The Thrill Is Gone

The following day brought with it heavy showers that lasted well into the evening. There had initially been some hope that the rain would subside within a few hours. That by noon, they would be able to embark on their hunt, but unfortunately for them, the rain didn’t let up. It only grew fiercer. The winds blew harshly, thunder began to roar, and the Princes found themselves forced to admit defeat. They cursed the local weatherman for having lied to them. He’d assured the viewers that there was only a 40% chance of light showers in the early morning. That the sky would clear up in time for breakfast, and from then on, the day would be a lovely fourteen degrees Celsius. That was the promise that had been made to them, what they’d gone to bed expecting, but apparently, at some point in the night, the weather had a change of heart and decided that it’d be a great deal of fun to ruin everyone’s outdoor plans for the day.

That cruel change in weather left the Princes in low spirits. They sulked about until afternoon tea, finding little pleasure in the indoor pursuits that they were forced to occupy themselves with. Because how could they be content to play cards or sit in the parlor, when they had planned on spending the day hunting? They should’ve been outdoors, hiking to the points where the deer roamed free, but no, they were stuck inside and were so thoroughly displeased with their current situation that they fully believed Paulina to be as miserable as them. The truth was different though. She was actually quite happy. She tied not to be, of course. That is to say, she tried not to look it. She endeavored to appear as upset as they were. She complained about how it was such a pity that the weather had conspired against them and spoke at length about how much she’d been looking forward to exploring the grounds. She was convincing in her performance, and was glad when the topic was finally put to rest, because hunting was the last thing she wanted to discuss or do. She didn’t want to aim a rifle at some poor animal. She didn’t eat deer or have an affinity for mounted heads or deer skin rugs. There was nothing about hunting that was the least bit appealing to her. In fact, she was quite content to never shoot at anything, but the Royals weren’t.

For centuries, hunting had been a passion. It was a pursuit they retreated to whenever they wished to clear their heads or get the blood going. It was important to them, an enduring tradition passed on from Kings and Queens of centuries gone by. And since it was so important to them, she’d make an effort, though to be honest, she was hoping the rain would keep up. That way she’d be spared the hunting and riding, and she’d be able to lament the fact that she hadn’t had a chance to engage in either activity. If the rain just kept up, she could make it a year without having another go at either pursuit. It was with that in mind that she spent the rest of the day praying for rain. If it just kept up, everything would be okay. She’d be allowed to roam the corridors during her private time, to read in the massive library, to sit in silence as the Queen played the piano in the evening, and to comment on the timeless beauty of the castle. She was more than willing to spend the rest of her time in Balmoral doing just that, but when she woke the next morning, the heavens were clear and the sun shone brightly.

It was a perfect day for a hunt.

“Good morning, Miss Balcázar,” spoke Ainsley, the Head Housemaid who’d been charged with looking after Paulina. “Do wake up. It’s time to prepare for the day. The sun’s come out, and I’ve had word from His Royal Highness Prince Philip that you are to dress directly for the hunt. There won’t be any dressing for breakfast and then changing to go outdoors. His Royal Highness is keen to be off early, so please, wake up.”

“I’m awake,” grumbled Paulina from her place beneath the covers. “Just . . . give me a minute or two.”

“Oh no, Miss. I’m afraid there won’t be any of that.” Ainsley said firmly, knowing very well that one or two more minutes could easily turn into a half hour. “We’ve breakfast to get you to. So if you please, do get up.”

“Alright, alright,” muttered Paulina as she threw the covers off the covers. “I’m up. But isn’t it too early. I put my alarm to go off at seven, since breakfast is at eight, but it hasn’t gone off yet.”

“That’s on account of it being a quarter past six,” replied Ainsley.

“Fucking hell,” Paulina cursed as she rubbed her tired eyes. “Why’s breakfast so early? I mean, eight’s early enough, but this is . . .”

“His Royal Highness saw fit to move up the departure time on account of the day being so agreeable.”

It was then that Paulina finally noticed the sunlight filtering in through the windows. Every last one of them had been opened, their drapes tied back so as to allow her to view the beauty of the grounds. Had Paulina not been engaged to go out hunting, she would’ve asked permission to walk the grounds, she would’ve taken a blanket with her and lay beneath an obliging tree. Those were the thoughts that crossed through her mind as she observed the landscape, but those thoughts were pushed aside when Ainsley spoke and reminded her that they had to have at breakfast by seven.

“Go on, Miss,” spoke Ainsley as she laid out the clothes. “Do see to yourself, and when you’ve finished, I’ll be here to assist.”

“You don’t have to though. I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do.”

“Nothing is more important than looking after a guest,” replied Ainsley, very matter-of-factly.

