Chapter 3

Callum

Four years later

The gods send me an abandoned fawn to distract me from inaccessible things.

I sit on a hillside overlooking the palace, the fawn resting peacefully in my lap.

It drinks from a bottle, and I pet its soft fur reassuringly.

Below us, the palace gardens are decked out with pink and white tents. I imagine all the important guests and dignitaries trying to gain an audience with the king and queen, offering Flora wildly expensive birthday gifts.

I think about the treasure my ancestors tried to restore to this kingdom. I’m bound to find it one day. Under foreign rule, it was considered ill-gotten gains, but those rulers are long gone.

If I find that treasure now, it would be a historic artifact. Maybe it would place me and the Black family in higher esteem. Maybe Bird Eye would be known as a hero and not a pirate. Our name would bring glory to Gravenland, and my father and I would be seen as equal to the nobles we serve by keeping the woods populated with game and the streams and lakes stocked with fish. Perhaps the queen wouldn’t be so uncomfortable with her son’s best friend.

Perhaps then, the stakes would be lower when my feelings for Flora are revealed.

But it’s not that time. If the queen and king knew what was happening, everything I built would fall apart.

Which is why Sigurd can’t know, and that feels like the ultimate betrayal of my friend.

“Is that my birthday present?”

The princess stands before me, resplendent in shimmering pink. Under her right arm is a box, and her left hand clasps her heart. Her face is beatific at the sight of the fawn in my arms.

“Not exactly. I found him abandoned down by the stream, so I’m taking care of him,” I tell her. “But if you want it to be your present, we can say it is.”

With a sweet smile, she approaches. “Can I pet it?”

“Of course,” I say.

Flora scratches the deer behind the ears, which flap comically in response. “He’s so cute. What’s his name?”

“He’s yours. You decide.”

“Jasper,” she says without hesitation.

“Perfect.”

“Happy birthday to me.”

I nod toward the palace. “How’s the party?”

There’s something uneasy behind Flora’s smile, an expression I’ve come to know well; she’s overstimulated by all the attention. I feel honored to be her respite from that demanding world of royal obligations.

“The cake is good. I brought you some.”

She holds the box out to me.

“For me?”

“Of course, silly,” she says.

“Where does the security detail think you are?”

“I only need security when I leave the palace grounds. Technically, I’m still on the property.”

“Where do your brothers think you are?”

She makes a spluttering noise. “They’re all drunk.”

“And you?”

Flora shakes her head. “Not even a little bit. Believe me, I tried, but Mother was watching me like a hawk.”

I nod. “The queen’s just watching out for you.”

“That’s the only way she knows how to show it, by controlling everything that goes in my mouth,” Flora says.

I hate where my 18-year-old brain goes when she talks about putting things in her mouth.

I scramble to my feet with the fawn in my arms. “Come on and help me put Jasper to bed,” I say.

The two of us hike down to the stables, where the fawn, with a full belly, nestles into its own private stall, complete with warm straw to sleep on.

“How long are you going to keep him in there?” Flora asks.

“Just until he’s weaned. Old enough to run and forage on his own.”

“Poor Jasper,” she whispers, petting the little fawn’s side after it curls up on the straw.

“He’ll be alright,” I say, resting my hand on her back.

“How do you know?” Flora says, looking up at me with pleading, hopeful eyes.

“Because he’s our son,” I say. “He simply has to be fine.”

She chuckles softly, and her eyes land on my mouth.

I lean in, and I kiss the princess.