Prince Kentry of Raine leaned low over his mount’s lathered neck, his heartbeat echoing the thud of his horse’s hooves, until he was a single pulse of purpose.
Ride. Hunt. He must capture the impossible creature fleeing before him—the fable he’d only half-believed, until the force of his need propelled him into the treacherous reaches of the forest.
Ahead, his quarry flickered through the trees in full, leaping flight. Flashes of sunlight limned the wide crown of its antlers, struck silver from its hide.
The White Hart.
One handed, Kent reached for the net slung across the pommel of his saddle. So close…
The creature veered off with a sudden burst of speed as the dark lacing of cedar branches opened to a clearing. Kent spurred his horse after it. The sharp scent of crushed ferns hung in the air as the pale shape of the stag vaulted back into the Darkwood’s embrace.
Undaunted, he followed.
“Kentry! Prince!”
“Wait!”
The shouts of his companions faded as he reentered the cool shadows beneath the trees. The White Hart fled along a game trail barely wide enough for Kent’s mount to follow. Bushes raked at his sides and he was forced to duck to avoid low-hanging boughs. The wet, musty smell of upturned loam hung in the air.
Faster. Faster.
Surely he was closing the distance. Behind him, the mournful cry of a hunting horn sounded, as faint as a mother’s call to her wayward child.
A red-breasted bird fluttered, startled, past his head. Shafts of sun speared through the evergreens, striking down like solid columns through the dark branches. Pale yellow flowers nodded on graceful stems, blurring past so quickly he scarcely glimpsed them. The path swerved around a bush laden with translucent red berries tucked among coin-shaped leaves.
Other than the rasp of his breathing, the silence pressed down. His horse’s hoof beats were muffled by the carpet of cedar needles strewn over emerald moss. The birds had all stopped singing. No more shouts sounded behind him.
It was only him, his gelding, and the glowing White Hart leading him into the depths of the forest.
When he’d announced his intention to ride into the Darkwood in search of the fabled beast, his family had thought him mad. The dinner conversation had halted while his older brothers exchanged skeptical looks across the long, candle-bedecked dining hall of the palace.
“Certainly not,” his mother had said.
His father, the king, had cleared his throat and asked Kent to present himself in the royal parlor after supper.
The parlor, at least, was cozier than the formal throne room. The late evening light scattered shadows over the ornate Parnesian carpets, and the room smelled pleasantly of leather and his mother’s rose perfume. Despite this, Kent stood uncomfortably, stance wide, hands clasped behind his back as he faced his parents.
“Don’t go,” his mother begged him. “I know your heart is sore, but once your brother is married, surely it will mend.”
Kent shook his head, sending a lock of overlong dark hair into his eyes. He swiped it out of his face impatiently. “I will always love Maired, and seeing her as the future queen will only twist the blade in my heart. Every single day.”
“But is this mad quest necessary?” His father rocked forward onto the balls of his feet. “I know you’re young and hot-headed, much like myself at your age”—he gave a rueful chuckle, and the queen smiled at him—“but there are other ways you might cool your emotions. You’ve often expressed a desire to see more of the world. We could appoint you as our ambassador to the Fiorland court. Or to a post in Caliss, if that doesn’t suit.”
“I want neither of those things,” Kent said, hating the roughness of his voice. He had wanted them, before love had submerged him in a ferocious storm—but now it was too late. “The stories say that, once captured, the White Hart will grant your heart’s desire.”
His mother’s delicately arched brows rose. “And what of your brother’s desire? He cares deeply for Maired, too. What kind of man would steal away the future king’s bride and cast such melancholy over the throne of Raine?”
Kent made a slashing motion with his hand. “Both of you are in excellent health. Ian won’t take the throne for years. He’ll have plenty of time to find another wife.”
Still, he couldn’t help the curdling suspicion that they were right. Although he’d tried to tell himself that Maired had agreed to marry his brother only because he was to be king, Kent couldn’t deny that she and Ian shared a deep affection.