Knowing very well that there was no point in pressing the subject, Paulina simply walked into the bathroom and saw to her morning routine. When she finished, she reentered the bedroom, where Ainsley had already fixed the bed and put out the makeup and hair supplies on the vanity. This part of the visit was the one that made Paulina feel the iffiest. She wasn’t used to having people help her dress. Sure, Harry dressed her every once in awhile, because he liked to rub up on her a bit, but no one else. And more importantly, she didn’t need anyone to lay out her clothes and help her put them on. That was something that only happiness in movies and to the people of the highest society that can afford to waste their money like that. Hell, even Harry didn’t have people dress him, not on a day to day basis. That sort of thing was reserved only for extremely important events.

But there was Ainsley, with the clothes on the couch, waiting for Paulina to take off her pajamas so she could assist her in getting outfitted for the hunt. Paulina understood that it was an honor to have the Head Housemaid waiting on her. It wasn’t something that the Queen did for every guest, not even for every family member, but even then, it wasn’t what Paulina looked forward to. Having someone help her put on a blouse or skirt or trousers was just very new and strange to her, but she didn’t let the Queen know about her reservations. She didn’t want to be rude. Not when the Queen was being so amiable, and she certainly didn’t want to make it look like Ainsley wasn’t doing her job properly. She was. Ainsley was brilliant. She was cheerful, attentive, a bit firm sometimes, but all in all she was brilliant. So it was out of respect for the Queen and Ainsley that Paulina went along with being treated like a doll. She allowed herself to be dressed and sat still as Ainsley brushed her hair and then styled it.

When Ainsley finished dressing Paulina, she escorted her to the dining room, where Prince Philip and Harry sat awaiting her arrival. They hadn’t been there long, hardly five minutes had passed since Harry wandered in, and Prince Philip had only stepped inside about two minutes before her arrival. He’d forgotten his lucky charm, a small token that the Queen had gifted him during their courtship, and according to him, his hunts were all the better when he had it with him. As such, he had no choice but to rush up the stairs as best he could, and then hurry back down to the dining room.

“So,” began Prince Philip as he sat down. “How do you think she’ll hold up?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Harry replied. “She’s never done this sort of thing before. It’s never truly interested her, so I think she’ll be quite nervous, but knowing her, she’ll rally. She always does. Even when she’s not entirely sure about something, she’ll see it through, because according to her, there’s nothing more important than honoring one’s word.”

“What a strange thing for a person your age to say,” commented Prince Philip. “Nowadays the youth does not place such importance on keeping one’s word.”

“Maybe others don’t, but she does.” Harry proudly stated. “Sometimes, she’ll get terribly stubborn about it and refuse to do anything else until she’s honored her word. That can be problematic of course. It’s caused a few headaches on my end, but I reckon it’s for the best. I fancy her just the same.”

“You should, because with a woman like that, you know precisely where you stand. If she says she’ll love you and be dutiful, then that’s that. There’ll never be quarrels on that ground. There’ll be quarrels about other things, of course. After all, what would life be without the occasional disagreement? But still, it’ll be all the better, because a person that keeps their word, never betrays.” He paused a moment, taking the opportunity to set his napkin across his lap. “I do hope she’ll be a good sport,” he eventually said. “Catherine’s a decent shot, you know. The old girl got a stag when she stayed with your father last year. So I must say it’d be a fine thing, to have Paulina take to it as well as Catherine did.”

“Hopefully she will, but I have to admit that I’d rather have her fond of riding than hunting.”

“Would you?” Prince Philip arched his brow. “Why ever would you say that? Riding is a fine thing indeed, but it’s not quite as grand as hunting.”

“But it can be done at any time,” said Harry. “With hunting, we have to wait until the season comes around. Of course, there are different animals one might hunt, but everyone has a favorite, and every species has its season. Whereas with riding, I can take her whenever we see fit,” explained Harry. “And not only here, but perhaps even in Mexico, since the family owns quite a bit of land out there.”

“Mexico?” repeated Prince Philip. “You mean to say you intend to travel there, with her family?”

“Yes. That is, not at the present. There’s no fixed date for it, but we do plan on doing so before she graduates Harvard. She’s quite keen to have me there, so that I can meet the part of her family that didn’t relocate to America. Must admit, I’m a bit nervous about it, but I suppose there’s no point in my having learned Spanish if I don’t visit Mexico at least once. What better place to put it to use than there?”

“Indeed,” commented Prince Philip. “But you shall have to procure your grandmother’s permission when that time comes.”

“Come on Granddad, its Mexico, not Afghanistan.”

“Surely you’ve seen the news tough.”

“That’s not happening where she’s from.” Harry said, dismissively. “All that business is in the northern states. Where she’s from, it’s actually quite tranquil. There’s nothing but ranches and family farms. It’s the simple country life. So whenever it is we go, I’ll be quite alright.” He was confident in that. He knew nothing would happen, not just because he was Prince with security details, but because Paulina would sooner put herself in harms way before letting anything happen to him. “And anyway, if I had to get permission, Gran would bestow it. She’d let me go anywhere so long as Paulina were there.”

