Behind him, Paxton heard arguments breaking out over which areas the groups would take.
“Perhaps he’ll be eaten tonight,” Tiern said.
Paxton grinned mirthlessly at his brother’s dark humor. “Come on. Let’s find a tent and rest before dinner.”
In truth, Paxton didn’t care for resting or eating. What he really wanted to do was hunt.
Chapter
11
As Princess Aerity and Lady Wyneth took the cobbled path from the castle to the west commons gates, Aerity squeezed her cousin’s hand to quiet the shaking inside of her. Thankfully Wyneth held tight in return, not seeming to mind the princess’s sweating palm.
Aerity still felt a bit guilty after Vixie had begged and pleaded to come see the hunters, swearing she’d keep quiet despite her feelings over the situation. Aerity adamantly refused. She was too nervous to handle Vixie’s excitable, unpredictable personality at that moment. Ultimately their mother had to intervene, pulling the incensed Vixie away.
Aerity had taken off her jeweled circlet. It made her feel like a spectacle when she wore it outside of royal galas. The girls pushed their windblown hair back over their shoulders as a breeze came up from the sea, swirling the bottoms of their skirts. The late afternoon was gorgeous—warm and clear—as if Mother Nature were trying to make up for the abominable beast she’d created.
You’ll have to do better than that, Aerity thought.
Behind her, she heard the clank of swords and armor as royal guards flanked them. Perhaps Aerity was naive, but she doubted the guards were necessary. She couldn’t imagine any of the hunters trying to hurt her. And besides, the balcony overlooking the commons area was lined with armed guards.
Her stomach flipped end over end as they gauged the sight of the long tables filled with men taking their meal. They grouped together based on nationality. Aerity took in their differences—the furs and beards of the Ascomannians, the draping head coverings of the dark-skinned Zorfinans, the shaved heads and narrow eyes of the Torestans, and what appeared to be lion manes around the sleeves of the tanned Kalorians.
For a group who was about to face a fabled, vicious beast, they were lively and loud. Aerity pulled Wyneth to a stop, apprehension and nervousness halting her feet and threatening to make her turn away. When the first man spotted her, he nudged the hunter at his side, and eyes began to turn Aerity’s way. She found herself standing taller under hundreds of hushed gazes.
“Right, then.” She cleared her throat. “On we go.”
Wyneth gave her hand a last squeeze of reassurance and then released her, but she never left her side as they approached the first table.
Aerity wondered for a moment if she should keep her hands to herself. It would be the smart, safe, proper thing to do. But as she came eye to eye with the first young man at the end of the table she found herself reaching out her hand.
“Thank you for coming, brave sir.”
His eyes widened and he abruptly dropped the turkey leg, wiping his hand on his brown breeches. The man’s skin was shades darker than Aerity’s, his round eyes brown and his black curls slicked back. His hand shook as he reached out to embrace hers.
“Princesca . . .” She recognized the vowel pronunciations of his accent.
“You hail from Kalor?” she asked.
It took him a moment to ponder and translate her words before he answered, “Jes.” Yes. The hotlands. He’d traveled up from the southernmost hemisphere, a land of rain forests and smoldering humidity from what she’d learned in geography lessons. The princess smiled at him and switched languages, speaking now in Kalorian.
“Long trip. I wish you blessings on your hunt.”
His eyes crinkled in awe at hearing his native tongue come from a foreign princess’s mouth. Languages were her favorite subject of study. Ascomanii, Lochlanach, and most of Toresta spoke Euronan with individual dialects, but Zorfina and Kalor had their own languages. She released his hand and moved to the next man, making her way down the table.
And so it went. For an hour she went through the rows, meeting each man, fumbling through introductions when particularly strong accents arose, or a hunter spoke too quickly in excitement. She’d never been more thankful for her language tutoring.
Some of the men, like the first, were filled with quiet wonder, while other prideful men boasted of their accomplishments. Most were young, ranging from late teens to late twenties, though a few seemed older. Widowers, perhaps. Some were handsome, and some were not, but she found herself grateful for each one of them and their willingness to be there. She ignored the quake of unease in her gut each time she thought of marriage and all it would entail.
