here. That office would one day be his, to lead the kingdom that would also be his if he were ever allowed to take up the mantle of leadership. His lip curled in ire, and he whirled back to the dark entrance.
This gate was in Norwood—his land. And as prince of Norwood, this was his gate. Therefore, he deserved to know what was on the other side. He could handle anything it threw at him.
A moment later, his sword cut through the vines and ripped their long wrapping strands from their heights with successive snaps. The forbidden act sent a thrill of adrenaline and excitement through him. Maybe here, he could show his mettle.
Behind him, his horse shifted with an anxious whinny.
What in the thorny marshes are you doing?A deep, rumbling voice reverberated in Killian’s mind. He had long since stopped jumping at the wolf’s sudden appearance and intrusion into his thoughts. Much like Phineas, the wolf had been around through Killian’s childhood, somehow always arriving just in time to bear witness and contribute to Killian’s mischief.
“Hey Jax.” Killian glanced over before tearing at another vine. The horse-sized wolf sat down beside him, his inky black coat only interrupted by electric green eyes that stood as high as Killian’s. His shoulders came up to Killian’s chest and lowered only a few inches as he sat back on his haunches. Jax licked his lips with a fast flip of his tail as he watched Killian’s progress.
The mare stared wide-eyed before she yanked out of Killian’s loose knots and raced back toward the castle. Killian sighed. Apparently, he’d be walking back today. Unless … He glanced at the wolf.
Don’t even think about it. I’m not your pony.
Killian chuckled.
By the smell of your excitement, this is going to be stupid. And you thought to go by yourself? He looked around before he shook his whole body as if to prepare. So where are we going? And where are your human supplies? Food stores? No matter. I shall hunt for you.
Killian rolled his eyes. “I’m not running away, Jax.”
You are running … toward something?
“Kind of.”
Hmm. The wolf shook his head and stretched out his back legs a few times. I’m a good runner either way.
The latch turned, but the gate held taut, so Killian had to pull it with his whole weight. The roughened weathered handle bit into his palms as the gate resisted. A low moan seeped from the slight opening. Jax clenched his teeth around Killian’s cloak and belt, yanking backward jerkily and nearly suspending Killian in the air. The hinges screeched, an icy wind screamed past, and all at once, the remaining small vines snapped. The gate heaved open, sending the unbalanced prince and wolf sprawling hard onto the dry ground.
“Ow. Sorry, Jax.”
Humans have the pointiest extremities. Gangly featherless storks. The wolf snorted and huffed a breath. You are naught but a starved, skeletal deer.You need more meat.
Killian nodded at Jax’s usual complaints against his humanity, but his attention was fixed on the opening. The other side of the gate was nearly pitch black and absorbed any sunlight that might otherwise have shone down on his back. A harrowing wind whistled. The forest floor that he could see just past the entrance was a bed of blackened pine needles and sparce of any other growth. Within mere feet, everything disappeared in sappy, inky shadows. He glanced behind him. The meadow glittered as bright and peaceful as before.
Goosebumps prickled Killian’s skin. The world on the other side of the gate seemed held in tension, and a deep sense of foreboding filled his veins. Killian stepped back but felt the tug in his chest again, coaxing him forward into the darkness.
Jax lifted his snout. Smells okay.
“If you say so.” The wind bit his cheeks again, and Killian felt foolish. He was a prince, not a child. He had things to do. Princely, responsible things. He should turn back. He was supposed to uphold the laws of—
The wolf used his massive head and shoved Killian across the threshold.
The silence of the forest acted like a physical force, similar to jumping deep into a lake—silent and suppressive. The light was hazy, but not pitch black, yet the boughs above let no beams of light through to the forest floor. No bird sang. No squirrel shuffled. The wind from the other side was completely absent. The whole forest felt muffled, but more like a blanket than a dangerous presence. His sense of doom lightened a fraction. Piney, earthen scents drifted up from the forest floor.
It was too quiet. “Eerie,” Killian muttered as he set his hand on the pommel of his sword.
Jax paced after him, his nose constantly twitching as he explored the world by scent. A bit. Still smells okay. No death. You need a better nose.