“That she would,” agreed Prince Philip, slightly smiling.

“What’s the smile for?” Harry blurted out. “Has Gran told you anything about –?”

Before he could speak any further, the door was opened and in walked Malcolm, the Butler of Balmoral Castle. He was a man in his early sixties, who had been employed at Balmoral since he came of age and who had held the position of Butler throughout the last twenty-seven years. He took great pride in his work, feeling honored to be a part of the tradition that is the monarchy, and it was with that pride that he introduced Paulina to the Princes. Though it wasn’t a formal introduction, not like when people call on them. It was more relaxed, still respectful, but it reflected the intimacy shared between the young woman and the Royals.

“Good morning Your Royal Highnesses, Miss Balcázar has now arrived.” Malcolm announced from his place at the door.

“Do see her in and send word for breakfast to be served.” Prince Philip replied.

“Very well, Sir.”

Malcolm bowed and then went outside to fetch Paulina, who was staring absentmindedly at a nearby window. She was in her own little world when Malcolm approached her. He actually had to address her twice before she realized he was standing there. She apologized for not having heard the first time, and then followed him into the dining room that was used for the day to day. When she entered, both Princes stood. Perhaps to some it would’ve seemed odd for the two titled men to stand for a commoner, but Prince Philip had been raised in a time when men always stood whenever a woman entered or left the room, and Harry (though not really practicing this on the regular basis) did the same whenever he was in the company of the older royals.

“Good morning, Miss Balcázar.” Prince Philip addressed her.

“Hello. Good morning.” Paulina greeted them, smiling all the while. “I’m sorry if I’m late. I tried to be quick about this, but I guess I wasn’t as fast as I thought. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Don’t be absurd, Miss Balcázar. You have not kept us waiting, I assure you.” Prince Philip took his seat, and the others followed suit. “And even if you had, it would’ve been understandable, what with breakfast having been moved up an hour. For that, I apologize, but you must understand that with the weather as agreeable as it is, it would’ve been a sin not to have set out early.”

“I do understand, Sir.” She said as she sat down and placed the napkin across her lap. “It’s a perfect day to be outdoors. I must admit I’m quite looking forward to exploring the woods and meadows that I’ve heard so much about.”

“There shall be plenty of time to survey the lands, though I must inform you that there shall be periods that will undoubtedly involve crawling across the moorland.”

“Crawling?” she repeated. Of course, she knew hunting would be very physical and demanding, but she didn’t know if she was up for crawling and getting all dirty and cold. “That’ll be quite the experience. I daresay I’ll have to stop myself from quoting Jane Eyre when we’re out on the moors.”

“Why not Wuthering Heights?” inquired Prince Philip.

“I didn’t much care for that novel, Sir.” She replied, politely. “It wasn’t much to my taste, but it’s for the best truly. I don’t think I’d be able to control myself if I’d have to keep myself from quoting both novels. I’d just be running about the moors quoting the Brontë sisters.”

“You think she’s joking granddad, but she would.” Harry joined in the conversation. “I’ve had her quote Austen to me before, several times actually.”

“Couldn’t help it,” said Paulina, slightly blushing. “Whenever I’m in Bath, I have to quote Austen. The same goes for meadows and any beautiful countryside. Pretty much anywhere in the United Kingdom that isn’t an imposing modern city. Those steel buildings don’t suit me. There’s no beauty to them, everything’s sleek and unbending. No. No beauty at all.”

“You sound like Charles,” commented Prince Philip. “He detests modern architecture.”

“That’s completely understandable in my opinion.” Paulina said and then she adjusted the scarf that the Queen had gifted her.

“That’s a lovely scarf.” Prince Philip complimented, knowing very well that it was his wife’s gift to the young woman. He had been present on the many evenings in which the Queen had personally embroidered the design onto the fabric. He didn’t wait for her to comment, he simply turned his head to the valet and footman, and said, “Ah, there you are, do come closer so we may choose.”

And just like that, breakfast truly began. It was a heartier meal than the one served on the previous day. That one had consisted of egg white omelets and fruits and whole wheat toasts, the current one consisted of bacon, poached eggs, sausages, grilled tomatoes, baked beans and toast with butter. It was filled with calories that were meant to keep them going through the long hike that lay ahead of them, and they all dug in. The Princes ate everything on the plate, leaving no crumb, and Paulina ate most of it, the poached eggs were the one thing she didn’t touch. There was something off and she hated the sight of the runny yolk. Eggs were meant to be cooked all the way, scrambled or fried or boiled to perfection, not left runny. So she left those untouched and ate the rest, though she only got a few spoonfuls of the baked beans, because again, they didn’t taste quite right.

