Prologue

The Huntsman and the Prince

Once upon a time, there lived a rather moody prince.

"Oh my God, dad, that's so unfair!" he said one day, "I'm just going to like, die, and then you'll be sorry, because you never actually loved me."

The king said, "I only asked you to take the bins out."

The prince groaned and stormed out of the castle. He stomped into the stables, mounted his horse, and rode towards the Forest of Certain Death. The horse stopped dead as they neared the forest, refusing to go in.

"Oh for fuck's sake Phillip," said the prince.

The horse reared up, throwing him off.

"Fine, I'll just go in on my own, then, shall I?"

The horse didn't budge.

"Fuck you," said the prince.

It wasn't long before the prince realised that maybe entering the Forest of Certain Death wasn't such a great idea. He fell into a ditch and got covered in mud and got his cloak caught on a tree branch and had to leave it there because it was ruined. He looked more like a peasant than a prince. The forest was pretty creepy. The sun was setting and the trees shut out the light. The prince wandered, tired and lost, like when you go on a family holiday to Norfolk and your dad can't read the map and the satnav keeps saying "recalculating" and it takes you like four hours to get there. After what felt like seventeen thousand hours but was actually more like two, the prince heard a low growl from the trees.

Out crept the Black Wolf. (Actually, it wasn't completely black. It was kind of blackish, but there were grey and brown bits in there too and it had white feet, which was kind of cute because they were like little socks. But yeah, it was a ferocious wolf that was going to eat the prince so, you know, in that context it wasn't really that cute.)

"Wow, I love your socks. You should try wearing those with sandals," said the prince.

The wolf came closer.

"Nice doggie. Good boy. Sit," said the prince.

The wolf came closer.

"You have beautiful eyes. Really, they're lovely. Have you done something with your hair?" said the prince.

The wolf came closer.

"Oh fuck I'm actually going to die," said the prince.

The wolf would have come closer, but just then an arrow shot through the air and pierced his heart, and he wasn't going anywhere.

"Well, that was a bit of an anti-climax," the prince muttered under his breath, looking down at the wolf's limp body at his feet.

"Your gratitude is much appreciated."

The prince looked up to see a young man strolling towards him, stroking his longbow. (That's not a euphemism.) He was rugged and weathered, but in a sexy Aragorn kind of a way, not a weird old hippie dude who never washes kind of a way.

"Who are you?" said the prince.

"Oh, I'm a lowly huntsman, me. Just looking for my next quarry."

The huntsman lowered his voice.

"Looks like I've found it."

He cast the longbow onto the ground by the wolf, took the prince's hand and kissed it.

"So. What's a pretty thing like you doing out here? It's a dangerous place."

"Oh really? The Forest of Certain Death?"

The huntsman stroked a callused thumb across the back of the prince's hand.

"Oh yes. There's all kinds of things in here that'd be only too happy to eat you up."

(That probably was a euphemism.)

The prince blinked, unimpressed.

"I got lost. So if you could tell me how to get out of here, that'd be great."

"Alright," said the huntsman, lips stretching into a wicked smirk, "But I will need something in payment."

The prince rolled his eyes.

"Or, you could just tell me," he said, fingers slipping out of the huntsman's hand as he turned away.

"What about the ravenous beast?" cried the huntsman, gesturing towards the wolf.

The prince turned around, frowning.

"Is that what you call your dick?"

The huntsman shrugged, arms spread wide.

"It can be."

The prince sighed heavily.

"Okay. I've been in this forest for like a year now, so can you please just tell me how to get out?"

The huntsman pointed north.

"Carry on that way for about a mile."

"Thank you," said the prince, feeling very much put-upon.

The huntsman put a hand on his chest, stopping him from leaving.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"No, I'm just ignoring it. I don't even have any money on me. You can search me, but there's nothing."

The huntsman frisked him rather enthusiastically, patting down his pockets for several moments.

"Now you're just groping me," said the prince.

"Alright, you don't have any money. But that doesn't mean you can't pay me with something else."

"What else could you want from me?"

The huntsman sighed dramatically, one hand over his heart.

"It's a lonely life, a huntsman's. Out in the forest, alone… No-one to keep you warm, no-one to –"

The prince groaned.

"Yeah, yeah, my heart bleeds for you, whatever. Just tell me what you want."

The huntsman smiled, tucking a strand of the prince's dark hair behind his ear.

"Has anyone ever kissed you, darling?"

The prince looked down.

"My mum?"

The huntsman chuckled.

"Yes, well I'm sure she kisses you a lot."

"She's dead."

"Right, okay, sorry. But… apart from her, has anyone kissed you?"

"No?"

The huntsman lifted his chin up towards him.

"I'd like to be the first."

The prince shrugged and turned his face up and pushed his lips together, frowning.