The prince rolled his eyes at the wolf who had tried from Killian’s youth to make him more wolf-like. His attempts had—to Jax’s great disappointment—failed. Killian was still fully human.
The wolf padded ahead, scratching intermittently at the blackened soil. Turning back, his tongue lolled out of his mouth in a feral grin. Come on. Let’s explore. I haven’t felt this much magic in decades.
“We can’t be too long. I have that ball tonight. In fact, maybe we should head back. We can’t risk getting lost.” Killian’s nail picked at the tip of the pommel.
Seeing through his cowardice, the wolf blinked disdainfully. Padding to the edge of the path, Jax lifted his leg and marked a tree. Now we won’t get lost. Let’s go.
“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Well, at least, you could smell our way out.” Without any other excuses, Killian stepped ahead. Signs of an old path faded as the trees grew more thickly. He had never seen a forest so dense that no sky was visible through the limbs. The forest floor around them was an endless array of warm pine needles, soft to step on and mostly quiet. As they moved deeper into the forest, Killian couldn’t avoid the minute clicks of the needles as they broke beneath his weight. He ignored the wolf’s repeated glances and frustrated huffing at his noisy steps.
The wolf’s ears pricked, and he leaned his nose forward, sniffing.
Can you hear it? The magic …
Killian strained and listened, but he couldn’t hear anything besides his own breathing and the susurrus of his clothing.
Ahead, a single strand of light as wide as Killian’s two palms together, pierced through the forest canopy to the floor below. Motes of dust lifted and shifted through the solid beam. Like sunlight breaking through a thunderous cloud, the light was nearly blinding amid the darkened, shadowed pines. Killian’s skin prickled as he approached and slipped around it, choosing the shadows at first. But surely, it was only light, right? In a fit of impulse, Killian stuck his hand straight into the beam.
The light froze his hand in place as if trapping it in a solid trunk of wood as tingles surged up his arm and through his body. In a moment, a thousand memories from Killian’s childhood flashed in random order through his mind. His mother’s sacrifice. The battle with Phineas at ten. His father’s rant after last year’s tournament. His public embarrassment. The horse’s broken ankle in the race. Tallen’s ambassadors storming out and the choking disappointment of his father. Zalina’s friendship. His mother’s soft caress as she pushed back his hair. Phineas’s encompassing hug.
Killian tugged at his hand as his panic ratcheted, and then, as fast as it had started, the images ceased, and the light released him. Killian ripped away and stumbled to the ground, crawling away from the beam. “That light is magic?”
The wolf frowned before dipping his head in and out of the light. Easily. He trotted beside Killian and sniffed him.
You look unwell.
“It didn’t affect you?”
No? What happened?
“I don’t know. I saw my whole life. I was stuck in that light. I—”
Oh. Jax eyed the light with raised brows. Oops, I see it now. The wolf shook his head. Well, you passed. So that’s good.
“What is it?”
The Piercing Discernment.
Killian snorted. “You made that up.”
I am ancient and wise. Jax tugged at Killian’s collar from the back, coaxing him to rise. And also, yes, I did make the name up. But I’m sure it was something like that. My mother could have explained it better, were she still here. We’ll just pretend that I’m right because I probably am. Come. Stand up. You’re all right.
Killian found his legs and struggled upward as his whole body tingled like waking from sleep. “What would have happened if I hadn’t passed?”
What happens to parchment in the fire?
Killian swallowed hard. “And what exactly did I pass?”
But ahead, a high lilting sound had finally reached Killian’s weak human ears. After a final once-over, Jax prowled forward in the direction of the song. Before them, ten-foot-tall deciduous bushes stood in a line like a wall with tiny beams of bright yellow light visible between the leaves. Killian paused only a moment before he shoved through the boughs.
Once on the other side, his jaw dropped. The bushes broke their line revealing a massive clearing. In the center of the meadow, a woman sang, surrounded by rabbits, mink, jays, herons, hawks, foxes, a massive elk and an even larger brown bear with her two cubs. The woman knit while she sang, the impossibly purple yarn scattered in a chaotic pile around her billowing white dress. The wind swept a few dry leaves around them, in cadence with the music. A lyre sat untouched beside her.