After breakfast, they went out to the stables, where there was a massive room dedicated exclusively to hunting. There were rifles from throughout the last three centuries, each still in working condition. Though to be honest, the only ones that got much use nowadays were the modern ones that had been fitted with telescopic sights and silencers. They were the sort of rifles that one saw out in combat, the sort that took the true skill out of hunting, because anyone can shoot a target when they can be over a mile away. Those were the rifles that Paulina wasn’t the least but interested in. They also happened to be the rifles that Prince Philip and the Ghillie thought best suited for her. She was an amateur, after all. It was best to give her some sort of advantage, a boost of confidence that would aid her in the long day ahead, but she refused such a weapon. She wasn’t interesting in actually killing anything, she just wanted to fire and miss terribly, and that was why she went with the Winchester Model 76.

It was a heavy framed rifle that would tire her out. It was powerful and ill suited for one that had never taken up a gun before. That was the Ghillie kept telling her. He tried in vain to convince her to agree to something lighter, something that would make her first experience fun instead of challenging, but she stood her ground. She wanted the ’76 or nothing at all, and eventually, the Ghillie relented and allowed her to take up the rifle. Determined to make her see the error of her ways, he put together an impromptu shooting range to demonstrate just how powerful and exhausting that rifle was going to be. He had her lay prone, with her shoulders in line with the tree that acted as a target, and then he positioned the rifle so that its butt was held more on the shoulder joint, than the inside. In that position, he instructed her to shoot. When she did, the force of the rifle knocked right back onto her, and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from crying out.

That fucking rifle was for experienced hunters, for people who had grown up shooting and whose shoulders had gotten used to the violent force, not for her, but even then, she was determined to keep the gun. Surely, it would stop her from shooting at anything, and the pain that would surely emanate from her and the bruise that would undoubtedly form, would act as a reminder of why she hated guns so much.

The Ghillie had expected that after the little demonstration, she would ask to be given a rifle like that of Prince Philip, something that would be sturdy and light and make shooting easy, but he was taken aback when she said that the ’76 was perfect for her. It was an antique that suited her, and instead of arguing, he said if that was what the Miss liked, then the Miss would have it. Harry wasn’t as quick to give up as the Ghillie; he didn’t want her messing up her shoulder over that sort of rifle.

“Honestly darling, why don’t ya get something like what granddad and I have?” he asked her. “I reckon you’d be better off that way. After all, these rifles are ace. Just look at them.” And he put it on display for her. “These are better to have a hunt with. And it doesn’t matter if it’s your first time or not, these rifles are superior.”

“They might be,” was her reply. “But they’re not what I had in mind.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said. “Those rifles aren’t what I have in mind when I think of hunting. They’re like the sort of things people take to war. In fact, I’ve seen those things in documentaries and interviews about the wars in the Middle East.”

“That only means they’re efficient.” He argued.

“That means that they’re not what I want to hunt with.” She held firm. “I want the experience.” That was a lie. “If I’m to hunt, then I’ll do it right, with minimal technology to aid in my journey. Hunting’s supposed to be a skill that people develop, and I want to develop it with the ’76. Not to mention, I know for a fact Teddy Roosevelt had a few of these bad boys, so if they’re good enough for Theodore, they’re definitely good enough for me.”

“You are mental.”

“So I’ve heard.” And she grinned, despite the ache that emanated from her shoulder. “Now what’s next? We’ve got the rifles and the ammunition and all that. So are we waiting for more people or are we going to set off soon?”

“No. No one else is coming. Just the four of us,” he proudly informed her. “Though Gran will be coming down to give her blessing and all that. She always sees us off whenever we go without her, just to remind us to mind ourselves. You know, she just sort of does what Gran’s do.”

“Right,” she fiddled with her scarf, securing it a bit tighter.

“Granddad was right, that is a nice scarf.” Harry reached out to touch it. His fingertips traced the intricate embroidery. “Did your mum make it?”

“No.” She replied, smiling coyly. “I actually don’t know who made it. It was a gift.”

“Olivia?” he asked, casually.

She shook her head. “Nope, not her, though it is to her taste. This is definitely something Olivia would be all into. But it was actually from your grandmother.”

“My Gran?” he repeated, disbelief apparent in his voice.

“Yeah, from her,” she replied. “One moment she was wearing it, and the next she was putting it on me. Thought it was a little weird, but fuck it. I’m not gonna protest if she’s being nice to me.”

“If ya keep this up, it won’t be long before she has ya sitting next to her at dinner. Wait. Forget dinner. That’s too small. Give it awhile longer, and you’ll be taking precedence over Aunt Sophie. I can see it now, I can.”

“You’re so lame.”

“Go on then, pretend like ya don’t believe me, but it’s the truth. You’re a favorite of my Gran’s, give it a while longer and you’ll be the favorite.”

