1 Chapter 1

Defeat, Theo decided, left a very distinct taste in one's mouth.

It started with dryness. His lips had seemed to chap immediately as the shock of the catastrophe set in. In the moment of total defeat, it had seemed entirely possible to choke from the lack of moisture and the fear for what was to come. As the victors celebrated and the defeated ran for their lives, the crushing weight of reality, the harsh realness of loss left the putrid taste of bile in his mouth.

Now, as he woke yet again from dreams of the wretched past, Theo thought that he tasted blood and smoke.

For a few terrifying moments, Theo forgot where he was. He could still hear the screams of anguish and perverse pleasure resounding in his ears. The fear of capture and death had again chilled him to the bone. Andras had fallen from his horse; the rightful king's crown had again been seized as a trophy for the pretender; the doom of the nation had again flashed before his eyes. Most clearly of all, though, had been the need to run.

For all its bad tastes, defeat was far preferable to shame. Shame did not bother with tastes. Shame left marks. For a moment he thought he could see them. They were gone with the blink of an eye.

Theo quickly rolled off of his straw mat and stood, determined to rid himself of such thoughts. There was nothing he could do about what had happened. The battle was done. Andras was dead. There was no reason for his dreams to continue tormenting him in such a fashion.

Still, he could not help but gaze at the mass of long, dark hair in the double bed before him.

It was not his place to speak to her, Theo reminded himself sternly. It was not for him to approach the queen without permission. Never mind that his act of cowardice had saved her life. Never mind his determination to keep her safe.

Never mind that her presence alone was...

Enough.

The thought came unbidden, but was not unwelcome. Theo looked away from her, ashamed of himself all over again.

Quickly, he made his way to the small window on the other side of the room. Though there were still a few hours until dawn, the sky was clearly overcast. The snow on the ground had not melted; if anything, it seemed thicker. The forest surrounding them looked empty. If there were anything worth hunting out there, finding it would take all day.

"Great," Theo muttered to himself, pulling away from the window to find his boots. "Just great."

The provisions that had awaited them when they first arrived at the dilapidated cottage had run out a fortnight ago. A day later, Theo slit a rabbit's throat to keep them from starving. The poor thing's blood had stained his hands for two days. Bile had threatened to spill from his lips at the memory for a week.

But they had not starved. So he kept hunting.

---

The feel of boots was still humiliatingly foreign. Even the most comfortable leather could not compare to the feel of wool and silk beneath Theo's feet. He tried to remember what silk had felt like, as he trudged through the snow into the woods. He tried to think of warm baths and lap dogs and books. Theo tried to recall full bellies and warm fires and life without fear.

He decided it was pointless to torture himself with a life that he could never go back to.

Dawn had broken by the time Theo had gone the two miles away from the cottage to his usual hunting spot. The cold was debilitating, and became even more so as Theo climbed up into the trees. The air was thinner and the wind far more brutal the higher he climbed. Still, he readied his bow and sat as still as death while he waited for something, anything, to cross his path. The queen's survival demanded sacrifices, he reminded himself. It was of little consequence if his hands grew numb or if the icy wind ripped at his skin as he sat. If she was fed, Theo was satisfied.

Hours passed as he held his position in the tree. No living thing approached him. After a while, even the wind seemed to avoid him. Theo couldn't help but be grateful for that. But the absolute silence of the forest was becoming unnerving. There had to be some creature around him somewhere, Theo thought. He refused to consider that he might have to return to the cottage empty handed.

He did not know how he would face the queen if he did.

Then, just as Theo was beginning to contemplate moving further north to find game, a fawn walked slowly into view. It was small, there was no denying that. The poor thing looked as though it hadn't eaten in days. From up in the tree, Theo could see it nibbling pitifully on the remaining bark of nearby trees. He blinked and wiped furiously at the tears building rapidly in his eyes. It was just an animal. It didn't have a soul. The queen needed to eat.

Theo nocked one of his arrows.

He could do this.

He had to do this.

For a split second, the fawn looked up at the tree Theo sat in. He swore it was staring right at him. Judging him. Awaiting its own judgment.

Tears streamed unbidden down his face. Weak. He was weak. He had run, he had hidden, and now he couldn't even kill a fawn to feed the queen. How unworthy he was. How unlike Andras-

The fawn looked sharply away from the tree and ran. Theo glanced in the same direction and felt himself freeze into place. Blind terror found him. Panic turned his bowels to water.

Just on the horizon, barely in view, were three riders carrying the white standard of the Lord Protector.

There was nowhere to go.