The Falcon and the Stag by C. J. R. Isely

Author:C. J. R. Isely [Isely, C. J. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9798664845754
Goodreads: 54509070
Publisher: #PrB.rating#4.0
Published: 2020-07-18T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

Paradon moved through the formalities of the following days without truly noticing his surroundings. He greeted powerful Lords, Dukes, Counts, Earls, Ladies, and the Kings of allied Kingdoms. At the feasts each night, he drank until he was numb, until he could pretend not to notice that his brother was missing from the halls. Until he could pretend, even, that Cavian had joined. For not only had his brother become aloof – leaving rooms as he entered – his best friend and loyal young knight was locked away in his tower whenever not in his knightly duties, still pouring over the old documents for some reason. Not that Paradon had tried to get him to talk. Since the fight with his brother, he had felt hollow. First, he had lost his father and now his brother. His sister had sent word that she would not arrive until that night, the night that he was to finally be crowned King.

The thought gave him the energy to at last rise from his bed, stomach writhing with nerves, and dress in a plain tunic and breeches. He would come back and change to something more formal before his coronation but, for now, this would do. Until more guests arrived for the final feast tonight, the largest and finest of the celebrations, he needed a distraction. A ride on the horse his father had gifted him before his death would do well. The freedom of galloping through the valley always brought him some comfort.

He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, despite the warmth of the sun when he slipped from the King’s chamber. With the castle growing ever busier with visitors, he wanted more than ever to be ambiguous.

“Your Majesty!”

He squeezed his eyes shut and mouthed a string of silent oaths before turning to the voice. It was the head mason, wringing his hands and looking nervous, sweat beading his forehead.

“Hello, Graso, isn’t it?” Paradon silently cursed the alcohol and exhaustion for his poor memory.

The man stooped into a low bow. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“No need to grovel, Graso. I am not King until tonight,” Paradon smiled but could feel the expression stop before reaching his eyes.

The man straightened, his cheek twitching in an attempt at a grin. “An honor, yes, your Majesty. It will be great to have such a fine King as you upon the throne.”

“Are you here because the passage is done then?” asked Paradon. He didn’t want to think of himself on the throne. There would be years of experiencing it after today.

Graso nodded. “Very nearly, your Majesty. And I know you’d wanted to see them with your brother, sir, and–”

A pang shot through Paradon and he shook his head. “I’m not sure Temrod will be joining us.”

The man’s brow furrowed. “Temrod sent me, your Majesty. He said he wanted a chance to speak, something about he needed to make amends with his brother before entering this next chapter of history.”

For the first time in days, a thrill ran through Paradon, his heart jumping.

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