“Would that get me out of riding?” she asked as she inspected her rifle.

He shook his head. “You’d probably have to ride even more, accompany her and all that.”

“In that case, I’m perfectly content with simply being approved of.” She grinned. “Now is this thing really necessary?” she asked, pointing at the scope.

“Course it is, without it ya won’t be able to see what you’re shooting at.”

“I reckon it’d be fun to shoot blind, make things more challenging.” And then there’d be absolutely no chance of her killing anything.

“First learn how to shoot with it on, and then once you’ve mastered that, you can take it off.” Harry took a seat on the ground. “After all, ya can’t take off running if ya can’t even walk.”

“Of course you can.” She argued. “Sometimes ya just have to go for it.”

“Not when it comes to guns.” Harry said, very matter-of-factly.

“Hmm, guess you’re right about that.” She conceded as she sat down beside Harry. “How much longer do you think it’ll be?”

“Not much longer.” He rested his head against her shoulder. “She’ll be out soon enough and then you’ll get to see Scotland at its best.”

“I’ve already seen Scotland’s best.”

“Gets better, it does.”

“If it gets any better, I’ll find myself forced to become a squatter. I’ll build a hobbit hole in some hill. One where the sunrise hits just right so it’ll feel like the Shire.” As she spoke she gazed down at Harry. “Would you live in a hobbit hole with me?”

“Wouldn’t you rather a cottage?” He asked but gave her no time to reply. “I reckon I would. I don’t particularly fancy living in a hole, even if it is done up all cozy on the inside.”

“Then you won’t be invited to second breakfast.”

“Hold on there. I didn’t know we’d be going by hobbit mealtimes. That changes everything.”

“Does it now?”

He nodded. “If I can get at second breakfast and all that other goodness, then I’ll bloody well live in a hobbit hole with you. Now to convince Gran to give us a bit of land, I reckon I might have to strike a deal. How do you feel about riding with her whenever she feels like it?”

“If that’s what it takes to have a hobbit hole, so be it.” Paulina grinned. “And you’ll also have to make sure we get enough land to farm. I want a beautiful garden so we can grow our own fruits and vegetables.”

“But you’ve never grown anything,” he told her.

“Maybe not at Oxford, but I’ve got a vegetable patch back in Cambridge. Granted, it’s a joint endeavor with Meredith, but we’re both in there everyday, except when it snows. I fucking hate the snow.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I seriously don’t get how people can live there their entire lives. As soon as I’m done with Harvard, I’m out and never looking back.”

“Come off it. The weather can’t be that bad.”

“It is,” she argued. “I’m only putting up with it because I want that Harvard diploma. If it weren’t for that, my ass would be somewhere much more agreeable. Granted, it’d still be cold and rainy, but at least there wouldn’t be any snow.”

“Hold on there. Am I hearing things or did your arse just say you’d rather have been in England than California, if Harvard hadn’t been on the table?” As he spoke, he lifted his head off her shoulder. “What happened to sunshine being best?”

“Sunshine is best,” she firmly stated. “But . . . there’s nothing wrong with a little rain. I’ve come to appreciate it.” And she truly had. After dealing with a terribly long winter filled with snow, she now thought better of rain. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he asked, not following.

“How do you feel about snow? We’ve been together two years and yet I don’t know how you feel about snow.”

“S’alright,” was his reply. “I’m not mad about it, but I reckon it’s quite nice for skiing. Who knows, maybe you’d fancy it a bit more if you had a go at it.”

“Skiing?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it’d be a laugh.”

“I’m a Southern Californian, we don’t ski.” She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “The cold and wet aren’t something we do all that well.”

“But your arse just said that ya appreciate the rain now.”

“I do, but not the snow. How about we go somewhere warm better? Mexico! We should do Mexico. I mean, we’ve already been talking about going, so we should just do it. We’ll roam the hills and enjoy the warmth. You can meet the Hungarian side of my family!”

“I thought I already had.”

“Only two of them,” she said. “The others are still in Mexico. And then there’s still more of my dad’s family over there.”

“More than what was in California?” Harry couldn’t believe a family could be so big.

“Way more,” she replied with a smile. “I told you that I come from a big family.”

“I know, but I didn’t reckon it’d get much bigger.”

“Well it does, and you should be ready because when we start ours, I want –” she cut herself short, blushing furiously at her words. They’d discussed kids before, but in the abstract. They’d agreed that they wanted them, just not at the present. “I think we should stand up. Your Grandmother’s walking out.”

“What do ya want?” inquired Harry, not moving despite the fact that she was already standing.

“Huh?”

“What do ya want, when we start ours? I reckon I’d do well with at least two or three. How about you though?”

“Do ya really want to know?” She bit her bottom lip.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ve a right to know what I’m getting into. So tell me darling, what are we to have a decade or two down the line?”

