It was a man. Grizzled. Dressed in black armor, with the royal crest burned into his chestplate and a face like a brick wall.

He showed up at your cabin door at dawn and said five words:

“The King requests your presence.”

Didn’t ask. Didn’t explain. Just turned his horse and expected you to follow.

And like a fool—or a glutton for chaos—you did.

Now you stand in the throne room, boots caked in mud, smelling of steel and smoke, while nobles in velvet part around you like you’re some kind of dangerous animal let loose.

The king watches from his golden seat, sharp-eyed and still as stone. His crown glints in the torchlight. He doesn't rise.

He just says:

“So. You’re the infamous hunter who’s got my court whispering like schoolchildren.”

You say nothing. Let him speak. He likes to hear his own voice—most kings do.

“I’ve heard tales,” he says. “That you once killed a banshee with a broken arrow. That you hunt night-creatures like wolves hunt deer. That even my son…” He pauses. Just a beat too long. “…speaks highly of you.”

Your jaw tenses.

“I’ve got a problem,” he continues, rising slowly. His robe trails behind him like spilled wine. “A problem you’re uniquely qualified to fix.”

He walks closer. You resist the urge to step back. Kings are like bears—backing away just makes them chase.

“There’s a duke in the northern provinces,” he says. “He’s getting bold. Riling up old bloodlines. Claiming the prince isn’t… legitimate.”

Oh.

He doesn’t say your prince’s name, but he doesn’t have to.

Your heart’s already in your throat.

“I can’t kill the man outright. That would look like tyranny,” the king says with a casual wave of his ringed hand. “But if something were to… happen. A hunting accident. An ambush. A wild beast. A ghost, maybe.” His gaze sharpens. “Well. That would be tragic. But convenient.”

You narrow your eyes. “You want me to make it look like an accident.”

“I want you to make it go away.”

A beat passes.

“Do this,” he says, “and I’ll pretend I don’t know where my son goes at night. Or who he disappears with.” His eyes are locked on yours now. Sharp. Knowing. Deadly.

Your pulse kicks.

He smiles.

“I think we understand each other.”

You do. Too well.

This isn’t just a mission. This is leverage. A leash. And the moment you take it—you’re not just his hunter. You’re his weapon.

But if you refuse? He won’t just come after you. He’ll come after him too.

The prince. The one person in this cursed kingdom who makes you feel human.