Not as deep as Kent’s own hot and piercing love, of course. It had shattered him when Maired had, ever-so-gently, told him that Ian had proposed—and that she’d accepted.
“Surely the White Hart, being a creature of Raine, wouldn’t do anything to endanger the kingdom,” Kent said.
“Hm.” The king regarded him steadily. “Do recall, the Darkwood is older than the kingdom, and full of strangeness. There’s a reason no one dwells close to the forest’s edges.”
“Well, perhaps we should!” Kent retorted. “It’s time to stop being so afraid of a collection of trees.”
“That ‘collection of trees,’ as you term it, spreads across half the country.” His father’s tone dipped with disappointment. “It’s teeming with bears and wolves, not to mention other creatures, if the tales can be believed. And might I point out that if you’re going after the White Hart, you can’t dismiss the darker things rumored to lurk in the forest.”
Kent shifted impatiently. Surely his need was great enough that he would prevail. After all, if the burning in his brain scarcely allowed him to sleep, it would certainly guide him to the creature that could grant his greatest wish.
“In any case,” he said, “I’m going into the Darkwood. The huntmaster has agreed to let me bring two of his best trackers and their hounds.”
“But you must have other companions!” The queen clasped her hands in agitation. “What if you become lost in the forest?”
Kent heaved a sigh. He’d anticipated his mother’s concern, however, and was prepared for this objection.
“Lord Carkin and Cousin Sean will accompany me.” He couldn’t leave his oldest friend behind, and Sean had a talent for inviting himself along, whether he was wanted or not.
A touch of relief smoothed his mother’s expression. “At least your cousin can be depended upon.”
“Then it’s settled,” Kent said. “I’ll ride out in the morning.”
He hadn’t been able to bear the thought of seeing Maired again. Since the announcement of her engagement, even the briefest encounter with her in the palace corridors had set a torch to his lungs.
And so, before the summer sun had dispelled the misty dawn air, Kent and his companions rode out. It was a long day’s journey from Meriton to the edge of the Darkwood, and though he’d wanted to begin the hunt that evening, Cousin Sean had persuaded him to make camp and wait until daybreak.
For the next three days they’d searched fruitlessly for signs of their quarry, until one of the hounds had finally caught a scent. Baying joyously, it had led them deeper into the forest. At last Kent had glimpsed the silvery stag that was his prize.
Now, the White Hart bounded before him, leaping gracefully down a fern-carpeted slope. Kent followed, blessing his surefooted mount, aptly named Nimble. He set one hand to the net he carried. Although his bow was slung across his back, his goal was to snare the stag, not kill it.
The White Hart burst into a meadow, Kent at its heels. He grabbed the net and bent lower over his horse’s neck. Closer. Closer. He could hear the beast snorting for breath, see the white of its eye and smell its sweet, wild odor.
In the corner of Kent’s vision, he glimpsed a tall stone, sparkling eerily—but he had no time to pause. He readied the net, lifting it overhead…
The White Hart glowed beneath the encroaching darkness of the trees, the sunlight gone between one breath and the next. Kent’s mount faltered. His throw missed, the net capturing nothing but a bush covered in glowing purple flowers.
The pale form of the stag slipped between the enormous tree trunks and was gone.
Heart pounding, Kent drew Nimble to a stop. He leaned down and gathered up his net, inhaling the richness of loam and cedar, and then took stock of his surroundings.
Between one heartbeat and the next, the Darkwood had transformed, growing fierce and magical. Strange blooms glowed with their own radiance beneath the fronded branches of the evergreens that now towered high above him, blocking all the light.
He squinted up, dismayed to see a huge golden moon floating in a dark sky brushed with unrecognizable stars. And was that another moon, trailing behind its brighter sister?
Where, by all the seas, was he?
Movement again, between the trees. For an instant the shape of the silver deer was outlined against the green-black shadows. Casting aside his confusion, Kent urged his mount forward. This time, he vowed, the White Hart would not escape.