“Four or five,” she replied, somewhat embarrassedly. “I know it sounds like a lot, but it’s not, not really.”

“Five’s a fine number.” He stood.

“Ya think so?”

“I do. Only I reckon we might need six, just so when we take official portraits there’ll be three to each side of us.”

“But with five, three can stand behind us and two at our side.”

“You’ve put quite a bit of thought into this.” He reached out for her hands. “And I must admit so have I.”

“And what have you thought?”

“That I want them to be raised primarily in the country. Perhaps up here in Balmoral or on one of the properties at Windsor, but I don’t want them mainly living in London.”

“But you love London.”

“Not for our kids,” he said, seriously.

And there was something so paternal in his tone that she couldn’t help but be in awe of the man that was standing before her. He was willing to give up living in his favorite in the entire world, just so their future kids could have a quieter upbringing.

“It’s fine enough for us,” Harry went on, “But I want them to live in a cottage. I know it sounds daft, but I want something simpler for them. Of course they’ll carry out their duties and all, they’ll owe it to their uncle, but they’ll have some peace . . . a bit of normality despite their titles.”

“That sounds brilliant to me.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “It really does.”

“Good.” Harry grinned. “And just so you know, there’ll be loads more hunting when we start our brood.”

“Not until they’re teenagers. I refuse to have them hunting before they’re thirteen.”

“Thirteen? That’s rubbish! I was already shooting by eight.”

“Good for you, but ours are gonna wait until they’re teenagers.”

“You’ll be singing a different tune once today’s over.”

“We’ll see about that.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Now come on, let’s get our blessing so we can get this show on the road.”

The blessing wasn’t much of a blessing. That is to say, it wasn’t anything at all like she imagined it’d be. She had been under the impression that the Queen would do the sign of the cross, perhaps recite a little hunting prayer that had been handed down through generations of Royals, or that she would at the very least utter a few words that would end with the standard amen, but there was none of that.

Her Majesty simply inspected their choice of rifles and told them to be mindful of themselves. That was the part she played in their pre-hunting ritual, and although it appeared to be a minor one to Paulina, it was meaningful to the two Princes, particularly to Prince Philip. After the exchange with his wife, he appeared even more confident and eager, much like a young lad that was keen to impress a beautiful bird with his hunting abilities. And Harry seemed pleased that his grandmother had seen him off. He knew it was silly, but ever since he was a little boy, whenever he went hunting and she was around, she would either join him or tell him to be careful. So in his heart, it wasn’t a proper hunt until she’d done her bit, and now that she had, he was ready to get on with it.

The Ghillie, who was to attend to them throughout their expedition, led the way. He and two security details were the only staff members that would accompany the Royals on their hunt. Had Harry had his way, there wouldn’t have been any security details, but even at Balmoral, the Queen elected to have security details close at hand. There was always an element of risk when it came to Royalty, and she wouldn’t let her guard down for even a moment, not when it came to her safety or that of her family. That was why she sent Denison and Nathaniel, two of her most trusted men, along with them.

Unlike Harry, Paulina didn’t mind the security details. They weren’t intrusive. They hardly ever spoke. They mostly just hung back a few feet and carried Prince Philip’s rifles, along with a few supplies. It was easy to forget they were there, especially since the countryside was so enchanting. She hadn’t the time to worry about what Denison or Nathaniel were doing or thinking, not when she was engrossed in the moors, not when her eyes were hungrily taking in everything before her. She had fancied herself an expert when it came to the beauty of the moors. She’d read so many books involving them, seen so many films in which they were featured, and owned several paintings portraying them, but now that she was out there, now that she was hiking through them, she realized that their beauty had never been properly captured.

Words failed to describe the magnificence of the landscape, film failed to translate the vividness of its many colors and the enchanting melody that rang through it, and the canvas failed in its attempt to capture the soul of the moors.

Every medium had fallen short. Everything that Paulina had based her expectations on had been wrong, and she was fine with that. More than fine, actually – she was glad. She was glad that the landscape was more beautiful than she’d ever dared dreams, glad of the sounds of the moors, glad that everything was so vivid and powerfully moving. Her senses were heightened there. She’d never felt more alive than she did when she was out on those moors, even Paris didn’t compare.

And it was with a massive grin and eager eyes that she hikes. She didn’t even mind the burning that emanated from her calves. The exercise was exhausting, unlike anything she’d ever had to endure before and the boots were uncomfortable, because they hadn’t been broken in yet, but still she went on with a joyful heart. She was elated throughout their entire walk, because she was so absorbed with the landscape, so taken by nature’s sweet song that she completely forgot about the rifle she was carrying or the fact that once they stopped moving, they’d be actively hunting.