The sun was preparing to set as she neared the end of the last table. Only ten men remained, all Lochlans. As she scanned a row, her eyes stuck like sap to the man at the very end. His brown hair shielded a portion of his face, but what she could see was so pleasing that she felt herself warm. His dark brown eyes met hers and her breath stuttered. He didn’t smile. Nor did he nod or show any reaction. He merely watched her.
Aerity felt her hand going up and down as the man in front of her shook it. Tearing her gaze away from the handsome lad at the end, she gave the man from Toresta her attention. He bowed his smooth head, smiling up at her with his narrow, brown eyes. She smiled back and thanked him for coming down from the ridgelands.
She felt guilty, because all she wanted to do now was hurry through the next nine hunters so she could get to the last. But as she moved down the line and looked toward the end again, she found that the gorgeous man was no longer there.
Confusion and disappointment rose as she searched the area. She felt Wyneth sidle up close and whisper into her ear.
“Are you looking for the skirt raiser?”
Aerity tried not to snort at her cousin’s phrase for good-looking lads, and gave a shrug.
“He’s by the stone risers, gearing up. Must be in a hurry to hunt.”
Aerity wouldn’t look yet. The last few men were waiting.
As they moved down the line, she felt Wyneth’s hand reach out and tighten around her arm. Her cousin suddenly stepped forward, asking, “What are you doing here, Harrison?”
Aerity gasped in surprise. Breckon’s cousin, the lieutenant, raised his chin at Wyneth. He appeared as poised as ever with his brown sailor’s haircut. His eyes went from Wyneth to Aerity, and the princess fought the urge to run into his arms and beg him to steal her away from all this. Her handsome friend.
His face remained stoic. “I’m here to hunt, of course.”
Aerity’s stomach plummeted. The hunt. No wonder he hadn’t responded to her couriered message that week. If anything happened to Harrison . . .
“What about the navy?” Wyneth sounded ready to panic.
“They’ve temporarily discharged me with honor to hunt.”
“But Harrison, you—”
“Don’t worry, my lady,” Harrison said gently. Aerity noticed that he looked upon Wyneth with an underlying pain in his eyes that seemed to match hers.
Aerity gently pulled Wyneth back a step, stopping her cousin from saying anything else in front of the other hunters and causing a scene. Wyneth’s eyes were already glazing over, and she dropped her head, seeming to retreat into her memories.
“Thank you so much for coming out, Lieutenant Gillfin,” the princess said, for the sake of those watching.
He looked as if he were holding back a smirk at her properness toward him.
“There was never any doubt when I received the proclamation, Your Highness,” he said, matching her in politeness.
Aerity swallowed her fears and spoke quietly so only he could hear. “Please be safe, Harrison. I don’t think your family could handle losing another.” She didn’t need to add that she could not handle losing him either.
“I know.” Harrison’s eyes were grave. “But I must hunt, Aer. I must try.”
Wyneth pressed her lips together. As frightened as Aerity was for
him, for all of them, she respected Harrison’s need to hunt. Aerity took Harrison’s hand and held on for a moment, conveying her understanding. His returned gaze was grateful.
“Let me introduce you to Samuel from Loch Neck.” Harrison gestured to the curly-haired man at his side, who appeared a few years older with small lines creasing his eyes.
“Hello, Samuel,” Aerity said. “Do you have many family members in Loch Neck?”
“Only my parents, Your Highness. My wife . . . she died in childbirth two years past.”
Aerity’s heart sank. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You are brave to join the hunt, and you’re in good company with Lieutenant Gillfin here.”
Samuel nodded, shifting his weight. “Aye, Princess. Many thanks.”
Harrison gave Aerity a rueful wink as she stepped away and made it down the row to the last lad. He appeared to be one of the youngest in attendance, and she couldn’t help but smile when he beamed up at her with his white teeth and a boyish cleft in his chin. He bowed his head.
“Princess Aerity. This is such an honor. My name is Tiern Seabolt.”