Her singing should have been magic for all it enraptured Killian. He gazed at the long blonde hair falling like rays of sunlight down her back. Before he could think twice, he broke the rest of the way through the brush. The woman turned to him, cutting off her song, and the birds all took off in a sudden, screeching flight. The small furry creatures ducked down into the grass and held still, frozen.
Her face was lovely.
Her expression was terrified.
The enormous bear and the bull elk moved to either side of the woman, the bear’s teeth bared and the elk’s antlers glimmering in a fierce display.
He took a step back, raising his hands up in innocence. “H-hello. I am Killian. I heard your song.” He winced at his stutter and added a charming smile to smooth it over.
The woman’s brows collapsed, bewildered, and she rose, her shoulders pushed forward much like the bear. “Titu bet ra?”
The bear growled and took a step forward. She was larger than any Killian had seen outside the forest. Jax leapt from the bush and landed between them, teeth flashing, to square off against the other creatures.
Her lips popped open, and her features softened. “Hep.” She gestured toward the bear who settled back onto her large haunches. The woman brought her hands together above her head like a prayer before she bent in a deep bow from the waist. As she straightened, she approached Jax, and extended the back of her hand toward his muzzle.
“Shaana honte’aco, treka pa e’lonmar, tros shusha huh u ranarana maneta?”
“Jax, what is she saying?” Killian whispered.
I … I haven’t heard this language in a long time. My mother spoke it, but I don’t remember its meaning. I can feel it, though, and almost see the words like a picture. She is welcoming me. Asking … asking why, I think. Yes, it feels like why and forest. Jax stepped forward and sniffed her hand. I like her. The woman’s lips broke into a large smile.
Killian’s heart stuttered, and he stepped forward, exuding the confidence trained into him from court. He brought his hand to his chest. “Killian.” He pointed to the wolf. “Jax.” He extended his hand toward her. “And you?”
She raised a wry brow before she turned from him and gathered her supplies. She shook her head, her brows pressed together as she packed a small shoulder bag, then began to walk away.
“Wait!” Killian reached for her.
Prince, stop!Jax stepped in front of him.
The bear roared and leapt onto her two back feet. Her teeth were as long as Killian’s fingers and she would have towered a few feet taller than Phineas.
“Na Lomai’tas tarat ra slit’at. Ritun ra hassinah’tas hi. E’otu shum bet Kak.” The woman hesitated, her mouth halfway open and her brows tightly together. “Na olit shupet delam’aco. Ra bet’tas bet hi. N’olitsha.” As she turned, the bear growled and shook her jowls toward the sky. She turned back to face Jax. “Ra, Shaana honte’aco, noma onk.”
Jax blinked before bowing his head. Then, stepping to the side, he tilted his head toward Killian. I think your time is up. And I’m not staying without you. We should go.
“But—” Killian was torn. He was standing before the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen. And she was being protected by the scariest bear he had ever seen. He desperately wanted to know more. This forest was supposed to be cursed. Empty. Evil. She seemed anything but. Jax nudged him in the gut, shoving him back a pace. Killian called out, “I’ll be back tomorrow!”
With a whistle more birdlike than human, she called the rest of the animals to her. As the company disappeared into the trees ahead of her, she looked back, holding his gaze—holding his heartbeat. Then, as she turned, it was as if she released him. His breath slipped out in a rush. Pawing at the dirt once, the elk stared at Killian before following the woman through the brush. Only the bear remained, her cubs already stumbling after the woman’s heels.
Prince. Now.
Killian huffed and whirled, ducking back through the brush into the pine forest. “Fine, Jax. But I am coming back.”
The wolf paced beside him through the bushes and the tall pines. As you said.
“And I’m going to find her.”
An unwise decision.
“And we are going to talk.”
Despite a language barrier and a bear barrier.
“Just watch me.”
With a breath of a barking laugh, the wolf glanced up at Killian. Oh, trust me. I mean to.