Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
T he forest was alive with the sound of hooves pounding against the soft earth, the crack of branches breaking, of leaves being thrown up into the air, and the breathless laughter coming from members of the king’s obscenely large hunting party.
Prince Jarryn and Leander rode at the front, their horses neck-and-neck, as it had been since the white hart had been spotted.
The competition between them had turned the event from a ceremonial hunt into a personal battle.
Both were desperate to win this sudden competition. A competition between just the two of them, it seemed to become. Not only for the king’s favour, but also because both refused to be bested by the other.
Leander was not a strong rider, but he had developed a bond with the horse given to him by Prince Lucien all those months back, and the palfrey seemed to understand innately how to keep her rider atop her.
Jarryn grinned as he urged his stallion forward, weaving expertly through the thick underbrush. He had a distinct advantage over Leander, having been put on a horse’s back the moment he had been old enough to take his first few steps.
Leander slipped behind, momentarily, pulling his horse left and onto a slightly more beaten path which would give him an advantage.
The thrill of the chase pulsed through his veins.
He glanced to his left, where Lucien also kept pace.
And, to his right, Jarryn rode on, his jaw set in determination, not willing to yield even an inch.
“You look like you’re struggling to keep up,” Jarryn called to him over the wind.
Leander shot him a withering look, not that Jarryn would see it, and spoke sharply in response. “I’d be more worried about your horse. Can it handle the pressure you’re putting it under?”
Jarryn laughed, the sound carrying, loud and bold, as he urged his horse onwards, determined to be the one to dispatch the stag himself.
Suddenly, the white hart burst from the underbrush, dashing through the clearing ahead. Leander spurred his horse, resolved in his tenaciousness to be the one to land the kill. He sent a silent prayer up to Arran that he would be the one to succeed.
But Jarryn wasn’t going to go down so easily. Leander watched, a pace behind, as the prince drew his bow with the fluid ease of countless hours of practice, then notched and released the arrow, just as his horse’s hooves hit uneven ground.
The shot went wide.
Before he could recover, his horse stumbled, its leg catching in the gnarled roots of a tree that Jarryn would later say shouldn’t have been there.
Jarryn barely had time to react, his dominant hand caught behind his back as he had been seeking another arrow.
His horse buckled, sending the prince flying through the air at a frightening speed.
Leander, previously intent on the hart, heard, rather than saw, the prince’s fall with his downed horse.
Leander immediately halted his own horse, pulling tightly on the reins, and turned his horse around, his gaze following the prince’s body as it was flung from the stallion.
The impact with the ground was brutal. Pain flared through his mind as if he had been the one to fall, and he turned and watched as Jarryn tumbled down a small, yet steep, hill, the trees and bushes hiding him in the undergrowth.
Jarryn landed with a harsh thud at the bottom, and Leander was relieved to hear signs of life, gasping as the air was knocked from his lungs.
Other riders had passed by, not deterred by the exiled prince’s crashing through the bushes. The white hart was their quarry, their king’s command.
Leander called out, panic colouring his tone. “Jarryn!”
Following the source direction of the haze of pain, Leander jumped from his own horse’s back and abandoned her, trying not to lose his footing as he raced down the slope in search of the prince. He heard the sound of groaning, and he knelt down as he found Jarryn already pushing himself up.
Jarryn’s gaze was unfocused as he tried to sit up, gritting his teeth against the sharp, stabbing ache in his ribs. Leander could feel it potently too, and he winced as he knelt down, speaking unnecessarily. “Are you hurt?”
For a moment, Leander felt a tendril of surprise from Jarryn, who clearly expected a smug comment, something about his recklessness.
Instead, Leander’s face was tight with concern as he knelt beside him, hand outstretched, hesitatingly, as if scared to touch the other man.
“Don’t move,” Leander ordered, his tone surprisingly calm as he visually assessed Jarryn’s posture as well as Aesthesically taking stock of his injuries. “Can you breathe?”
Jarryn winced, struggling to draw in a full breath. “I’m fine,” he muttered through gritted teeth, though his voice betrayed the lie.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Leander pressed a hand against Jarryn’s side, testing for broken bones. The prince hissed in pain, causing Leander to pause. “Looks like you might have cracked something.”
