Royal Quarry by Charlotte Rahn-Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

was to not betray the fact that he knew his father’s intentions. He took a deep breath.
    “I’m sure you have noticed, Father, that I have not learned well the art of tracking, despite the best efforts of the many tutors you have supplied for me, and I was apprehensive at the beginning of the trip that I might wander the woods for days missing signs of deer at every tree. But I was lucky that in the first morning I found a sign, a large hoof-mark in the ground. Your man told me that it was many days old, and it would be more fruitful to move on to other parts of the wood, but I knew that I might not find another track again.” And so Albert spun a tale of how he insisted on staying put and waiting for the deer to return to this spot, not far from the castle, while Manning suggested with increasing insistence that they travel on, and how, after several days of waiting, Albert’s patience had paid off, and the magnificent stag had returned to the place where they lay in wait for it.
    The king listened impassively, his silence encouraging more and more embellishments to fill the void. When it came to the part of the story where Albert was supposed to have shot the deer he drew on his experience with the doe, describing how he shifted his feet as quietly as he could to get a good stance for his shot, how he aimed, the sensation of releasing the string. But here in the story he paused, just for a second, with the arrow loose from the bow but not yet sunk in its target, to remind himself that in the fiction he was creating the arrow did hit home. It was during this pause that his father spoke.
    “And such a good shot: straight in the heart with the first arrow. I had no idea my son was such an accomplished marksman.” His tone was casual, but his dark eyes were unrelenting as they took in the movements of every muscle in Albert’s face.
    “It was a lucky shot,” Albert heard himself say.
    “Come, do not be so modest! A shot like that is not made by serendipity! You are a son to boast of. The best marksman in my personal guard would be proud to have made such a shot. We must have a festival or tournament so I can show off your talent with the bow.”
    Albert was sure his face betrayed his fear at this insinuation, despite his efforts otherwise.
    “You mock me, Sir,” he said. “You have not seen the shot yourself. It served to kill the deer but was nothing spectacular. Surely some servant has exaggerated its merit in order to win the favor of a proud father.”
    “Is that so?” asked Edward.
    “It must be the case,” said Albert.
    “Then I will have the page who told it me lashed.”
    Albert winced as imperceptibly as he could manage under Edward’s penetrating observation.
    “I will be told the truth,” his father continued, and Albert was uncertain if this threat pertained to the unfortunate page or to Albert himself.
    The king changed the topic to some trivial matter, with Albert attempting to seem relaxed, engaged, and not as though he were hiding truths from his father. The conversation concluded shortly thereafter, and as Albert left his father’s presence, he said a silent prayer for himself, for Manning, and for leniency on the part of whoever was to beat the page.
     
     
    W HEN the dogs and the horses and the hunters came tumbling into the clearing—when Albert let go of him, stepped forward, and stood on his own, answering his cousin, boasting of the deer—the first thing that Manning felt was relief. He was relieved that his outlandish plan had worked. It had been no sure thing that he would be able to bring Albert all the way back home in one day, and Manning had been lucky to bring down a deer so quickly. But most of all he was relieved that Albert seemed to be taking well to his deceit. He had feared that the prince might protest and give the whole game away.
    Manning stood behind Albert as he chatted with his cousin and took compliments about the kill. The young man’s body, which for the