Crowns and Daggers

Chapter two

Ash slid his foot into a stirrup and swung up onto his chestnut-colored horse. He shifted the bow and quiver of arrows slung across his back, the weight awkward and unfamiliar. The cold autumn wind rattled through the almost-bare trees, sending a shiver up Ash's spine, and a loud, exaggerated gasp came from behind him.

"This Zimeanian weather will be the death of me," Lord Francis Braxton, a noble from the kingdom of Atthe, groaned from his seat on his own gelding. Ash sighed.

"If you aren't fond of the cold," Ash's father called, "then you don't have to accompany us on this hunt."

Lord Francis's eyes widened. "No, your Majesty, it is my pleasure. I was merely stating a fact."

"Are we ready to leave, then?" the king asked, and the various aristocrats nodded, adjusting their hats and picking up their reins.

Ash swung his horse around so he was positioned next to his father.

King Alexander turned his head, fixing Ash with his ever-present scowl. "Don't disappoint me," he growled. "I expect you to actually shoot something this time."

Ash nodded, eyes trained on the ground, though he knew that when the time came, he wouldn't—like always—even be able to aim his bow correctly, let alone end the life of an innocent animal.

The king spurred his horse into a gallop and the nobles followed, heading for a small patch of forest to the east of The Castle, which often had dozens of flocks of birds roosting there as a pit stop for their migration south.

A small pack of royal hounds followed the hunting party, growling and barking as they raced into the trees.

When he was far enough into the woods, the king slowed his horse to a trot, and Ash and the nobles did the same, peering at the branches for possible game. They split into smaller groups at King Alexander's command, Ash finding himself with both his father and the annoying Lord Francis.

"I don't see anything," the lord whispered loudly. "Are you sure this is the right spot?"

Ash rolled his eyes as his father explained that they'd caught a multitude of birds and even the occasional deer there before. The king's voice sounded calm, but Ash had learned to hear the undertones of exasperation.

After a few more minutes of riding through the tall pines, they finally spotted a small flock of turkeys roosting on the lower branches of a cluster of trees.

Lord Francis pulled the bow from his back, excitedly gesturing at the birds, while King Alexander guided Ash to the front of the group.

"This is your chance to prove yourself," he muttered. Ash swallowed and nodded his head vigorously.

He unslung his bow and drew an arrow from the quiver, aiming it with shaking hands. He was acutely aware of the small cluster of aristocrats watching him closely as he pulled the arrow back as far as he could, watching the turkeys rustling in the branches above, oblivious that something was hunting them. Steeling himself, Ash started to release the arrow, then, shutting his eyes, turned the bow away at the last second, shooting the bolt into the trunk of a nearby tree and startling the turkeys into flapping down and hurrying away.

Ash ducked as a volley of frantically aimed arrows shot past him. He turned to see Lord Francis with a panicked expression on his face, shouting, "They're getting away! Do something!"

Ash winced when none of the shafts met their mark and the birds disappeared into a thick copse of trees.

He slowly turned to meet his father's gaze. The king seemed to be doing his best to remain neutral, but his eyes were smoldering, and Ash could see his jaw ticking in fury.

"Go home," King Alexander said as he passed Ash. "We'll talk about this when I return."

Ash turned his horse in the direction of The Castle, and before he was out of earshot he heard his father addressing the nobles. "It seems my son is feeling a bit off today. I have sent him back to The Castle so he can rest."

Ash sighed. The king had told the last hunting party almost the exact same thing, after the exact same circumstances. His stomach turned, imagining what his father would have to say about this later. This was the fourth time—out of the four times he'd been hunting—he hadn't been able to shoot anything, and King Alexander had given him an increasingly strict lecture after every incident.

Before he knew it, he was back at The Castle's stables, trying to ignore the sympathetic glances from the servants tending to the gardens. He dismounted from his horse and handed his reins to the stable boy, Alik.

"It happened again?" the boy asked. "I could teach you to shoot, you know. I'm sort of good at it."

Ash gave him a half smile. "Thanks, but that's not my problem. I can shoot targets fine. What I can't seem to do is end an animal's life, especially for sport."

Alik shrugged. "I don't think I can help you there. Not many people seem to have that issue."

Sighing, Ash turned to walk to the entrance to The Castle. "I know. It's fine." He could feel Alik's gaze on him until Ash shut the door loudly behind him.

He kept his head down as he made his way to his room, not wanting to have any more glances thrown at him, although there were still a few.

Once in his chambers, he was greeted by his small pet dragon, Ember, who started licking his face and hands as Ash flopped onto his four-poster bed to wait for his father to return.

Too soon, Ash heard a knock at his door and opened it to find a servant standing there. "The king requests you in his chambers immediately," she told him. He thanked her and slowly made his way down the hall to his father's rooms.

Ash barely had to knock before the king called for him to enter, and he went into the lavishly decorated office. His father was sitting in a velvet-cushioned mahogany chair behind a desk piled with papers he needed to review or sign, glaring at Ash disappointedly.

"Four times, Asher. Four times," he growled. "This is unacceptable. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Ash crept closer, keeping his eyes lowered. "F—father, as I've told you before, I—I just can't kill anything. I don't know why."

King Alexander stood up, scattering a few documents, and emerged from behind the desk so that he was standing face to face with his son. "You are being weak and pathetic, and I won't stand for it any longer. Kings can't be weak. Have you ever seen me miss a shot or not be able to kill something?"

"N—no, Father," Ash stammered. "I'll try to be better, I promise."

"If this happens one more time, I am going to arrange private hunts for you, led by someone experienced who will make you bring something down. Do you understand?"

Ash nodded hurriedly and began to back away. "Of course, Father."

"Good." The king reached a hand toward Ash, and he flinched away, but his father just brushed a leaf from his tunic. "You may leave."

Ash sighed in relief and turned away, but as he was closing the door, he could have sworn he heard the king mutter, "Too much like his mother. Hopefully, he'll grow out of it soon enough."