The wooden spit groaned under the weight of the great, dead boar as the two men hoisted it into place above the fire pit. Avery Quick collapsed onto his haunches and smirked at his teenage son, panting from the strain of hauling a 300 lb boar the size of a bull. The boy had been sullen all day, being forced to work alongside his father and the other men for the first time.

Every year the village of Willowberg held their autumn fair to celebrate the coming harvest. It was the most important event in the lives of most of the townsfolk. Revelers came from all across the southern region to enjoy the festivities of a rural fair. 

And every year previous, Jack Quick was permitted to do as he pleased without digging fire pits, carrying tables…or boars. Conscious of his father's gaze, he made a point to look longingly at his friends disappearing into the woods surrounding the village. 

"Yeah go on, but your mother will want you eventually and she won't believe whatever excuse I give her for long" Avery hadn't finished the statement before his son had darted off to the treeline, brown curls bouncing as he ran. 

Looking around him, only a few of his men were present, all drunk of course. Hell, he was drunk. The Gamemaster of Willowberg , Avery and his hunters provided the meat every year, making a tradition of roasting a wild boar for the opening night. 

Avery, the mayor's son,  was the handsomest man in the village, who married the prettiest girl and had a son who's beauty would one day surpass  both parents. At a young age, Avery was made the official gamemaster of the bustling little town which was situated at the border of the great southern wood.

Jack was his fathers pride and took to the forest as keenly as Avery. As much as he loved his wife, Avery's true love was the hunt, and the silence and scents of the forest. Truly, there was no greater forester in all the realm. Avery could remain still for hours, scale a tree as easily as quickly as a critter, mimic the calls of any game and snatch a fish straight from the stream. And there was no better shot alive than Avery Quick. He even slept with his bow on occasion, holding it tenderly like a lover. 

Pushing up, the young hunter waved to his companions, trusting them to get the roasting fire going and set off to find his wife… and some beer. As he made his way through the fair, happily watching the merchants who'd been arriving steadily since the night before, erect their stalls, Avery realized traffic was moving the opposite direction. People seemed to be moving, in increasing numbers toward the entrance of the fair grounds. What's more, they seemed to be excited over something. He saw his father, stooped  and rheumatic slowly following suit. Avery took his father's arm.

"What's got everyone in a state, da?" But he saw before the old man could answer. In the distance, cresting the rolling hills and heading straight toward the village was a group of riders. Not any normal traveling band, these riders mounted great horses not seen in the country. And streaming high above them on lances held ramrod straight was the banner of the royal house: a golden, crowned dragon on a blue field. Surely not… but yes, the King himself, Casimir I. 

Not one to be perturbed by aristocrats, Avery had never seen the King, an altogether different sort of encounter. Casimir was known to visit his fiefs and make appearances to the people on his frequent hunting expeditions. 

The herald arrived ahead of the kings party, and blew a sonorous blast from his polished horn. 

"His Majesty, High King of Lorrain and Dominia and the Southern Weald, Châtelain of the Spire, and Warden of the Chain Islands. Casimir I!" 

Of course the great crowd of country bumpkins were wowed by the fanfare. It wasn't any day the King himself rode into a small town this far to the south. 

The approached in their liveries of deep blue, heeling to flank the King atop his magnificent black mare. 

They ride real warhorses to hunt even? Avery thought to himself. At a cough from his father, he remembered to make obeisance, going down on one knee and bowing his head low. Unable to bend the knee, the senior Quick grasped his sons shoulder and made as low a bow as he could. The crowd followed their lead, sinking to their knees.

Oh, he actually looks like he does on the coins, Avery mused. The king halted a few short paces before the mayor and his son. The old man cleared his throat.

"Your Majesty, we are most privileged to welcome you to Willerburg and to the harvest festival. Henry Quick, mayor and county steward. This is my son, our Gamemaster."

"Your majesty, it is an honor to kneel in your presence. I am Avery Quick, the Gamemaster of this county," he lifted his eyes to the monarch.

Although he looked about Avery's age, Casimir had been king for many generations. Dressed in a hunter's tunic of his customary blue, the ageless king's handsome face broke into a smile that did not reach his eyes, also blue but a drained sort of blue. The blue of a corpse. Fairy. According to legend, fairies were known to have unsettling eyes and cruel humor. It was no secret the handsome king was more fairy than mortal. 

