Non-Heir (The Black Mage 0.5)(12)

The man’s words ripped at the boy like a knife.

“And Darren…”

The youngest prince raised his bloodshot eyes to his father, biting his tongue to keep from spewing the words choking him inside.

“Should you fail to perform on today’s hunt, you will be held responsible for this man’s death, and that curr you insisted on bringing along.”

His father had won.



If the knight failed to perform, he would lose both his arms.

If Darren failed to perform—with his bad arm in a sport he had yet to best—he would be responsible for the death of two: an innocent man whose only crime was his skill with a bow, and a pup that loved freely and asked for nothing in return.

The young prince had no one to blame but himself. Darren should have known better than to invoke the monster’s wrath. How had he not learned? His father was always one step ahead, and this time the king had known. He had seen through Darren’s intentions the moment he arrived.

Darren had hoped his father would target his brother like the last time he disobeyed orders. He had wanted to hurt Blayne for his betrayal. The plan was supposed to be foolproof, but he would never beat the monster at his own game.

Darren sat uncomfortably against the saddle, the mare’s progress jostling his broken arm with every step. His teeth ground into his gums and he felt every movement right down to his bones. But it was nothing next to the guilt if he failed the knight and his mutt. And so for that, he bore the pain with as much patience as he could.

They were following some forest path north just outside of the capital.

Most of the king’s hunting party had spread out across the trail ahead. Darren would have liked to follow along. His best chance was to avoid the stragglers and go after game on his own. But he had orders to remain at his brother’s side, even if it was the last thing he desired.

Blayne refused to acknowledge him. Their father was up ahead, but the two princes and half the court remained behind. Their mindless chatter was deafening.

His brother wasn’t a fool. Blayne knew what Darren had attempted, and any peace between brothers was gone.

Sure enough…

“Father’s not here,” the older prince snarled. “Why don’t you get out of my sight?”

Darren fisted the reins but didn’t bother to reply. If he did anything to disobey the king now, there were others to take the blame. His selfish act had a price; he’d be a fool to tempt the gods twice.

So he dealt with his brother in silence instead.

They rode across countless ravines and spent the first half of the day hacking a makeshift path into the deeper parts of the Iron Mountain forest. Anything to give them a chance at the game that had been chased off by hunters before. Still, the only sightings they had were few and far between. And each time they missed.

Blayne grew irritable the longer the day progressed. His remarks to their guards were biting and increasingly cold. Darren might have had a lot on the line, but he wasn’t the heir. Blayne’s consequence would come behind closed doors.

Darren, for his part, had a splitting ache in the back of his skull. His eyes were strained from staring so hard into alternating shades of darkness and light. But he had no other choice.

The hours beat away like a drum at his chest, louder and louder as each minute passed.

The rest of their party was gone by the time the sun had started to dim. Half the procession had already returned to the palace in Devon, but Darren and Blayne pushed on.

It was then that they finally came across a family of deer. There was a buck close to the marsh; its antlers gleamed against the sun’s rays next to a thick cluster of trees.

Blayne’s hound let out a keening wail and took after the pack on command. Darren didn’t even have a chance to raise his bow or call on the mutt at his side. But before either boy could claim victory, the buck collapsed, an arrow right through the bottom of its chest.

The rest of the deer scattered before the hound could reach its prey.

Both boys looked for the source of the arrow; a quarter mile away on the raised hill was the knight from before, Sir Chadwick. He had two hares strung to his saddlebags and he had just bagged himself a buck. With a broken arm.

For a moment, Darren forgot to resent the man—his admiration was too strong—but his brother didn’t.

Blayne was seething in the saddle as he whistled for his hound. “Should have been mine,” he snapped.

Before Darren could say a word, the crown prince had loaded his bow, aiming the arrow straight at the man ahead.

For a second, the boy just stared with disbelieving eyes. What was Blayne doing?

The shaft whistled across the air and alerted the man seconds before it would have matched the buck’s arrow to his chest.

Sir Chadwick swung violently around to spy the two princes across the ravine. His gaze locked on Darren—the prince with the reputation for pain—and then he took off, his prey forgotten.

Darren stared after the knight with a scowl, not bothering to look at his brother as he said, “And I suppose you’ll tell father the buck was yours.”

The sound of a second arrow releasing and Blayne’s command for his hound alerted the boy something was wrong. Darren jerked his head to the side and found Blayne smirking, his eyes locked on the fleeing shadow beyond.

“Who needs a buck,” the older boy drawled, “when there are other animals to hunt. Father might be expecting a hare, but when I bring him one of his own…” There was a low laugh as Blayne notched the next arrow into place.