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“He said he would.” Killian passed Phineas an arrow. He laced his own bow, then aimed. “He changed his mind, apparently. Again. I had the proposal ready and everything.” Killian released the string, and the arrow went wide, missing the target completely.
Phineas sucked a breath through clenched teeth. “You’ve spent days working on that.”
“I’m just another nice little trade agreement. I’m only good to him obedient and quiet and marriageable. ‘The magic will fix it all.’ Bah. Probably just some excuse. I’ve never seen magic …”
Phineas shook his head, all mirth lost. “Don’t get lost, my friend. You know you’re more than a contract. And magic, well—”
“I’m the prince. I should be training to be king, but he won’t move past the past.” Killian shrugged. “Why keep trying? I’ll just marry that princess and let her lead the country, I guess. That is, if she exists.”
With a frown, Phineas turned to him fully. “Of course she exists.”
“Allegedly.”
“There are portraits. Her parents are friends of your father. I’m sure they know—”
“She hasn’t been seen or heard from since she was anewborn—immediately after that cursed portrait.” Killian’s mouth filled with a bitter taste. “Whatever.” He huffed out a breath, drowning in resignation, his heart suffocated into a state of desolation. “He won’t let me in.” Killian kicked a rock into the archery field. “Why keep me as heir at all if he hates me so much?”
Phineas sighed, clearly frustrated. “Killian, your mother wished for this betrothal too. Don’t give up on your father. I’m sure he has his reasons for all of this—maybe it’s part of a plan to train you. Furthermore, the rest of us see what you’re doing …” He studied Killian before reaching for Killian’s bow. “You need a break to clear your head.” He tilted his head toward the stables. “Go for a ride. I’ll cover for you.”
Killian tapped his fingers on the top of the rail. “But …”
“Just take Jax with you.”
Nodding, Killian walloped his friend on the shoulder. “As if I could escape that old hound.” He took a few steps before turning back and watching Phineas sink another arrow in the center circle of the target. “Thanks, Phin.”
Phineas wagged his eyebrows. “Come back less prickly.”
Rolling his eyes, Killian turned, snatched a thick blue cloak, and led a saddled mare into the southern meadow.
The horse required little encouragement before she galloped at full speed through the tall whispering grasses. The acreage around the castle to the south had always been free and open grasslands, and the people, superstitious and afraid of the spires, built the village to the north. Killian never minded the vast and free expanse. Gentle hills rose and fell with clusters of trees and a small meandering creek. Most days he found it beautiful.
The early fall wind cut through Killian’s dark brown locks as they surged over a fallen tree. But even the wind couldn’t whisk off his frustration. Why couldn’t his father see that he was trying? Killian knew he could handle more. He could lead more. But every small win as a leader was always overshadowed by his failed attempts and political embarrassments. If only he had worked harder to learn Tallenish all those years ago … then maybe? Killian shook his head. Even so, he could be a good king. He had great plans and ideas that didn’t rely on superstition and magic curses and a princess who would save them all. Anyway, she was a princess, not a sorceress. Why couldn’t he help his dry, famished kingdom through more conventional means? Killian had at least five ideas that would bring in trade to help during the very normal, very unmagical drought. They wouldn’t have to rely on some distant magic fairy promise.
But his father would never see reason. He never saw all Killian was doing. Why continue to put himself out there if he was nothing more than a bargaining chip or an ingredient for a magic spell? He was the eye of newt needed to cure the supposed curse on the land. Or at least, his marriage was.
Stupid contracts.
Stupid fathers.
He pushed the horse harder, but all too soon, the other side of the meadow ended at the huge pine forest, and he had to pull on his horse to slow. The mare heaved massive breaths as she walked slowly along the impassible wall of trees near the gate.
He had passed this gate so many times as he was growing up that he almost skipped it in mindless inattention. The southern edge of the kingdom was sealed as ever. Beyond the forest, an impassible mountain range stood, its tall spires dark as a storm. As he moved to pass, something pulled him to a stop. His attention fixed on the crusty metal and blackened rot. He felt a pull to touch it but only clenched his fingers more firmly around the leather reins.
Crossing the gate was forbidden to everyone, and especially the prince. One of the many rules about some old curse or other old contract. Nothing but another weighted chain designed to control him. He closed his eyes, fighting the draw of temptation. He was a prince, dutiful and faithful to the role. He shook his head and pressed his legs to push the horse on toward the eastern pasture, but again something tugged at his chest, and he turned.
The gate was enormous, arching, and ancient. Thick vines seized the iron bars and held fast to the black, twisted hinges. The grass stopped a few feet away, exposing cracked earth as it approached the base of the threshold. Beyond the gate and on each side of the entrance were impossibly large pines and impenetrable brush that reached and snagged around the sharp iron fencing. The sweet sunny heat of the meadow was now sliced by an icy breeze laced with an acrid and putrid scent that pulled through the gate. The air felt …wrong.
Despite this, he hopped off the horse and halfheartedly tied the reins to a nearby branch. Reaching a hand toward the gate handle, his chest lurched with a frisson of nerves, and he stepped back. But that tug in his chest pulled again, wooing him … toward the gate … toward breaking the law.
He glanced behind him to the high towers of the castle that rose high above the northern tree-covered hill. He could almost see his father’s office window from here. That office would one day be his, to lead the kingdom that would also be his if he were ever allowed to take up the mantle of leadership. His lip curled in ire, and he whirled back to the dark entrance.
This gate was in Norwood—his land. And as prince of Norwood, this was his gate. Therefore, he deserved to know what was on the other side. He could handle anything it threw at him.
A moment later, his sword cut through the vines and ripped their long wrapping strands from their heights with successive snaps. The forbidden act sent a thrill of adrenaline and excitement through him. Maybe here, he could show his mettle.
Behind him, his horse shifted with an anxious whinny.
What in the thorny marshes are you doing?A deep, rumbling voice reverberated in Killian’s mind. He had long since stopped jumping at the wolf’s sudden appearance and intrusion into his thoughts. Much like Phineas, the wolf had been around through Killian’s childhood, somehow always arriving just in time to bear witness and contribute to Killian’s mischief.
