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Prologue: Roan
“Ican’tbelieveyouconvinced the king to let us come,” I whisper next to me.
The forest is dense, a canopy of trees blocking most of the morning sun’s first rays. Conversation wafts through the air, the seasoned men exchanging news from home. I breathe in the warm air of oncoming summer, my horse staying in step with the prince’s black mare.
“I made theI’m going to be king one dayargument. I told him it was good practice to see him interacting with his men during the hunt, watching how a true king presents himself to his people. I may have even thrown in a bit of vanity— how I wanted to learn from his prowess with a bow. He fell for all of it.” Evander smiles and winks in my direction.
I don’t care how he did it. The joy I feel being amongst all the Lords on my first official hunt, and away from the stifling classrooms, beams from every inch of me.
The endless lessons on mathematics, writing, languages, history, economics, and leadership back at the palace is enough to make a boy of fifteen crawl out of his skin. The only saving grace comes from the few times a week we get to practice with the sword and bow, relieving our bottoms from the hard chairs we must occupy all day, and our faces from the stale breath of our ancient instructors.
The preparation for the First Hunt spurred an excitement in me, the idea of being away for three whole days. Of finally experiencing a First Hunt for myself. Every year Prince Evander and I begged, and every year we were told we were too young, it was too dangerous, and it was simply not a place for children.
But this year— this year was our winning year.
“I bet if you go talk to your father, man-to-man, he will let us go this year,” I told him.
“I don’t know, Roan. I want to go, truly. But… I don’t think my father will say yes.”
“He definitely won’t say yes if you never ask him!” My words were laced with frustration. “Stop being so afraid of him. You will be king one day. You need to learn how to talk to people who make you nervous— to hold your ground with confidence.”
Yes, his father was the king. But he was still his father. How scary could he be? We are almost men. We need to stop our boyish fears and move into the men we are supposed to be.
Once Evander was on board, we conspired for days on how we could get ourselves a ticket. Not only would we get to see his father, the most renowned hunter and King of Felshan,make the first kill to signal the opening of the summer season, but we would get out of our lessons during the entire hunt.
For these three days, I wouldn’t have to do a single math problem, solve any economic disasters, or figure out who married whose daughter three hundred years ago and why I should care. The fresh air smells of freedom, and I can’t help but let the feeling warm me on this already humid morning.
A breeze tousels my hair as I listen to the banter between the men around me, old enough to be my own father, who unfortunately, couldn’t travel for this year’s hunt. The men recount stories of seasons past— who killed the biggest deer, the biggest boar, who left with cuts and scars to add grit to their tale, who got lost and made fools of themselves.
I listen intently, soaking in the tales they’ve weaved, and probably greatly embellished.
“My son won most kills three years in a row,” says one.
“My brother assisted the king himself last year, watching the first kill get taken down by His Majesty in the flesh,” recounts another.
“If any of us were half as good as Cassus Chattan, we may only need to hunt every few years!”
“Aye-aye! Long live King Cassus!” the crowd cheers together.
I give a gentle kick to Red, weaving through the trees to come parallel to the prince once again. These woods remind me of home, of being a young boy running with my little brother and sisters, playing games, and hiding from our nanny and teachers. There are so few memories I have with them that reliving these moments feel special and dear to me.
A tug in my heart pulls me east to my home, to Port Riga.
I just returned to the palace a couple months ago after spending a short summer with my family. I’ve completed eight of my ten years at the palace, learning from the best tutors and instructors that Felshan has to offer. My parents wanted me to grow with the royal children, to strengthen our ties between the Chattans and Montgomerys, and solidify our family in the kingdom. In two short years I will return home, permanently.
An ache forms in my chest, realizing how much I will miss living in Felshan's capital city of Turin— conspiring with Evander and the hugs and gifts from Lena. I’ve even stopped addingprinceandprincessto their names, and nobody gets on me about it anymore.
But something deep inside knows where home is, and knows where I belong.
“It’s time to split off!” I hear a voice yell somewhere ahead of us, pulling me from my daydream.
“Come get your placements!”
The prince and I ride to find his father, just a few strides to the front of the crowd.
“Rentons, Gothreys, Santanas, and Davenports— take the northeast meadows. Buchanans, Reynaulds, Cranes, and Hathsteads— the south forest. Chattans, Sinclairs, Ashcrofts, and Alders— the west bank of the river Rashan. Meet back here after the sun passes the middle arc of afternoon. Be smart. Be safe. And most importantly, bring back some meat!” the king’s personal advisor announces, eliciting a chuckle from the lords and their men.
The men begin to scatter as we make our way toward the western group.
