Note: I still love HxH and HisoMachi, but for now I'm fully dedicated on this self-indulgent fanfic for Ikemen Prince. Sorry.
.
She had dreamed of the Horned One last night. He was coming for her, imposing and dripping in the red liquor of life and death. The full Moon was framed between his antlers and his eyes shone like the Sun. Her stomach fluttered in fear and anticipation, she tried to brace herself but the slippery leaves and flowers of the early Spring rendered her body to the ground. His body weighed against hers, and everything felt whole. She could feel every aspect of Creation in perfect balance within herself. He hadn't said a single word, yet she could hear him in her mind declaring her his chosen one.
But it was wrong.
She couldn't be his chosen one.
Maeve awoke, startled by the sight of the waning gibbous moonlight shining through her window, pleasure and guilt still coursing through her body.
He was bored.
Jade was a vast kingdom with many natural resources, rich and prosperous due to temperate policies that ensured internal and external balance. And it was mostly peaceful. In a way, it was too peaceful. An important part of that balance was Néart — objectively speaking, a southern province of Jade — but there was more to it than a mere geopolitical definition. The lands of the fairy folk of Néart were called the very soul of Jade for generations, and if the king failed with its traditions and its people, it is believed the entire kingdom would fall, its soil would become dust, and there would be nothing but a barren wasteland of war and despair. Much like Obsidian, which legends say the greed of the royalty betrayed its own soul, and its lands now withered and its people suffered, each day drifting further from their old traditions and faith.
The perennial alliance between Jade's Royalty and Néart was what brought Keith to Caisteal na Sí, the castle in the heart of Néart's densest forest. As the prince and heir to the Jadean throne, he was obligated to spend several weeks there in preparation for some sort of tribal ritual whose specifics he had yet to learn. And the ritual itself would probably be the most entertaining part. The prospect of seeing him thrust into a potentially dirty and immoral savage rite was amusing. He would likely be forced to abandon his genteel manners and polite upbringing to appease the magical priests he so admired, exposing a barbaric side of their culture he had never considered before.
So far, he had been enjoying happy days, learning from the druids about herbs and stars, and relishing the solitude of meditations accompanied only by the sounds of nature. This was a stark contrast to the royal court life he awkwardly carried on, which was often filled with tiresome social duties, fake smiles, treachery and the everlasting feeling of alienation.
Now, the Keith inside that body at the moment? He was utterly bored with the peaceful side of Néart and craved any distraction, any enjoyment that he couldn't find standing in a cold balcony watching the sun rise above a neverending sea of gray and green trees, as Spring battled Winter to take its place.
"Excuse me," the voice of his attendant sounded Heavensent. Liam had arrived to either find him something interesting to do or to subject himself to be pestered by his prince. Keith looked over his shoulder at the attendant in acknowledgement of his presence. Liam resumed: "Milady of Néart has arranged a hunting trip in honor of your birthday. Your presence will be required in one hour."
"Hunting, you say?" Keith's eyes gleamed, and a small smirk appeared on his face. It was curious. For the first time the hostess had proposed an activity he wasn't very fond of. And to celebrate his birthday, no less.
"Milady and Master Fintan believe it is a good exercise. Besides, the meat will be served on the celebrative feast at night." Liam took some steps closer to him, his voice cold and his feelings unreadable. "I don't believe it's a good thing to refuse the invitation."
"You've got it backwards. I wouldn't miss it for the world," Keith chuckled, making the attendant whisper a displeased "oh" and frown at the sudden realization of just who he was talking to.
The horse remained calm and steady as Keith aimed the arrow at the deer, ensuring a stable seat as he bent the string. With a swift release, the arrow found its mark, and the deer let out a startled cry. It bounded away, desperate to escape the pain. Without hesitation, Keith urged his horse to pursue, followed closely by two page boys. The group found the wounded animal collapsed in a clearing. Its breath was labored, and its eyes were wide with fear as it still tried to stand, but failed in every attempt.
The prince hesitated for a moment as he gazed into the deer's eyes, so much like his own. This was something he would never do. He could never bring himself to look into the eyes of terrified prey, filled with pain and desperation, begging for mercy, only to end its life. He would rather deny his beastly nature, look away, miss the target on purpose and return empty-handed in shame.
