It didn’t take long before Tiern jogged up beside him. Paxton kept on. “Let me be, Tiern.”
“This is my fault. If I hadn’t been so weak in the mountains. If I’d been as strong as you, you wouldn’t have needed to—”
“No.” Paxton stopped and grasped the side of Tiern’s neck. “You are strong in every way that counts. This is not your fault.” He turned away from the hurt in Tiern’s eyes, walking on.
“You can still hunt. Nobody has to know.”
He didn’t have time for this. He had to get far away from royal lands before it was too dark. Paxton stopped again and spoke in low tones. “Don’t be a bloody fool, Tiern. I have lines on my nails. I can’t keep them dirtied forever! They’ll see them and kill me.”
“Not if you kill the beast!”
Paxton inched closer, annoyed by his brother’s naiveté. While Paxton had hung on to every word of Lashed news over the years, each of those stories had gone over Tiern’s head. He had no idea what it was like. “They would never let me marry into the royal line, even if I brought them the beast’s head on a platter.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Nothing is fair for us, Brother, and you need to come to terms with it. This is in your blood, too. Your children could be one of us. You must prepare yourself to be on the lookout once your child turns seven, to teach them to hide it.”
“I’ve no clue how to teach someone that!” Tiern appeared petrified.
“If you—” Paxton swallowed down a dry lump with great effort. “If you kill the beast and marry the princess, you can take your child to Mrs. Rathbrook, the royal Lashed woman. She will help you.”
Tiern followed closely as Paxton began walking again. “But . . . that line will go away and you can come back. I feel like there’s more to this— What are you running from?”
Paxton turned on him, his heart pounding with the grave truth of his brother’s question. “I run from nothing,” he gritted out. But it felt like the largest lie he’d ever told. He’d long ago mentally prepared himself for the possibility of leaving his family someday, and he’d kept his heart hardened against the girls in his town. But Aerity . . . he’d never planned forher. She’d made her way under his skin, winding her delicate, strong hands around his heart, and he had to stop it. He had to run from her for both their sakes. He’d been a fool to think he could kill the beast and marry a princess, hiding his true self forever.
“Please, Pax.”
“Don’t,” Paxton warned. “You will do well, with or without me.”
“What will I tell everyone?”
Though Paxton owed the other hunters nothing, it felt wrong to leave without saying good-bye. Paxton shrugged, not stopping. “Tell them I left without a word, or that I’m ill with what the Zandalee had. Tell them I’ve grown tired of the hunt. Whatever you’d like.”
Tiern let out a ragged breath of frustration. “They’ll never believe you’ve quit.”
“Stop making a scene,” Paxton warned him. “Go back to the tent with Mum and Papa, and don’t utter a word of this.”
“But—”
Laughing voices bounded out from the tents up ahead. Three Ascomannians stumbled out, carrying brown bottles. Volgan took one look at Paxton with all his belongings and smirked.
Of all the bloody rotten luck, Paxton thought. He walked past the men without a word.
“I must admit, I’m surprised,” Volgan said loudly. “I thought it’d be the scrawny one who went home first. Unlesshe’s got his big brother carrying his belongings for him.” The men sent up raucous laughs.
Paxton gritted his teeth, stopped, dropped his belongings, and turned. He would make time to take care of one last thing before he left.
Volgan’s icy eyes went wide just before Paxton’s fist connected with his nose. There was a loud, wet crunch. The sting of his knuckles and the sudden sounds of shouts disappeared as the two men locked eyes, a battle rage building between them. Paxton braced as the brawny Ascomannian threw himself forward.
Paxton never stopped moving, throwing punches, releasing all the anger he’d held. He barely felt the pain of the blows, his blood so filled with fire. Both grunted and shouted, beating each other senseless. He felt himself yanked down by the tunic when Volgan stumbled to the ground. They rolled, and Paxton caught the flash of something glint from the corner of his eye.
“Knife!” Tiern shouted.
Paxton brought the crown of his head down against Volgan’s already-smashed nose. As the Ascomannian howled, Paxton reached for the man’s wrist, which held a curved blade. But before he could get a good grip, Volgan lurched to the side and pulled his arm in, slicing through Paxton’s palm. He yelled as a violent sting wrenched through him, and he clasped his hand closed around the injury.
Paxton hovered above the man, raising his fist, and beforehe could swing, his arms were grabbed and pulled from behind. He kicked out and caught Volgan’s hip with his boot as he was yanked backward. Volgan rolled away, wincing with pain. It took four guards to pull Paxton off and hold him. Once he calmed, they lifted him to his feet. Lord Lief Alvi stood beside them with his arms crossed over his wide, bare chest.
“Finally had it out? Good. Took you both long enough.” He gave Paxton a wink and turned, his men following as he walked away. Volgan sat up, glowering at Paxton through his purpled eyes, spitting blood onto the grass.
