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Nerio frowned as he turned to give me his entire attention. “Pishla lies on the plains north of Plumme Peak.”
Dredging up the image of the map that hung in Lady Lyra’s workroom, I tried to envision where that might be. “That is pretty close to the northern border of fae lands, right? Did you experience many raids from the wild men of the north?”
“The border is still a day’s hard ride north of us, so the threat of raids is low.” Nerio’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you didn’t know much about the Wild Wood.”
“I don’t.” Offering a small smile, I ducked my head. “I am just a good listener. Lord Greyson has been discussing the raids with Kent. It is hard to avoid hearing about the topic. I am glad to hear that you never had to experience your town being raided.”
“My village—”
“Master Nerio,” Lord Moritz called, waving his linen napkin like a flag. “You simply must speak to the topic at hand.”
Nerio grimaced, his only visible concession to the intense irritation that burned against my senses. “What topic would that be, Master Moritz?”
“Hunting, of course.”
I almost rolled my eyes on Nerio’s behalf as the rest of the conversation died down around us.
Lord Moritz glared meaningfully at Nerio, who drew in a deep breath before replying.
“Hunting is a broad topic, my lord. What aspect of hunting do you wish me to comment on?”
Lord Moritz frowned. “Lord Greyson hosted the Wild Hunt yearly over recent decades because his estate boasts such excellent game, I thought it was only appropriate that we take advantage of this while we are visiting. What do you say to a hunt?”
Lord Greyson’s impassive expression betrayed none of the powerful displeasure that rolled off him.
Nerio’s equally indiscernible expression didn’t even flinch as he glanced between the two males. “Only if our host wishes it.”
“A very diplomatic answer,” Lord Greyson observed, a hint of approval in his voice. He opened his mouth again to speak, but Mistress Milana clapped her hands.
“A hunt! How delightful!” she gushed. “We could pretend we are riding in the Wild Hunt! Oh, son, it would be a perfect way to practice for when you are king and ride to establish your control over your domain.”
“Madam, contain yourself.” Lord Greyson’s volume didn’t rise, but his tone resonated. “The Unseelie king no longer rides in the Wild Hunt.”
“Of course he doesn’t. His curse prevents him.” She uttered the last in a slightly hushed tone as though it were a secret. “But that doesn’t mean my son couldn’t reestablish the tradition once he takes the throne.”
“Whether or not your son takes the throne is yet to be seen, but if that comes to pass, he will find that there are more obstacles than a curse restraining the Unseelie king from reestablishing the Wild Hunt.” Lord Greyson and Nerio exchanged a speaking look across the table before everyone immediately dropped their attention to their meal again.
Nerio asked his other dining companion a question, conversing with her. On my other side, Kent politely listened to Mistress Milana’s continued gushing about the Wild Hunt.
Thankful for the respite from interaction, I pushed food around my plate and tried to calm my queasy stomach. Only a short time remained and I could retreat to the solace of my chamber once more.
Kent
“Why is Lord Greyson so set against reestablishing the Wild Hunt?” I asked Raven as we headed out to the stables early the next morning.
Raven grimaced. We descended through the gardens toward the stables. Everyone insisted that excellent horsemanship was an essential skill for a king. So, since arriving at Greyson’s home, I had spent an hour a day on the back of a horse.
Of all the skills they insisted I study—etiquette, diplomacy, history, geography, customs, and languages—I preferred working on my horsemanship. I was not used to being cooped up indoors so much. Exploring the beautiful environs around the mansion on the back of a horse under the guise of instruction had become a welcome escape from the gilded cage my life had become.
And, of course, Raven accompanied me.
“It is because of his wife,” he explained. “Lady Lyra was enslaved by a Red Cap who made her the prey of the Wild Hunt. An additional incentive was offered if the winner killed her.”
“And no one protested?” The horror of the idea drew me up short. I stopped on the edge of the stable yard.
“Very few voiced a protest. Lord Greyson and my uncle among them, but the king found it an entertaining idea until his lady wife objected.” Raven turned to assess my expression.
Saddened deeply, but not surprised to hear of my father’s callousness, I despaired yet again at the picture of him I was building in my mind. “What kind of world am I entering, Raven? I am sorely tempted to disavow any connection with my fae blood and leave forever. How can I take up rule over such an amoral people?”