"Masters Quick, people of Willowberg, the honor is ours. We are most grateful to be in your good company on this fine day. Arise."

"Forgive me Your Majesty, I am unable to kneel" the mayor humbly stammered.

"Oh no, my good man, we aren't so worried about the niceties of royal address. Though, it's Your Majesty the first time. After that, it's Sire.

Sadly, we didn't anticipate joining your festivities, we've gotten quite lost. But you, Master Quick, as the Gamewarden, you rightly know the land hereabouts, we trust?"

Casimir's strange eyes locked with Avery's, who Ty suddenly became painfully aware of his appearance, the brownness of it. Dirty pants and shirt, ruddy tan of a southerner accustomed to working in the sun, shaggy brown hair that hadn't seen a brush that day. 

"Why yes- Y- Sire, I've mapped the region myself. A few times." Unable to disengage eye contact, "It'd be my pleasure to provide you with one."

The longer he looked into the king's eyes, the more unstable he felt. It was as if looking at a stream of water trickling into a pool.

"Map making is a hobby of yours? An artist too, deft hands after all," stated as a fact. Something not right about that…Fairies.

Casimir lip curled in conspiratorial smile. He whistled, sharply motioned to his men. "I have something to show you master hunter. Something I think you will like,"

A slim chest of dark wood was brought forward, offered opened to the king. From the chest, Casimir drew a crossbow of the finest wood. Dark, sleek and polished. Avery's pulse quickened. His mouth watered and he strained to swallow in his eagerness to touch it. Surely, the king didn't intend this exquisite invention for him. Obviously dwarven make, or the work of Martainian artisans.

"This, master quick, is a special bow. Any bolt fired from this bow will not stop until it has lighted in the heart of a living creature."

"It's the most  beautiful thing I've ever seen. I nee- forgive me, sir. I cannot resist a good bow" he chucked, awkwardly forgetting protocol. Casimir didn't seem to mind.

"Yes, Avery, you may," 

 Proffered toward the hunter in the way a king from the sketches of the  traveling mummers  bestowed magic swords upon the hero, Avery had the urge to cradle the weapon like a newborn baby. I'll fuck the king right now if he gives me this. Casimir's eyebrow arched.

"I knew you'd like it, it's only fit for a true man of the hunt"

"What must I do for the honor of owning this beauty?…Your majesty! I mean,"

Avery had forgotten the entirety of the town and visitors were watching. Not a social man by nature, the king's spell had lulled him into an oblivious state, fixated now on the two of them and the magic bow. Ordinarily, he'd have fallen backwards at the attention of so many people. 

"Oh, just a small price ser Quick. It's yours, all I ask is that you close your eyes and fire it off into the distance. Our audience deserves a demonstration."

Gaily, everyone made way for the euphoric hunter to give them a show. Avery's wife, Beauty, actually by name, blindfolded him with a ribbon from her hair. "I know it's silly, maybe just nerves. Avery, I don't like the king." She whispered. 

"It's just the fairy in him, I think you get used to it," he chuckled and kissed her forehead. 

Avery raised his weapon, light as air, already an extension of his arm, and aimed into the treeline of the forest. Going still, he projected his awareness ahead of him, sensing rabbits and squirrels scurrying and birds moving from tree to tree. A fox, there. A decent pelt to gift the king for his generosity. Pulled the trigger.

He felt the air itself ripple with a silent pulse, ecstatic, the sensation of firing this enchanted weapon. Magic wasn't so common in this remote corner of the land. 

A bloodcurdling scream from within the woods. Avery ran at the head of his men and other fathers who'd forgotten their children had been roaming the woods. 

A moment after entering, Avery emerged from the forest, all color drained from his handsome face, now a stoic mask of pain. Tears silently streamed down his cheeks over clenched jaws and mouth held firmly closed. In his arms he cradled the body of his son, Jack. A blue-feathered bolt emerging from the boy's chest. Avery strode purposely toward the king and sunk to the ground before him. Beauty screamed and collapsed into her only child's body. The game warden looked up into the cruelly smiling face of the King.

"My son"

This time, Casimir's cold eyes did light in wicked triumph as he erupted into peels of laughter. 

"You, Avery Quick, you will be my huntsman,"