Non-Heir (The Black Mage 0.5)(9)

The girl obediently went to follow Sir Audric’s instruction, but Darren was determined to prove himself. He plucked a bow much taller than Blayne’s.

He couldn’t pull the bowstring back even a little.

“It’s too heavy for you,” Blayne called.

When Darren returned the bow to its rack, it rattled the bars.

“The longbow is intended for battle.” Sir Audric handed him a bow like his brother’s. “You want one that curves forward at the tips. These bows are lighter, easier to carry during the long hours of a hunt.”

Darren tested the draw, trying to imitate Blayne’s movement as he pulled the bowstring to his jaw with a straight arm. He had to test five more bows before he was finally able to make a choice.

After a couple more notes on the proper fitting of a bow, the knight led his charges back out to the field. Each carried a quiver of arrows on their back.

Five hours later, Darren’s shoulder was on fire. His arms ached and the pads of his fingers—even with the gloves the knight had given them to wear—were sore. He could barely hold a fork during dinner; he spent most of the time picking at his food with his hands.

“Your brother beat both of us.”

“I know.” Darren scowled into his palms. “He is years ahead.”

Eve cleared her throat. “We’ll be better soon. Blayne’s aim was sloppy.”

“You think?”

“I know.” She gave him a nudge. “It won’t always be like this. One day we’ll be the best at everything, you’ll see.”



A couple weeks later, it was the end of spring, but the storms had yet to cease.

After a rough session of training, with limbs shaking and every article of clothing soaked to the bone, Darren headed back to the palace. He could barely see in the thick stream of rain; it had made practice particularly unpleasant. Worse, while he had missed most of his targets, Blayne and Eve hadn’t.

Something soft and solid slammed against his legs.

The boy glanced down to find what could only be described as a pile of bones. Small, matted tufts of fur clung to its sopping skin. Beady, black eyes peeked out from its head, and the ears were small and frail twin flaps twitching from the cold.

The mutt couldn’t have been more than a couple months old. It didn’t look like one of the palace hounds. Its fur was too long and its frame too small.

“How did you get in?”

The pup just gave him a glum stare.

The guards would never let in a stray. It was probably one of the lower city pets left unattended. Perhaps it snuck onto the grounds through the shuffle of feet at the palace gates.

The pile of bones let out a keening wail.

Father’s going to be furious. The boy bit back a sigh. He couldn’t just leave it behind. It would freeze, or one of the lords’ sons would use it to fuel their own entertainment. He never understood why they did that. All the fights he had picked were with a peer who could fight back. There was no glory in a poor, defenseless stray.

Just another reason he avoided them when he could.

Maybe he could bring it to Heath. Darren picked up the pup. It settled into his arms without a moment’s hesitation.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he warned.

The pup ignored him, nestling closer against his chest.

By the time Darren had reached the kennel, he was already regretting his choice. The pup had all but made a nest in his arms.

“What have you brought ‘ere?” A giant of a man peered down at the boy. He was missing three of his front teeth and his voice was gruff. Most of the servants found the kennel master a bit intimidating, but Darren never had. The real monsters kept their true faces hidden; it was the beautiful ones that made him wary.

“Found it wandering the grounds.” The man took the pup from his arms and the boy stepped away.

“Don’t look like one of ours.” Heath paused. “I’ll ask around the market… but if no one claims ‘im, I’m gonna ‘ave to let the mutt go. Your father would never approve.”

The prince nodded and started back toward the training grounds. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter either way. But a lump still stuck in his throat as he walked away.



The boy returned to the kennels the next day, and the next couple of days after that. He wasn’t sure why he did. He was busy enough with lessons and trying to out-shoot Blayne in training. He had never visited the kennels before, and he had no reason for coming. But somehow, every evening he found himself leaning against the pen post inside the kennel master’s building, watching the pups play.

The mutt was a frail thing, hardly an equal to its counterparts. The hounds were lean and built for speed. The only thing the shaggy-haired mutt had in excess were its fleas.

But there was something about the way it kept fighting to keep up with the rest of the pack. The hounds kept knocking it to the ground, baring their teeth and nipping at its heels when it tried to play, but it still refused to give up. And for that, Darren admired it.

“The others continue to ‘og the scraps, your ‘ighness, but look at that. Still growing. I say, if it’s that determined to survive, then it deserves a real ‘ome.”

“Does that mean you are going to keep it on?” The boy tried to keep his tone as level as possible.

“I’ll take ‘im back to my quarters if I hear of your father’s coming. It’s the best I can do, lad.”