But not him, who was in control while the other was absent. Keith grinned cruelly before the wounded prey. The vicious bloodlust only a royal beast could feel gave life to every pore of his body and lightened his eyes with the thrill of the hunting, after being either locked up or bored for so long. It was his prerogative to take whatever he wanted. He was ready to dismount and unsheathe his sword, sever the poor prey's head from its body and raise it high to prove his victory.
To prove that, unlike him, he was not a loser.
Winning people's admiration, something he couldn't do by himself, would come as a bonus. A birthday gift for him.
However, before Keith could take what he wanted, his horse suddenly jolted and let out a sharp snort as its body tensed up. He had to quickly grab the reins for support, noticing that the boys' horses, while moving uncomfortably, were more stable than his own, which was still breathing heavily and alert. Keith scanned the area, trying to identify the source of his horse's fear.
What he found was a pair of shiny eyes, framed by majestic symmetrical antlers. The impressive stag was standing in the middle of the woods ahead, and even though it was midday with the sun shining between the clouds, the creature appeared to be engulfed in a dark mist that made the Jadean prince doubt his own eyes.
Yet, there he was, a massive beast at least twice the size of the deer, slowly lifting his head and roaring as if to challenge him. When the stag confidently turned his back and disappeared into the woods, Keith didn't falter before taking the reins and spurring his horse to run after him, despite its fear.
He didn't notice when one of the boys shouted something to him. The only thing that mattered was the thrill of the chase, which sent an amplified sense of excitement coursing through his veins. The horse's hooves thudded loudly against the forest floor as Keith's skilled body moved gracefully with each strong gallop, maintaining his balance with ease. His hair flew wildly behind him as he raced through the trees in pursuit of the stag, and his golden eyes saw nothing but the running beast.
When Keith felt that he had a good aim on the stag, he pointed his arrow at him while still on the move.
He ignored the tree trunks becoming darker, with fragrant black flowers blooming like ghostly, parasitic shadows upon them. He ignored the sun moving in the sky, which was quickly turning to dusk. But what he couldn't ignore, stealing away his focus from the stag, was the horse when it came to an abrupt halt, rearing high and groaning in deep distress. For as much as Keith's experienced body tried to cling on to the horse, the pain of the fall hit him hard, along with something sharp penetrating his left side, near the waist.
The horse vanished completely from his sight as confusion took over Keith. The bitter and hateful taste of losing mingled with the blood in his mouth, and he let out a pained moan as he carefully tried to move. The prince realized that the pain on his side was from one of his own arrows, oddly stuck in his flesh. He couldn't imagine how his arrow had hurt him during the fall like that. It was… illogical.
As was the stag who came into view, the black mist Keith thought he saw earlier gushed out of his nostrils in violent streams as he snorted proudly at him. When he turned his huge body, looking unbothered as the prince represented no menace anymore, Keith saw an arrow just like his own stabbed in his left side, with black blood pouring steadily onto the ground.
Two rabbits were a good catch, especially when Winter still kept its final grip in the naturally scarce Dark Forest. Grateful for the offering she had found in her traps, Maeve had reverently gutted the rabbits on the spot to feed Mother Nature her part — nourishing the earth with blood and flesh — and to keep the predators away as she returned back to her hut. With the meat carefully wrapped in herbs and secured inside her bag, she hurried between the trees that were slowly and surely regaining their colorless life. The blooming black flowers swayed in the wind announcing the dusk, contrasting with the stillness of the dead seasons.
The weather was still chilly, and getting colder by the minute. Maeve pulled her dark cloak closer to her body while trying to escape the ruthless night. She remembered the dream. She remembered waking up with her window open. Her face had been hot to the touch and her breathing had been ragged as if she had walked at that same quick pace on a hot summer day, with droplets of sweat covering her olive skin and dampening her black hair. At times like this she missed the Coven, especially Innes, who would listen about her dream and soothe her heart about its meaning. Alone, all she had was silence and doubts, for she was not an oracle and dreams could mean a lot of different things, including nothing.
And Maeve knew that her mind could just as well be playing a prank on her, showing her how things might've been if she hadn't displeased the Goddess.
