The Huntsman: Blodwen Forest, #1

By Megan Derr

Calder is the Huntsman of the Royal Forest of Blodwen, a job he loves more than anything else in the world. Well, almost anything. But the greatest love of his life took a different path ten years ago, and so Calder focuses on his forest and friends.

Then the king returns home early—and married to a beautiful woman who proves to be a terrible witch. Though Calder manages to not fall under her spell, it's only a matter of time before she realizes he's not bewitched, and Calder joins the other rapidly accumulating dead.

The kingdom's only hope lies in finding a sorcerer of equal power, but the only one Calder knows of is the man he hasn't seen in ten years, and lives in a kingdom too far away to reach in time…

Author's Note: This story was first published in Fairytales Slashed Volume 2. It has not been significantly revised.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Megan Derr
• Release date: Nov 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393864981

Megan Derr

Megan is a long-time resident of queer romance and keeps herself busy reading and writing it. She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. When she’s not involved in writing, she likes to cook, harass her wife and cats, or watch movies. She loves to hear from readers and can be found all over the internet.meganderr.compatreon.com/meganderrmeganderr.blogspot.comfacebook.com/[e-mail]@meganaderr

Book preview

The Huntsman

Megan Derr

Calder is the Huntsman of the Royal Forest of Blodwen, a job he loves more than anything else in the world. Well, almost anything. But the greatest love of his life took a different path ten years ago, and so Calder focuses on his forest and friends.

Then the king returns home early—and married to a beautiful woman who proves to be a terrible witch. Though Calder manages to not fall under her spell, it's only a matter of time before she realizes he's not bewitched, and Calder joins the other rapidly accumulating dead.

The kingdom's only hope lies in finding a sorcerer of equal power, but the only one Calder knows of is the man he hasn't seen in ten years, and lives in a kingdom too far away to reach in time…

The Huntsman

Blodwen Forest 1

By Megan Derr

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

Edited by Samantha M. Derr

Cover designed by Megan Derr

This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

Second Edition November 2019

Copyright © 2019 by Megan Derr

Printed in the United States of America

Chapter One

You just want to see me naked.

Nah. That's just a perk, Calder. Come on, you know we can't get it ourselves, said the nearest of the dwarves, one Samuel by name, and the most talkative one amongst them. Which was saying quite a bit, as they never shut up.

Calder heaved a sigh, but began to strip, setting his clothes and belongings in tidy heaps well away from the side of the lake. Last of all, he pulled off the necklace he wore almost constantly, never liking to have the jeweled pendant far from reach. But he would not risk losing it in the deep, murky lake. I would really like to know, one of these days, why a bunch of dwarves who cannot swim choose to live on one side of the kingdom's largest, deepest lake, and work on the other side of it. You could at least get some decent rope to tie up the damned boat.

Now, now, boyo, said another dwarf—Mick, more often called 'Professor'. We need that boat back today, and the water is not getting any warmer. No sense in dawdling.

Dwarves! Calder retorted, and threw up his hands as he strode onto the creaky old dock that he just knew was going to give way under him one of these days. Hopefully he would not be naked on that occasion.

Normally, the dwarves' rowboat was tied up to the dock—but for the third time this summer already, the rope holding it had failed to actually hold. At present, the boat was damn near to the very center of the lake.

Ignoring the whistles and calls and lecherous remarks made for the sole purpose of embarrassing and irritating him, Calder dove neatly into the cold lake water. There were, he supposed, worse ways to spend an hour or so than on an impromptu swim, even if he must be harassed about it by the very bastards asking him to do it.

Surfacing, he shook his head to get hair and water out of his face, then searched around to get his bearings. The boat was straight ahead, and not so far off he would exhaust himself fetching it. Good.

Swimming briskly, it took him only minutes to reach the boat. Grabbing onto the side, he hauled himself up and over—bellowing back threats at the comments about his ass. Honestly, dwarves. Who needed enemies? He glared at them all the way back, unfazed by the exaggerated leering and snickering observations about how thoroughly tanned he was everywhere. Shut up, you stupid sex-starved assholes. Honestly, go find a willing pixie or three.

Reaching the dock, he swiftly tied the boat off—tripling the number of knots—and stepped out onto the dock again. Ignoring the continuing ribbing and leering, he strode back to his clothes. Davie tossed him a drying cloth and Calder used it quickly, then bent to retrieve his clothes.

See your buddy did you a new one, said one of the dwarves, slapping Calder's right thigh in friendly appreciation of the dragon wrapped around it, inked in the finest blue-black goblin ink. It was the latest of what now totaled six tattoos, all done by Goulet, his goblin friend.

Three of the other five were goblin tribal tattoos, a very high honor for a non-goblin. Two of those were on his forearms—the right marking him as being an honorable member of the local tribe, the one on his left wrist telling everyone he had permission to bear the one on his right. The last tribal tattoo was on his left thigh, and took up most of it, a complicated pattern of knots, whorls, sigils, and other such things that would tell anyone who saw it why a human had goblin marks.