For a little over an hour, she was able to keep herself from thinking of that, but then the Ghillie decided they’d gone far enough. It was time to hunt. He ordered them to get on their bellies. They were going to crawl a good while if they wanted to really get in there unnoticed. And so she slung the rifle over her shoulder and began to crawl, following Harry closely. As she crawled, she contemplated turning back. Perhaps she could say that breakfast hadn’t sat well with her. Maybe say that she hadn’t had a decent nights sleep so her body was out of whack. Countless excuses crept into her mind as she sank her elbows into the earth and pulled herself forward, but she didn’t dare utter a single one. She wasn’t going to let Harry down by chickening out. After all, she owed him this. He was mostly a good sport when it came to her thing, so she owed him this one, and there was also very little chance of her actually shooting anything. She’d selected a rifle that she couldn’t properly operate, she couldn’t look right through the scope, and the intensity with which the rifle hit back was sure to make her wobble and lose her aim if the Ghillie or anyone else positioned it for a kill shot. She was going to fail at hunting. She was determined to do, and she kept reminding herself of that as she pushed forward across the moist earth.

All she had to do was hang back, let the others do their thing, and then make an attempt of it that would fail. That was all she had to do. So she kept at it, and when they reached the fertile lands, she took her place beside Harry, who was setting up like a pro. She was on her belly, pretending to inspect her rifle. It was odd really, because she didn’t know the proper names for anything or how things were supposed to look. She had a vague inclination, because she’d seen that rifle in books about Theodore Roosevelt. It was from those black and white images that her knowledge stemmed, so she was very ignorant, but she was skilled at putting on a thoughtful face, and she was left alone as the others set up.

But then they finished setting up, and the Ghillie was sent over to her by Prince Philip. The Ghillie, a Scotsman by the name of Owen, lay down beside her. He took the rifle from her and began going over the different parts, as well as how to load and unload. He’d already gone over the latter, but figured it’d be best to give them another run through, for safe measure. When he finished with that, he began giving her tips, some specific to her rifle and others to hunting in general. He didn’t believe she’d end up being a good shot. She was an American that didn’t seem to have the stomach for it, but still he advised her. He told her to concentrate on her breathing, to not let the hit back from the rifle get the best of her and to never take her eyes off the target. It was simple advice he gave, and when it was done, he once again tried to convince her to change her rifle. He’d taken along a rifle similar to that of the Princes, believing that once they got out there, she’d be willing to trade with him, but one again he was refused.

Deciding that he’d done everything he could do for Paulina, Owen excused himself and returned to Prince Philip, leaving Paulina to be overtaken by her exhaustion. While they were hiking, she hadn’t been conscious of the ache in her legs or her need of rest. She’d been far too engrossed in the landscape, but now that she was lying on her belly, left alone as the others prepared themselves for the hunt, she was quite at liberty to give in. As such, she set aside her rifle and rested her head atop her left arm and went in for a nap that was only supposed to last a couple minutes, but ended up lasting twenty. It wasn’t until Harry nudged her to say that the deer was in clear view that she woke.

“What do you want?” she grumbled groggily.

“Was your arse sleeping?” he asked, smiling in amusement.

“I’d say no, but I’m pretty sure I my eyes give me away.” She lifted her head up and carefully rubbed the bottom corner of her eye, mindful not to get rid of the make up. “What happened though? Did I sleep through the hunting? I was only resting my eyes for a little bit, and I didn’t hear any shooting. I was counting on that as my wake up alarm.”

“Don’t be daft,” said Harry. “This is your first time out here, so you get first shot.”

It was then that her eyes fully opened.

“What?”

“Ya get first shot.” He repeated.

“I couldn’t possibly,” she began. “Your grandfather should have first shot. After all, he is the host. So he should have first shot, it’s only right.”

“It’s not, actually.” Harry argued. “It’s tradition that when a person goes out to hunt for the first time, they get first shot. So come on then, let’s have at it. I know Owen coached you a bit, but I reckon I might be a bit better.”

Not wanting to insult their traditions, she grabbed her rifle and listened closely as Harry instructed. He basically just said everything that Owen already had, but she humored him and acted as if she was barely hearing the information for the first time. When he finished with the pointers, he positioned the rifle for her and in a soft voice, pointed out the spots where the deer were roaming.

“All you’ve got to do is look down the scope and find one, after that, it’s just a pull of the trigger.” He said, staring intently at her. “I know you’re probably worried that we’re a bit too far off, since Grandfather and I have the high tech weapons that can shoot from far distances, but I promise that’s not the case. The reason we crawled so much was to get within the shooting range of your gun, so you’ll be fine, so long as you can aim and shoot, you’ll be well off. And I reckon you might even have a trophy from your first hunt.”

“You guys give trophies?” she asked, naively.

“Not those sorts of trophies.” Harry fought back a laugh. “I meant, well, you know. A trophy’s a kill.”