Her little hut was coming into view when a small detail on the ground caught her eye and caused her to halt abruptly. Vivid red drops stained the fallen black and gray leaves, painting an irregular track leading to her destination. She didn't have to crouch down and touch them to know this was fresh, warm blood. At best, it could be a hurt animal seeking solace, which would be a bad omen if she found it dead in her hut. At worst, it could be a runaway bandit desperate for a hideout, and the blood could be from a potential victim. And they would stop at nothing to make her their next victim.
Maeve placed her hand over her chest. Displeased or not, the Goddess would never abandon her children, so Maeve's life lay in the hands of Her. But she was determined not to go down without a fight. She concealed her dagger behind her back, and moved cautiously towards her fate.
Her green eyes shone like emeralds, framed by long, dark eyelashes. Between her worried eyebrows, a black crescent moon was painted — the mark of a priestess, although he'd never seen it in black. Her hair was a combination of braids and loose waves, highlighting the captivating eyes. She leaned in close, whispering urgently unintelligible sounds, but Keith ignored them and reached out to touch a strand of her hair. It felt soft, nice and fragrant, and he smiled maliciously, but she caught his wrist and frowned. Her cheeks flushed with a sweet rose color, freckles dotting her skin. His smile widened.
"If you keep looking at me like this… I might have to devour… you… whole…"
He used his last bit of energy to say it, his voice fading with those last words, as his conscience slipped away.
A stinging pain woke Keith up from his slumber. He instinctively tried to sit up and shove the source of the pain away, but a small hand landed on his bare chest, keeping him in place.
"Don't move," the woman warned him, her green eyes locking at his for a moment before sliding down again to his abdomen.
The crescent moon on her forehead… Was she a Caisteal na Sí's physician? But…
His mind overflowed with confusion. He was used to waking up in all sorts of situations, usually awkward, embarrassing, or just problematic ones, but most of the time he could at least tell where he was. And most of the time his body felt unharmed. Maybe with a hangover or just worn out, but definitely not like this. They shared the same body after all, and while he could do anything to humiliate him, he wouldn't try to kill themselves. Still, he felt physically terrible, as if he had been trampled and was sore throughout his body. But the stinging pain on his left side was excruciating, as if the priestess was ripping him open.
And as his eyes roamed through the room, he realized this place simply couldn't be in the high and bright Caisteal na Sí. The dark stone walls were illuminated by a small fireplace emitting crackling sounds. Some gray vines were growing from small openings underneath the wooden roof. The room looked tiny, tables held old books, herbs, apothecary jars and tools. He recognized his sword laid on top of a chest, along with his bloodied shirt and jacket. The open window let the dark foliage of the trees be seen, and a night sky smoothly illuminated by bright stars. Everything was simple and somehow cozy. The bed where he was lying wasn't the softest one, but it was warm and smelled of rosemary and some kind of flower.
"Relax," the priestess spoke again softly, and Keith realized she was holding a needle with a thread that was connected to his body. He shuddered and finally realized he had been gasping for air and sweating all along. She placed the needle to the side and reached for a bottle of green liquid. "Here, take this. This will numb the pain."
She gently touched the back of his neck, and he let her lift his head up, his lost eyes searching hers as he opened his mouth without thinking, a natural response to her placing the bottle against his lips. As she tilted the bottle and slowly poured the liquid, he felt the strong and hot taste of alcohol invading his senses and got startled, choking immediately and making her patiently hold the bottle away.
"I'm sorry… I…" he tried to talk between the coughing, his voice hoarse and difficult, and the pain on his abdomen making everything harder. "I'm so sorry, I don't think I… should drink… You know, alcohol…" His hands tried to gesticulate, but a shooting feeling in his left wrist caused them to halt.
"The spirits are good to soothe the pain," her eyes widened with his refusal, as if she couldn't fathom what was wrong with drinking alcohol. Then she sighed, and her tone became more compassionate. "And I know you're in a lot of pain."
He felt a tinge of warmth in his chest, which made him feel even more conflicted about the situation. Yes, the pain was almost unbearable, but what if he got drunk and lost the hold of himself? The stranger was being so gentle and innocent; maybe growing up in Néart made her oblivious to the effects alcohol had on men. In that case, the guilt of doing something to her would be harder to bear than the pain.