Of the remaining tattoos, one was a winged dragon spread across his back, the other a rose low on his abdomen, with its thorny vines twined around his hips and waist.

Yes, Calder replied in answer to the comment. Goulet was bored and wanted to play, and decided I needed something new.

Goblins, Rich said with a snort. The only thing more painful than being a goblin's enemy is being his friend.

Calder laughed, and swiftly finished dressing. Last of all, he dropped the delicate-looking but surprisingly strong silver chain of his pendant over his head, so that the quartet of jewels—sapphire, amber, emerald, and diamond—set into swirling silver fell against his chest. He rubbed his thumb over the pendant, smiling faintly, feeling the same bittersweet ache, and perhaps a bit of longing, that he always felt. Words ten years old now still played through his mind as though they had only been spoken yesterday.

Happy Birthday, Cal. Wear it and you will always be safe.

I'm surprised the pixies haven't kidnapped you, boyo, said Travis, the oldest of the seven dwarves that, along with the goblins he called brothers, were Calder's best friends. You're the sort of young, handsome, no doubt virile thing they like to keep around.

Calder rolled his eyes again. Stop talking about me that way, you old pervert. I've got nothing to offer them. Pixies aren't my thing at all.

More for us, said Bertie, the youngest, with a leer. We do like the pixies, yes.

Go dunk your head in the lake and cool off, Calder said, laughing. Do you troublemakers need anything else, or am I… he trailed off as the sound of the royal trumpets filled the forest. The dwarves, clustered in a loose half circle around him, fell silent as well.

Why in the world is His Majesty home an entire two weeks early? Calder shook his head. All around him, the forest seemed to shiver, withdraw into itself. Something does not feel right about this, my friends. I had best go.

Mick nodded. If the forest doesn't like it, neither do I. Go find out what's wrong and fix it, Calder.

Keep that boat tied up! Calder called over his shoulder, waving in reply to the dwarves' farewells.

He ran as fast as he could without exhausting himself, weaving and wending his way through the dense trees and scrub of the royal forest to which he was bound, moving with an ease only ten years as its huntsman made possible.

Why was His Majesty home so early? Royalty never returned early for good reason. He wasn't dead, or the gold bells would have been used. So what was going on?

He spilled out of the forest and kept going, across the yard, wending through the various auxiliary buildings, straight to the back of the castle. His steps slapped against the old stones of the kitchen yard, and then he was finally inside, struck hard by the stifling heat of the kitchens.

Kitchens which should not be so busy, when everything had been so still and quiet when he had left earlier that morning. The king had not been home more than twenty minutes, surely. He would not normally cause such a fuss; he'd always been surprisingly simple and humble for a king, opting for pomp and splendor only when special occasions required it. So had he brought guests? If so, why hadn't he sent someone on ahead to notify them?

At the primary bank of ovens, the head cook was knocking around her assistants and scullery maids, scowling and cursing, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, worry and strain putting deep creases in her forehead and cheeks. Something was definitely wrong, to put her in such a state. Calder left her in peace, though she was always a fount of information. Right then, he didn't want to bother her.

Instead, he moved on through the kitchen and hallways, eventually reaching the large hall just off the grand entrance. Servants and knights and nobles scurried about everywhere, every word a furtive, anxious whisper. Fear and curiosity filled their faces in equal measure, and Calder was increasingly dreading learning the answers to all his questions.

Moving through the chaos, he jogged to the stairs and up them—and had just reached the top when a voice called his name. Cal!

He turned sharply, just in time to catch up the slender woman who threw herself into his arms. Highness! What are you doing here? Should you not be greeting your father?

I tried, she said, pulling away and looking up at him. Her white skin was flushed red with anger and humiliation, dark eyes blazing, and her blood-red lips were twisted into a scowl that never boded well for anyone. He will not see me. He arrived with some woman and they went immediately to the royal chambers, ignoring everyone. The guards at the door are unfamiliar, and refuse admittance to anyone, even me! Papa always wants to see me. And that woman… I did not like her one bit, Cal. She…she did not look right. Neither did Papa. His eyes, his demeanor, they were all wrong. Why would he not want to see me?

Calder shook his head. I don't know, Snow White, but I will find out. For now, humor me and return to your room. Do not leave it until I come and speak with you, all right? I will go and see your father.

She made a face, but nodded, embracing him quickly once more before stepping back, running fingers through her tousled pitch-black hair. Thank you, Cal. Be careful of that woman. I think she is a witch.

Stifling a laugh, because he did not want her to think he was being mocking, Cal cupped her face in an old gesture of comfort and said, Get, Snow White. I will tend your father.

Stop calling me that, she said, wrinkling her nose again. "Honestly, I