Page 33 of Shattered Crown

“Nathaniel?”

Lady Evangeline's grip tightened. “Find Nathaniel, and you find hope. He's closer than you think, watching, waiting for the right moment.”

Footsteps approached in the hallway. Evangeline straightened, her voice rising to normal volume. “Remember to sit straight in the saddle, dear. The nobles will be watching. And do try not to embarrass the family name.”

Guards entered, their armor clanking. “My lord, the king requests your presence in the courtyard. The hunt begins soon.”

Evangeline squeezed his hand one last time before sweeping out, her performance of the doting grandmother flawless. Silas tucked the vial away, its weight against his chest a reminder that not everyone in his family had lost their way.

The courtyard transformed into a spectacle of royal excess as the hunting party assembled. Nobles strutted like peacocks in their finest riding clothes, jeweled badges glinting in the morning sun. Guards stood at attention, their armor polished to mirror brightness, ceremonial weapons adorned with ribbons and bells. The air filled with the sounds of restless horses, barking hounds, and forced laughter as courtiers jockeyed for position near the king.

Silas descended the steps, feeling every eye upon him. Whispers followed in his wake, nobles speculating about his exile to Thornhaven, his sudden return, the king's true intentions for this hunt. He kept his head high, refusing to show how their scrutiny affected him.

Sebastian Blackthorn lounged against a marble pillar, surrounded by his usual coterie of sycophants. His presence here caught Silas off guard. He had not expected to see Sebastian, not after everything that had happened between them.

For a moment, Silas could only stare, old memories stirring like ash over coals. As boys, they had trained side by side, first as reluctant allies, then bitter rivals. Sebastian had always been brilliant, dangerously so, with a gift for strategy that outstripped most of their peers. There had been a time when Silas thought they might even be friends. But ambition had twisted something sharp inside Sebastian, something that cut deeper with every year.

Their final falling out had been ugly. Words spoken like knives, threats veiled behind polished smiles. Silas had warned the others, but few had listened. Sebastian knew how to charm when it suited him.

Now, seeing him here, Silas felt that old unease harden into something colder.

Sebastian caught his eye across the courtyard. His smirk bloomed, slow and sharp, carrying promises of violence. The dark-haired noble looked much the same as Silas remembered, but there was a new weight to him, a darkness that clung like smoke. His once-careful polish had given way to something raw and hungry. The way the shadows seemed to stretch toward him set Silas’s instincts on edge.

Nearby, Commander Vale stood apart from the preening nobles, her posture a study in discipline. She inspected her unit with practiced efficiency, checking saddle straps and weapons with a critical eye. Her scarred face remained impassive, giving away little.

When her gaze met Silas’s, something flickered across her expression. A warning, perhaps, or regret. It was gone too quickly to name. She turned sharply, barking orders at a young guard who had missed a spot on his breastplate, her voice cutting through the courtyard’s hum.

Silas shifted his attention back to Sebastian. Whatever had brought him here, it was no coincidence. And it was certainly not good.

The master of hounds arrived with his charges, two dozen hunting dogs bred for tracking magical creatures. They moved differently than normal hounds, their eyes too intelligent, their movements too coordinated. Silas noticed how they avoided certain nobles while gravitating toward others, as if they could smell the corruption that tainted some members of the court.

“Magnificent beasts, aren't they?” Lord Blackthorn's voice slithered into Silas's ear. “Bred specifically to hunt. Their bloodline goes back to the Purge.”

Silas stepped away from his cousin's proximity. “I wasn't aware we were hunting anything that required such specialized hounds.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised what lurks in the royal forest these days.” Sebastian's smile revealed too many teeth. “Or perhaps you wouldn't be surprised at all.”

Before Silas could respond, trumpets announced the king's arrival. His Father emerged from the palace in full hunting regalia, his presence commanding immediate attention. The crowd parted before him like water, nobles bowing and scraping as he passed. He wore the ancient hunting crown, its antlers carved from sacred wood and adorned with gems that pulsed with their own inner light.

As they mounted their horses, Silas's mare shifted nervously beneath him. The animal, usually steady and calm, seemed to sense the wrongness in the air. The moment they passed through the ancient gates marking the boundary of the royal forest, the sensation intensified. The magic here felt wrong, twisted like a beautiful tapestry turned inside out. Every tree seemed to lean away from their party, every shadow held unnatural depth.

Silas sensed revulsion and anger, sharp enough to make him grip his reins tighter. The forest guardian's emotions bled through their connection—disgust at the corruption, fury at the violation of sacred ground, and beneath it all, a growing concern for Silas's safety.

“Steady there,” his father said, riding up beside him. The king sat his massive black stallion with practiced ease, looking every inch the legendary warrior he had once been. “First hunt nerves?”

“Just eager to begin, Father.” The lie tasted bitter on Silas's tongue.

“Good, good.” King Thomas smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “This hunt holds special significance. The prey we seek today will secure our family's legacy for generations.”

Traditional horns sounded, their notes seeming to sour as they echoed through the twisted trees. The hunt commenced with all its ceremony, but something felt fundamentally wrong from the start. The dogs moved with unnatural precision, following a path that seemed predetermined. The beaters, usually local woodsmen, were replaced by guards in ceremonial uniforms, their movements too coordinated, too rehearsed.

This wasn't a hunt. It was theater, and Silas was beginning to understand he was meant to play a crucial role.

As they rode deeper into the forest, the king maneuvered his horse closer to Silas. The older man's presence felt oppressive, weighted with unspoken expectations and barely concealed threats.

“You know,” King Thomas said conversationally, as if discussing the weather, “I remember my first royal hunt. Your grandfather made quite the speech about tradition and legacy.” He paused, studying Silas's face with unsettling intensity. “Family loyalty was everything to him. He understood that sometimes we must make difficult choices for the greater good.”

“As it is to me,” Silas replied, the words ash in his mouth. He thought of Thorne, of the Eldergrove, of everything he now knew about his family's true history.

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