Jarryn exhaled sharply, as he glanced up at Leander, frustration flashing in his eyes. “Thanks. My horse?—”
“Your horse is fine,” Leander interrupted, cutting off his excuses, and setting the prince’s mind at ease as to its wellbeing.
“It’s back up on its feet, resilient creature that it is.
” Leander jerked his head to glance back up the hill, where Jarryn would be able to see the two horses grazing quite merrily at the grass where they had been left.
“But you’re not getting on it until we’re sure you can ride. ”
Leander instantly felt Jarryn’s pride flaring in his chest. “I’m not helpless, Leander. What do you know of mortal injuries, anyway? I can handle?— ”
“Handle what? Snapping your ribs completely?” Leander’s eyes were hard, but there was something beneath the sharpness. It wasn’t mockery, but genuine concern.
“You are aware that this happens often? People are dismounted in hunts all the time. You show your inexperience by stopping to assist me when you should be securing the kill of that hart.”
“You’re more important than some godsforsaken deer,” Leander muttered as he rocked back onto his heels and watched as Jarryn winced as he tried to move again.
“Yes, I am. But every other member of that hunting party knew I would be alright. They will be back for me later. You should have stayed with them.”
Leander’s brows furrowed. “They couldn’t have known that you would be okay.”
“It’s just the way things are done, Leander.” Jarryn shrugged.
For a moment, neither of them said anything, Leander having no quick retort to ‘ it’s just how it’s done .’
The sounds of the forest were all around them, birds chirping, scuffling of animals in the undergrowth, and the distant howling of the hounds leading the rest of the hunting party towards their prize. They hadn’t caught the hart yet, it seemed.
Leander stared at the sky, feeling the sharp, cold bite of his situation. He was stranded here, with Jarryn at his mercy.
“You were reckless,” Leander said after a few silent moments had passed, quieter now. “You always are when you’re trying to prove something. Whether it be verbal or physical… is it a princeling thing, this need to always win? ”
Jarryn opened his mouth to fire back a retort, but the words died on his lips.
Leander’s expression wasn’t accusatory. It was… tired. His gaze drifted away, momentarily checking that the two horses hadn’t wandered off. Even though Jarryn wasn’t ready to ride yet, they would need those horses.
Besides, that stallion was Jarryn’s favourite thing in the world, by his own admission. Leander would not be responsible for losing it.
As Jarryn rearranged himself to rest his back against a tree trunk, his brow was now the one to crease in thought as if he was grappling with something far bigger than this hunt. He swallowed. “You’re saying I’m trying to prove something to you?”
Leander’s eyes flicked toward him, his gaze sharp as steel. “Maybe not just me.”
The silence between them was thick with their grievances, the weeks of rivalry and resentment built on misunderstanding and woefully unfounded accusations.
At least… as far as the prince knew.
The festering emotions between them hang heavy in the air. Now alone, with nowhere to go, Leander was willing to force the matter, while Jarryn was in pain and loose of tongue.
It was Jarryn who broke the silence first, with a rough sigh. “Fine,” he muttered, the fight draining from him as the pain in his side flared again. “Maybe I was being reckless.”
Leander raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the admission. “Well,” he murmured with a small smile gracing his features. “That’s a first. ”
Jarryn grunted as he tried to push himself up. He was done with sitting around, or maybe done with this conversation, Leander wasn’t sure which one. “Help me up, then, if you’re so concerned.”
Leander hesitated, then pushed himself up to his feet and extended a hand. As their hands clasped, Leander couldn’t help but notice the firm, steady grip—there was nothing begrudging about it at all.
He quite liked holding Jarryn’s hand.
With Leander’s help, Jarryn managed to get to his knees, but then his face contorted in pain and he released Leander’s hand in favour of gripping the side of his ribs, wincing but refusing to let out a sound.
“Maybe not yet,” Jarryn muttered, looking away as he rested his back once again against the tree.
Leander continued to stand, brushing dirt from his knees, his expression softening. “Next time, save the fucking theatrics for people who give a shit about your reputation. You don’t have to charge ahead just to prove you’re brave.”
Jarryn blinked at him, and even Leander was startled by the sincerity in his own voice.