The Great Hunt (18 page)

Caitrin’s mouth was set in a straight line of worry as she brought Aerity’s freshly ironed dresses the next morning. Aerity sat up in bed, groggy, having tossed and turned restlessly all night. It had been strange knowing the men were in the castle—Paxton just a short walk from her chambers.

“What’s wrong?” Aerity asked. She clutched her stomach. “Did the beast attack?”

“No, your majesty.” Caitrin shook her head. “It’s the poor Zandalee women. When a maid went to their chambers this morning, she found them all ill with fevers.”

Aerity leaped from the bed, grabbed her beaded shawl, and threw it around her shoulders. “I’ve got to tell Mrs. Rathbrook!”

“She’s already been called,” Caitrin assured her.

“Good.” She relaxed a fraction. “I want to check on them.”

“Come, let me help you dress first, my lady,” Caitrin called, but Aerity left her, hurrying to the guest quarters on her bare feet.

She halted at the corner when she saw her mother standing there, conversing with a guard at the door. They both looked at her, from her nightgown down to her feet, and her mother’s mouth pinched with displeasure. Aerity took a deep breath and moved forward, suddenly very aware of her tangled hair and nightclothes.

“Is anyone else sick?” Aerity asked, coming to a stop before them.

“No, thank the seas,” the queen said. “The Lochlan hunters took the Zandalee through a town yesterday where they came in contact with commoners. We believe that is how they contracted the fever.”

Aerity ducked her head into the darkened room. Mrs. Rathbrook was working over Zandora, who lay still on the four-poster bed. She wiped her forehead gingerly, and applied ointment to her lips. The other two huntresses were curled up on cots, shivering. Aerity moved forward.

“You can’t go in there, Princess,” warned the guard.

Aerity felt a prickle of frustration. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the doorframe. Pain pulsed in her chest. An awful, heavy feeling had taken up residence there
over the past several weeks from stress. She looked into the room again and Mrs. Rathbrook saw her. The woman bustled over.

“Don’t worry yourself, Princess. They’re not so far gone that they can’t be healed. Illnesses such as this are different from injuries, though. It takes more time to filter magic through the blood. They won’t be happy with me, but I’ve given them sleeping draughts. If they try to rise without enough rest, the disease can return even stronger. I suggest they do not hunt tonight.”

Aerity nodded, and the woman went back into the darkened room.

The queen gently pulled Aerity’s hair over her shoulder. “She’s right, dear girl. You shouldn’t worry yourself. Now go back to your room and make yourself presentable.”

Aerity did as she was told. Her feet were cold and numb by the time she reached her bedchamber again. Caitrin led her to the plush stool, setting to work on her hair. The princess stared out the window. The rain had finally stopped. Now a dense fog hung over the land and sea.

“I’ve been thinking, Princess, about the Zandalee. Are you truly all right with marrying the leader’s brother if she slays the beast? A man you’ve never seen?”

“Nay, Caitrin,” Aerity said with sadness. “But if one of the Zandalee takes the beast, I have to.”

“You’ll go all the way to the desert?”

Aerity shook her head. “That is part of our deal. The
brother will move here, but a portion of royal riches will be sent to his homeland.” Her stomach cramped at the idea of marriage.

“I’m sorry, miss.” Caitrin placed her hands on Aerity’s shoulders. “You’ve got enough on your mind without my prying questions. Come on. Let’s find you a pretty gown for the day.”

Aerity let her maid choose the dress, too tired to care.

Paxton exited the castle with the other men into the foggy morning. When they turned toward the commons, he took the path straight toward the trade port, needing time to himself. He ended up down by the water on one of the older, empty docks at the end of the port that appeared abandoned. He could barely see five feet in front of himself through the mist.

He sat on the end of the weathered wood. The water was three feet below him, splashing lightly against the pillars of the dock.

To his right, through trees beyond, he knew there to be a private royal beach and docks along Lanach Creek where Captain Gillfin was killed. On his other side were cargo ships
and fishing boats. Past that would be the naval port with its vast vessels. He could hear men’s voices in the distance, busy with their trades, carrying carts of bait and catch to and fro. He watched as time passed, and the sun made its way overhead, burning off a small bit of cloud cover. All he wanted was to lie back and sleep where he was.