"I just don't think it's safe to drink something so strong… while alone with a woman. I don't want to disrespect you." Keith looked away, incapable of facing her while saying those words. Silence prevailed between them, however, and he had to face her again to see if she had at least reacted to his statement. But the only difference he noticed on her features was a soft blush on her cheeks. Oh. He knew it. It was obvious he had already done something rude to her. He wished he could disappear from her sight. "I'm sorry… I already did, didn't I? I'm deeply sorry…"
Much to his surprise, the priestess gave the briefest of chuckles, and when he looked at her again her lips curled in a soft smile.
"Foolishness, don't apologize for things you haven't said yourself." Her words visibly confounded him. What did she mean by that? Did she… know? No, he couldn't have been there for so long as to her figuring it out, and he wouldn't simply say anything. Right? "Your loss of blood, your mind wasn't really there, was it?" She elaborated, as to answer his silent questions.
The woman moved a little closer, so he couldn't avoid looking straight into her eyes, and with a serious tone she said: "Listen, you're hurt and vulnerable. If you do anything disrespectful I know exactly where to hit you."
The cold glass of the bottle touched his lips again, and again he obediently parted them, but this time Keith let himself swallow the strong liquid, and it burned like fire in his throat. He couldn't even register the taste of it. It probably had herbs in it, given its green color, but the alcohol was so strong it stole away any other possible flavors of the liquor.
Her words still resonated in his mind. He was wrong deeming her defenseless. He didn't know the first thing about her to pass that judgment. He was so embarrassed… again. Although, as the liquor numbed his mind and the heat rose tingly to his face that thought started to blur and lose its importance.
When she thought he had enough, the priestess put the bottle away and suddenly he felt her piercing him again with the needle. It was still uncomfortable and he groaned with the feeling, but as time passed he realized he was feeling less and less of that. Until it felt like nothing. Keith was floating in a sea of nothingness and he softly giggled.
He could disappear without resorting to him, after all.
Maeve sighed when he finally looked peaceful. She checked his eyes to confirm he was in a threshold between conscience and dreaming, looking at her without really seeing her, as she expected. He wouldn't feel a thing, so she diligently closed his wound and rubbed an ointment on it. Then she touched the bruise on his left wrist and felt the swollen flesh, which she wrapped tightly in a piece of cloth. Her attention moved to the rest of his extremities, lifting and bending his elbows, his knees. Despite some lacerations on his skin, everything else seemed fine.
She covered his body with blankets and tucked his hair behind his ear, where she whispered "Sleep." His smell was good, and it hurt, but she couldn't get carried away by that feeling. Her work for the day wasn't done yet, after all. She should prepare the rabbits, otherwise they would go to waste. Maeve had already seasoned the meat with the herbs that she had used to preserve it. Now, as she distractedly chopped it, her hands trembled before a drop fell on the table — a teardrop. She let the knife escape her grip and covered her face, feeling her fingers wet with the tears.
Suppressing conflicting feelings was necessary to do a good job when a life was on the line. That's why Maeve was fighting not to entertain those thoughts. But when she saw the two rabbits she couldn't deny them anymore, and it all washed over her like cold rain. The dream was a warning that the Horned One was coming for her, which is why the forest gave her enough meat for two. When she first saw the man collapsed on the ground, she thought she caught a glimpse of a stag with him. The hubris of a thirsty beast burning in his eyes. But then it was… gone. And all that was left was a lost, broken man.
A lost, broken prince. She recognized the sword he was carrying. He wasn't in Néart by chance. He was there to become the King Stag.
And he wasn't supposed to find her. Maeve was one of the maiden priestesses prepared to be offered to the Horned One, had the Goddess deemed her worthy of the title of Virgin Huntress.
But the Goddess had declared she wasn't.
One day, the Lady of Néart called for her to bring the news that would shatter her heart. "Your spirit displeases the Goddess greatly," she said. "A curse will befall upon us if the Horned One is to choose you".
On that day her blue crescent had to be painted black, and she was temporarily banished from Caisteal na Sí to live alone in that hut. When she questioned what was the weakness in her soul, the Lady told her to use the solitude to find it out.
However, she wasn't alone anymore. Maeve turned and looked at him, now truly sleeping, relaxed and oblivious to her feelings of doubt and dismay. The pang in her chest made it almost hard to breathe.
Why did he get to be so… Inevitable?
If the Goddess was displeased and wouldn't bring him to her; hurt, lost, and broken, so she couldn't deny him or simply avert her eyes, then… Who would?