“Seabolt. A strong Lochlan name.” She smiled when he placed a gentle kiss to her fingertips. “How old are you, Tiern Seabolt?”
“Seventeen, Your Highness.” Older than she’d thought. Such a baby face. “Same as you, I believe, Princess?”
“You believe correctly. Thank you for coming. I wish you well in tonight’s hunt.”
“It is my honor. Thank you, Princess.”
He bowed his head, and Aerity now allowed herself to turn and look toward the stone wall. The handsome lad was strapping a bow across his back. And a fine, broad back it was. He checked each arrow thoroughly from tip to end before slipping it into the quiver. Aerity looked at Wyneth with questions in her eyes. Should she approach him? Why hadn’t he stayed at the table to meet her?
Wyneth shrugged a shoulder in silent response.
His back was to them. He seemed focused and determined. Perhaps he didn’t wish to be distracted from the task at hand. Aerity knew she should probably let him be, but curiosity burned through her. Besides, he’d obviously known she was headed to meet him at the table before he left, and she wasn’t accustomed to being ignored.
She grabbed her skirts, lifted her chin in forced confidence, and moved toward the risers. Wyneth was a step behind, and the guards several more behind her. She wished the guards wouldn’t follow so closely.
The young man’s body stilled and stiffened, as if sensing their approach.
“Pardon me, sir?” Princess Aerity was surprised at the nervous tremble in her voice.
He didn’t turn right away. He continued to run his finger down the last of the arrow’s feathers before shoving it into the quiver and turning to face her. She was standing a decent distance from him, but still she stepped back, surprised by the fierceness in his eyes.
She didn’t know what she expected. Well, that’s not true. She expected a bow of his head or some other sort of respectful acknowledgment, but he gave none. The princess felt her mouth open and stay that way for far too long. The lad’s eyes flicked past Wyneth to the guards behind them, and then back to the princess.
“Forgive me . . .” she found herself saying. “I didn’t have a chance to meet you at the tables.”
High seas, her mouth had gone dry. No man had ever made her nervous like this. Why did he appear so angry? And why did every detail of his appearance appeal to her on such a base level? She felt sweat beading along her neck and spine as she made a concerted effort not to stare at the way he wore his dark tunic and breeches so well.
“I’m Princess Aerity . . .”
A small huff blew from his nose and his mouth quirked. “Yes, Princess, I’m aware of who you are.”
Lands and seas . . . his voice. Wait—was that sarcasm? Next to her she heard an intake of surprise from Wyneth. Aerity blinked, shaken.
A lad jogged up beside them and patted the baffling, handsome hunter on the shoulder. Aerity recognized the young man Tiern smiling at her once again.
“You’ve met my older brother, Your Highness?” Tiern asked.
“Not officially,” Princess Aerity said. Now that the shock of their meeting began to wear off, she felt a pang of offense at the older lad’s demeanor.
“This is my brother, Paxton Seabolt.” He gave Paxton another hard pat, smiling with pride. “He’s nineteen.”
The princess held out her hand as she had to every other man, but a horrible realization dawned on her that he might refuse to take it. The very idea made her frown and stand taller.
To her utter relief he took her hand in his rough, warm one. Paxton then did something that none of the other tables full of men had dared to do. Still holding her hand, he dropped his gaze down to the swell of fabric at her chest, and kept it there too long, his hand tightening and seeming even hotter around hers. Another shocked sound left Wyneth, this one high-pitched. Aerity’s chest sizzled under the hunter’s heated attention, and she dropped his hand.
In unison, the guards behind her stepped closer, one of them clearing his throat. When Paxton Seabolt’s eyes drifted lower across her waist, Princess Aerity refused to cower. She was torn between offense and flattery at the intimate way he took her in with his eyes, perusing at his leisure until Tiern discreetly bumped him with his shoulder.
When Paxton looked at her face again, he stepped back. Aerity’s blood flooded her system in a hot rush as they held eyes.
“I,” she began, “thank you for coming. Blessings to you both as you hunt.”