He felt the soft thumps of footsteps on the dock behind him and turned. The princess stopped midstep when she caught his gaze and looked at him questioningly, as if for an invitation. Paxton’s pulse set into a jog as he gave her a nod. In the mist behind her, a guard stood at the edge of the dock, allowing the princess to walk to Paxton, but not taking his eyes off them.

Remembering his last interaction with Princess Aerity caused a fire to light within him. He’d been out of line with what he’d asked her, but couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Something about the princess made him bold. He was curious about her motives, and about how she’d react to him, in all ways. He couldn’t seem to help himself. And after seeing how she’d been so kind to Mrs. Rathbrook . . .

Paxton turned toward her without standing. “I’m surprised your guard didn’t follow you down the dock.” The royal guard’s outline was visible through the fog, but he was too far away to hear their conversation.

Aerity gave a small sigh. “Yes, I know.”

“Are you followed so closely day and night?”

“Only when I’m outside the castle. But at least we’re being
let out freely during the day now. Father finally trusts that the beast is nocturnal.”

A quiet lull passed as Aerity fidgeted.

“I came to see if you’re feeling ill like the Zandalee after going through that town,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “You look well. A bit exhausted, perhaps. Maybe you should return to rest.”

“The Zandalee are ill?” Paxton asked.

A breeze picked up, whipping her hair across her face, but she peeled it away, pushing it over her shoulder.

“All three of them.” She let out a sigh. “Mrs. Rathbrook is healing them, but they won’t be able to hunt tonight.

“Bucking seas,” Paxton muttered. They were down to only the Ascomannian and Lochlan hunters for tonight, with only a handful of Zorfinans left.

Aerity sat down right next to him at the edge of the dock, as if she were a regular girl in a cotton frock, and not the princess of the kingdom, in satin and scented oils of berries and coconut, likely imported from Kalor or one of Lochlanach’s distant islands.

In truth, he was surprised to see her. The past two days when she’d briefly visited the men she’d held his eyes from afar, but never approached him. He thought perhaps he’d finally scared her away. Apparently not.

She wound her hair over her shoulder and twisted it to keep it from blowing. The fog was slowly drifting out to sea. As his hair slung down over his eyes, she reached out and
pushed it away for him. He felt his whole body go stiff at the feel of her soft fingertips.

“You could wear it back like Tiern. To keep it out of your face.”

“Would you like that?” Paxton asked. “For me to look more like Tiern?”

Her cheeks reddened, but she didn’t look away. “Nay, I meant . . . it might be easier for you.”

Again, Paxton looked at the water. He shrugged. “I can’t be arsed to tie one of those bothersome leather strips.”

Aerity giggled, and he found himself grinning. Just a bit. “You think that’s funny?”

“I think it’s funny that there’s something you’re not good at. It obviously irks you, though it’s a small thing.”

“Tying a hair strip is hardly a valuable skill.”

“Here. I keep one in case it gets windy.” Aerity reached into a hidden pocket in her skirt and pulled out a thin, soft-looking leather. “Let me.” She moved behind him, on her knees, and Paxton held his breath.

His mother and grandmother used to tie his hair back as a lad, but it had been years since anyone had cared for him in that basic way. Now, feeling her small, warm hands fingering through his hair and smoothing it back, brushing against his skin, a chill of gratification and desire rippled through him. His hair felt tight as she knotted the strip at his nape. He let himself enjoy it.

“There,” she said. Her breath skated over his neck. She
was close. Closer than she ought to be, and it sent a thrill into his bloodstream. He could smell her on the breeze as she moved nearer to his ear and whispered, “What if I said I do want you to kill the beast, Paxton Seabolt? What if I want it to be you?”

Each word punctured into his skin, tiny needles that would mark him forever.

Did she know what she was saying? Did she know how it sent a deep thrill of satisfaction to his core? He slowly turned.

The princess sat back on her heels with her hands in her lap. Her eyes were filled with rebellion. Nervousness. Maybe even a touch of desperation. This future queen, at his mercy.

He knew enough about her now to know she had a good heart, despite the evils of her ancestry. But if she knew . . . if she really knew everything there was to know about Paxton, he believed she’d surely shun him. He was of Lashed blood. No woman, especially of high breeding, would want that possibility for her children. It didn’t matter that she hugged Mrs. Rathbrook and seemed to genuinely care for others. When it came down to it, she would not want Paxton if she knew the truth.