"So kiss me," he said.

And the huntsman did. That shut the kid up alright. He started gentle, hands brushing the boy's face, then licked his way around the seam of the boy's mouth, pushing his way in. The prince's breath caught in his throat as the huntsman's tongue laved around his mouth. The huntsman fisted his hands in the prince's shirt, pushed harder, bit at his lower lip, and the prince bit him back, breathing out hard, clawing at his back, digging his fingernails in. The huntsman backed him against a tree, leaning his head back as he kissed him, pressing their bodies together, and the prince moaned quietly, small and surprised and shameless. The huntsman shoved a hand up under his shirt just to hear him make that noise again, fingers pressing into his flesh hard enough to bruise. The prince broke the kiss, gasping for air, pupils blown wide.

"Well, there's your price," he said, breathless and boneless, "I – I need to go home now."

The huntsman nodded, hands braced against the tree.

"Won't you kiss me goodbye?"

And the prince leaned up to kiss him, soft and short, one hand curling around the back of his neck, then pulled away and leant their foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut.

"I have to get back," the prince whispered.

The huntsman touched his face, fingers rough but light.

"Stay lost a little longer," he pleaded.

"I can't."

The huntsman kissed him anyway, filthy and fast, tongue shoved into his mouth so he nearly choked on it, knee pressed up between his legs. He pulled away and looked at the young prince, lips red and swollen, gulping for air, head tipped back against the tree, exposing the line of his neck. The huntsman kissed it, open-mouthed, sucking bruising kisses into his skin. The prince threaded his hands into the huntsman's hair and whimpered quietly, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut.

"Oh, oh," he said, wrecked.

It was fucking great, and the huntsman fully intended to have his wicked way with this boy, because it's not exactly like you get any when you live in the Forest of Certain Death, but then they heard a shout.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

The huntsman pulled away, startled.

"Fuck, that's my brother," said the prince.

"Your brother?!"

"Well, actually he's my half-brother, we have the same mother but –"

The huntsman put a hand over his mouth and peered around the tree. There was a young man on horseback not far away.

"I need to go," he whispered hurriedly.

He kissed the prince quickly.

"Come back for me," he said, "Say you'll come back for me."

The prince pushed him away.

"I can't. Go!"

The huntsman kissed him once more, passionate and hard, wrapping his arms around the prince's waist to pull him close, then ran away into the trees. The prince slumped against the tree, breathless.

"I've been looking for you everywhere!" the prince's brother cried, jumping off his horse and grabbing his brother in a tight embrace (which was awkward because the prince was pretty sure he had a boner), "What the fuck do you think you're doing here? It's a dangerous place!"

"So I've heard."

"What if something had happened to you? What if a wolf attacked you? What if a man tried to sully your virtue? I'd never forgive myself. I think I'd die."

"I'll arrange the funeral then."

That was when the prince's brother saw the wolf lying dead on the ground.

"What the fuck is that?!" he cried.

"A wolf?"

"Yes, I know it's a wolf!"

"Well, you did ask."

"What's it doing there?"

"It's dead, it can't exactly move."

"You killed it?"

"No, we had a nice chat about the weather."

The prince's brother picked up the huntsman's discarded longbow.

"Where'd you get this?"

The prince shrugged.

"Oh, well, you know. It was just lying around."

The prince's brother squinted at him.

"You killed the Black Wolf of the Forest of Certain Death with a single arrow?"

"Actually, it's more greyish-brown than black. And it has white socks."

"What's that on your neck?"

"What?"

"Those bruises."

"Oh. Um, that was the wolf."

"The wolf?"

"Yeah, er, it got me round the throat."

"But it didn't sever your veins and cause profuse bleeding?"

"Obviously not."

So anyway, the upshot of it was, the prince's brother dragged him home, and the prince was grounded for two fucking months which was totally unfair because he couldn't even go to Gwaine's eighteenth, and he couldn't go back to find the huntsman, not that he even wanted to anyway because it wasn't like he was interested in him or anything. And the prince's brother insisted they take the wolf corpse back home with them which was really unnecessary and the prince got blood all over his shoes but at least everyone seemed pretty impressed with it so he got a few ballads. The hickeys on the prince's neck didn't fade for weeks, but he kind of liked them, liked touching them and remembering who'd put them there, even if his brother was suspicious.

The huntsman's longbow would have become firewood if the prince hadn't rescued it, stolen it from the woodpile and stashed it at the back of his wardrobe, hidden but not forgotten, because maybe, someday, the huntsman would come back for it. The wolf ended up getting skinned and put on the prince's bed as some kind of weird blanket, and sometimes, in the winter, the prince would curl up under it and stroke the black-grey-brown fur, and remember the huntsman who'd killed it. (And maybe jerk off a bit.)