The princess nearly tripped over her own feet as she stooped to grasp her skirts and turn, bustling through the line of guards. She heard Tiern hiss, “What’s wrong with you?” but she didn’t dare turn to catch Paxton’s response.
She halted and turned when a young guard caught up and called, “Shall I have him removed for his insolence, Princess?”
“What? No, of course not.” Her skin was still flushed from the feel of Paxton Seabolt’s eyes. “He’s a hunter. We knew some of them would be . . . rough by nature.”
The guard frowned. “Your Highness, he was blatantly disrespectful—”
“Enough. Gentleman or not, he’s putting his life on the line. Let him be. I don’t plan to get close enough to allow another moment of indecency again.”
The guard pursed his lips, and Princess Aerity turned to walk once more, catching a look on Wyneth’s face she couldn’t decipher. Perhaps a mix of astonishment and humor. They walked faster, putting some space between themselves and the guards.
Wyneth whispered under her breath, “I’m willing to bet you wouldn’t be so quick to take up for him if it’d been one of the other men who ate you up with his starving eyes.”
“Let’s not make something of nothing.”
“Truly, Aer. I thought at first you were going to smack him, and then just as quickly it looked as if you might kiss the lad!”
“Hush, you.” Princess Aerity smashed her lips together so as not to smile in her embarrassment.
As they neared the venue gates, voices rose behind them. Aerity turned to see men pointing out at the bay. The late day sky matched the water.
“Oh, my skies above,” Wyneth breathed.
An extraordinary Ascomannian ship was making its way to the docks. Princess Aerity had only seen such a sight in books. Its wooden hull was raised high and curved at the end like the grandest of vessels. Several light-haired men jumped from the ship to tie it, but one man with a silver breastplate stood tall, surveying the land before him. His shoulder-length blond hair caught the breeze and he raised his sights to the hunters now standing at the entrance to the commons. His blond beard was cropped short, neat in comparison to the other rugged Ascomannians.
“It’s Lord Lief Alvi!” One of the Ascomannian men yelled. Men from the coldlands erupted in cheers.
A lord? Was he joining the hunt or simply here to support his men?
As Lord Alvi made his way up the
dock, Princess Aerity couldn’t help but stare. Like many of the Ascomannians she’d met that day, he wore less clothing than men from other kingdoms—ironic since the temperatures in their lands were much lower. They must have been numb to the elements. He wore a leather kilt to his knees, fur-lined leather boots, and a sleeveless tunic with a burnished breastplate over it.
His arms . . . seas almighty. His arms were all muscle, bulging without even flexing. Same with his calves. And his face was chiseled as in the coldlands tales of old.
Wyneth grasped the princess’s hand as they stared.
Several guards and one of the king’s primary advisers met Lord Lief Alvi at the edge of the docks. They conversed for a moment, shook hands, and then led the man straight toward the princess. She and Wyneth straightened.
The king’s adviser brandished a hand toward the girls and opened his mouth to make introductions, but before he could, Lord Alvi bent to one knee and lowered his head. Now that was how a gentleman greeted royalty—with civility and grace. This was the type of male Aerity was accustomed to meeting . . . minus the kilt and breathtaking Ascomannian beauty.
Given all of that, the princess was surprised she did not feel the same heat course through her that she’d felt for the rude commoner moments before.
Lord Alvi stood and his crystal blue eyes went straight to Wyneth. He reached for her hands and her eyes bulged.
“Princess Aerity,” he crooned in a low voice.
Whoops.
Aerity bit the inside of her lip to hide a giggle as her cousin’s cheeks reddened.
“No, kind sir. I am Lady Wyneth Wavecrest. This is my cousin Princess Aerity herself.” Her eyes were still huge as she turned to gesture toward the princess.
Was it Aerity’s imagination, or had he appeared momentarily crestfallen as his eyes changed course toward her? He stepped over and gave another bow, taking Aerity’s hand. When his gaze rose to her, full of brazen confidence and an easy smile, she thought she must have imagined his initial disappointment.
“Forgive me,” he said in a deep rumble of northern accent. “I was told the princess had hair like fire.”