And if he killed the beast and she found out after their marriage, she’d forever resent him. That had been a price he’d been willing to pay to keep his family secure, but now he wasn’t so sure.

His need to protect himself outweighed his attraction and any other useless feelings he’d allowed himself to entertain.
Next to her, he was nothing but a brute with dirty blood. He felt a cruel urge to remind the princess just what kind of man he was. The thought of marrying her, of feeling unworthy of her on a daily basis, sickened him.

In that moment, decision settled over him.

When it came down to the hunt, he’d do his part to track and capture the beast, but he’d let another man strike the killing blow. Then the land could be free, and he could wash his hands of this royal lass. His family would be fine—he’d continue to provide for them. These strange feelings for the princess were a complication he hadn’t expected. It was time to remedy that for the both of them.

Still facing her, Paxton said, “Are you familiar with the ways of a villager marriage in Cape Creek, Princess?”

Her dainty eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”

Paxton’s mind reeled with mischievous ideas of ways to frighten her. “What I mean, is that I am a traditionalist, and I plan to follow the ways of marriage as it’s been done for centuries by the people of my village.”

“Oh . . . ?” She was beginning to seem slightly confused and curious.

“In our village the man is the ruler and the woman is expected to obey, without question, in all things.” Paxton fought back a smile, forcing himself to be as serious as possible, even as he imagined the strong-willed women in his village who would knock their husbands in the noggins for spouting such a thing.

Aerity swallowed, gullibility shining in her eyes, and Paxton went in for the kill.

“Any wife who’s not completely obedient is subject to punishment from her husband.”

“Punishment?” She sat taller. Ah, there was the indignation he’d been waiting for. Paxton found himself wanting to see how far he could take it. How deeply he could make her blush. What began as a way to scare her away was now feeling like a bit of fun.

“That’s right. Punishment. We’re a bit old-fashioned. We find that a good smack on the arse works wonders on disobedient women.”

Aerity’s chest heaved sharply with a silent gasp and her eyes went so wide that Paxton almost gave himself away with a laugh.

“Hitting is not a proper form of discipline.”

“For children,” Paxton deadpanned. Whipping children was practically unheard of in the kingdom, with wee ones being of such value. Parents had to find other creative ways to discipline the babes so they wouldn’t become tyrants. “And don’t think of it as hitting”—he made a fist and lightly punched the inside of his other hand—“so much as a series of good smacks.” He opened that same fist and gave his other palm several sharp
thwacks
, then grinned, feeling devilish.

“I—” Her pretty mouth gaped and she practically stuttered to find words. “Have you ever considered conversing rather than resorting to . . . to . . .”

“Spanking?” He shrugged, pushed up his sleeves, and crossed his arms. “You seem like a very good lass, though, Princess. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. And from what I hear, some of the wives quite enjoy—”

The princess let out a growl like an adorably angry cub, jumping swiftly to her feet. Paxton couldn’t hold it in any longer.

He began to laugh, something he hadn’t done in ages.

Aerity’s eyes bulged. “What is so funny?”

Deep seas, she was angry. Her tiny hands were in fists and her cheeks were apple red. It made him laugh even harder. He could only shake his head as he clutched his side.

“You—Did you make that up?” She put her hands on her hips. “Are you teasing me?”

It was too much. He could scarcely breathe. The princess let out an exasperated grunt.

“You are a complete
cad
, and you should be ashamed of yourself!” A mottled shade of pink had worked its way down her neck, onto the smooth skin over her collarbones, and down the few inches of her chest before the material of her dress ruined the view. He wondered just how far that blush reached.

He fell back on the dock and sent his chuckles up the sky as Princess Aerity stomped away in her soft leather boots.

Good, he thought. Go live your perfect life. He hadn’t planned on turning it into a joke, yet it still had the desired result.

As he lay there, the laughter eventually replaced by fatigue, he found himself wondering which man would have that final blow at the beast. Which man would get to feel Aerity’s hands through his hair. He wondered which of the men, if any, could make her blush as he had.

His stomach soured, and he suddenly felt no satisfaction.