“And if I’m right around the corner, there’s no reason not to. I mean, you’re welcome to stay here if you want, I just thought ...”
“... that if you were leaving, there’d be no reason I’d want to stay?” he suggested.
I shrugged. That was exactly what I’d been thinking, and I now felt a little embarrassed at my presumption. For all I knew, Dorian just liked the change of scenery. I’d given him no reason to want to spend extra time with me.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, hitting the rabbit’s tail. “Perhaps I should return home. It’ll be harvest time soon.”
That brought a smile to my face. “It’s always harvest time.” One of the perks of the Oak Land’s perpetual autumn was that trees and plants that normally only bore fruit late in the year were always producing. I’d seen servants pick all the apples from the trees surrounding his castle, only to find those same trees heavy with fruit again in a couple of days.
“Yes, yes, but my people fall apart without me. You’d think they would’ve learned to manage after all this time, but it’s still quite dreadful.” He finally lowered his bow and glanced at me. “You want to take a shot?”
I shook my head. “That bow’s too big for me. Besides, I don’t really get off on shooting animals—even fake ones.”
“That’s preposterous. You eat them, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but there’s a difference between killing them for survival and killing them for sport. I know, I know,” I added, seeing him start to protest. “These aren’t real, but the resemblance is close enough that when I look at them, it’s still like taking joy in real animals’ deaths.”
Dorian looked over to where one of his personal guards stood ready and alert. “Alik, would you remedy this situation? Use the stag, please.”
Alik bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He strode over to the pink stag and, to my complete astonishment, began hacking away at the stag’s neck with his sword. It had the effectiveness of an ax, making me think there must be some magic afoot. That’d be a difficult task with a regular sword, let alone the copper kind favored by the gentry. When Alik completed his work, we were left with a decapitated wooden pink stag.
“There we go,” said Dorian, pleased. “It hardly looks real now. Is that better?”
“I don’t really know how to answer that,” I replied.
Dorian beckoned me over. “Come, I’ll help you draw the bow. It’s a noble weapon that any good queen should know how to use, regardless of intent.”
To my own surprise, I complied, letting him guide my hands to hold the bow in proper position. I’d practiced with smaller bows around here—it was unavoidable in the Otherworld—but nothing resembling this beast. Dorian stood behind me, one hand on my hip and the other on my arm to keep me in the right position.
“Muran,” he said. “Prop our headless deer friend against that maple, will you? Then keep an eye on it from over there to make sure it stays upright.”
If Muran ever had any fears about his master’s regard for him, they were wasted. As I’d suspected before, Dorian’s skill was such that his “close calls” with Muran had never truly been any threat. But me and my lack of expertise? We were a different matter—and a dangerous one that could result in Muran actually losing a limb if he held the target again. Dorian was now ensuring his servant stayed out of harm’s way.
With Dorian’s guidance, I drew back the bow. No, not guidance, exactly. Dorian was actually doing a lot of the work. This would have been a tough draw for me under the best of times, and my recent reduction in physical activity had only made me weaker. I let the arrow go, and it hit the ground before even getting close to the target. My second shot didn’t do much better. By the third, my arm felt like it was ready to fall off, and I was just getting frustrated.
“Patience, my sweet,” Dorian told me.
“... that if you were leaving, there’d be no reason I’d want to stay?” he suggested.
I shrugged. That was exactly what I’d been thinking, and I now felt a little embarrassed at my presumption. For all I knew, Dorian just liked the change of scenery. I’d given him no reason to want to spend extra time with me.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, hitting the rabbit’s tail. “Perhaps I should return home. It’ll be harvest time soon.”
That brought a smile to my face. “It’s always harvest time.” One of the perks of the Oak Land’s perpetual autumn was that trees and plants that normally only bore fruit late in the year were always producing. I’d seen servants pick all the apples from the trees surrounding his castle, only to find those same trees heavy with fruit again in a couple of days.
“Yes, yes, but my people fall apart without me. You’d think they would’ve learned to manage after all this time, but it’s still quite dreadful.” He finally lowered his bow and glanced at me. “You want to take a shot?”
I shook my head. “That bow’s too big for me. Besides, I don’t really get off on shooting animals—even fake ones.”
“That’s preposterous. You eat them, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but there’s a difference between killing them for survival and killing them for sport. I know, I know,” I added, seeing him start to protest. “These aren’t real, but the resemblance is close enough that when I look at them, it’s still like taking joy in real animals’ deaths.”
Dorian looked over to where one of his personal guards stood ready and alert. “Alik, would you remedy this situation? Use the stag, please.”
Alik bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He strode over to the pink stag and, to my complete astonishment, began hacking away at the stag’s neck with his sword. It had the effectiveness of an ax, making me think there must be some magic afoot. That’d be a difficult task with a regular sword, let alone the copper kind favored by the gentry. When Alik completed his work, we were left with a decapitated wooden pink stag.
“There we go,” said Dorian, pleased. “It hardly looks real now. Is that better?”
“I don’t really know how to answer that,” I replied.
Dorian beckoned me over. “Come, I’ll help you draw the bow. It’s a noble weapon that any good queen should know how to use, regardless of intent.”
To my own surprise, I complied, letting him guide my hands to hold the bow in proper position. I’d practiced with smaller bows around here—it was unavoidable in the Otherworld—but nothing resembling this beast. Dorian stood behind me, one hand on my hip and the other on my arm to keep me in the right position.
“Muran,” he said. “Prop our headless deer friend against that maple, will you? Then keep an eye on it from over there to make sure it stays upright.”
If Muran ever had any fears about his master’s regard for him, they were wasted. As I’d suspected before, Dorian’s skill was such that his “close calls” with Muran had never truly been any threat. But me and my lack of expertise? We were a different matter—and a dangerous one that could result in Muran actually losing a limb if he held the target again. Dorian was now ensuring his servant stayed out of harm’s way.
With Dorian’s guidance, I drew back the bow. No, not guidance, exactly. Dorian was actually doing a lot of the work. This would have been a tough draw for me under the best of times, and my recent reduction in physical activity had only made me weaker. I let the arrow go, and it hit the ground before even getting close to the target. My second shot didn’t do much better. By the third, my arm felt like it was ready to fall off, and I was just getting frustrated.
“Patience, my sweet,” Dorian told me.
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