“Right, right . . .” She took in a deep breath. “Well, I guess it’s time I get myself a trophy.”

“That’s the spirit, darling.” Harry proudly placed a kiss on her cheek. “And try to make it a big one.” He paused. “In fact, there are quite a few big ones, just down a bit there. Remember to keep the rifle firm. You’ve got to show it who’s boss, because with those older models, you’ve really got to work for it.”

She nodded in understanding and then lowered her gaze to the scope so she could find a tree near a deer to shoot at. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated and the right side of her lip hitched up slightly. He hadn’t been lying when he said there were quite a few large deer, there appeared to be nearly a dozen and then there were smaller ones, which instantly made her think of Bambi and made her sick to her stomach. It was then that she lowered the rifle and gritted her teeth. She could do this. All she had to do was find a tree, one a few yards away to shoot at that way they’d see that she made an effort at it, but that she just wasn’t skilled at it.

With that in mind, she discreetly moved her aim away from the area where all the deer were gathered. She didn’t want to miss the target she was meant to be aiming at and hit another deer on accident. So she aimed her rifle somewhere a bit sparser, and when she found a medium sized deer, she waited until it was near a tree. That didn’t happen right there. Several minutes passed before that blessed deer found itself in close enough proximity to a tree, but when it happened, when it was near enough to make missing appear unforced, she pulled the trigger and the bullet went shooting out. It whizzed by the deer, barely missing the top of its head, and when it struck the tree, the deer went running.

“Fucking hell!” cursed Harry, struggling to keep his voice from getting to loud. “Ya nearly had that one. If you’d just . . .” he trailed off, not wanting to appear upset with her. He wasn’t mad at her. He was pleased that she’d had a close shot, but if only she’d had a proper rifle and not an antique, she would’ve had her first kill on her first shot. “That was a brilliant shot, believe me. For your first time, it’s impressive by how little you missed, but it’s just . . . ya nearly had it! Only a bit closer and ya would’ve had a trophy on your first try. But it’s alright. I know on this second attempt, you’ll be even better.”

“But it left,” she pointed out, trying to keep her mind off the pain emanating from her shoulder. “And the others booked it.”

“Booked it?” repeated a confused Harry.

Even after so much time together, they still said things that the others didn’t quite understand.

“Ran off,” she said. “As soon as they others heard the shot they just left.”

“Of course they did. They’re not daft.”

“Then how am I gonna shoot them?”

“Because they’ll be back,” he said, simply. “We’ll just for them. This is their home, after all. They might run off for a bit, but they’ll be back. And when they do, we’ll be waiting for them.”

“He’s right, Miss Balcázar.” Prince Philip spoke up. “They always return in the end. It might take half an hour, perhaps a bit longer, but they’ll come back. Now, you and my grandson are at liberty to await their return at this location, but I daresay I’ll be going after them. You are more than welcome to accompany me.”

“I thank you, Sir, but I believe I might do a bit better here.” Paulina replied.

“That is true.” Prince Philip stood up. “You can work on your marksmanship; improve your ability so when the deer do return you’ll secure yourself a trophy.” He handed his rifle off to Owen. “I shall not be gone long. Do enjoy yourselves and remember to never take your eyes off the target, Miss Balcázar. I believe I saw you look away just before you pulled the trigger. You must be mindful of such things. It is easy for one to believe that the shot has been set up and vigilance is no longer necessary, but until you pull that trigger, you must keep your eyes firmly in place. Now, Owen, Nathaniel, let’s be on our way. Denison, do look after them.”

In Prince Philip’s absence, Harry further instructed Paulina in the art of hunting. Had he not been so passionate in his teaching, he would’ve noticed that his pupil had put on the face she wore whenever she politely humored people, but he was so engrossed, so thrilled to share this bit of his life, that he failed to notice that look. Paulina wanted to be excited about hunting, she wanted to share this much beloved pursuit with him, but she couldn’t. She hated guns. She hated hunting. She’d never been hunting before, but she’d always known that she hated it. It was a hatred that stemmed from watching Bambi as a child. She’d cried like mad when she was five years old and understood what happened to Bambi’s mother. Actually, she still cried like mad whenever she saw that movie. She’d watched it with Isabel and Ronaldo, and had cried quite a bit. And as ridiculous as it seemed, she didn’t want to kill Bambi’s cousin or uncle or aunt or grandparent or . . . she just didn’t have the heart for it. It wasn’t in her. She didn’t feel the thrill of the hunt. It was all pointless to her. She’d eaten deer once before and she’d hated the taste, so if she killed something, she wasn’t going to honor it by using it at all. But she refused to share her reservations with Harry. She’d put on a brave face, and when it came her turn to shoot once more, she’d miss. She didn’t care if Harry started cursing and yelling again or if Prince Philip criticized her technique. The only thing that mattered to her was coming across as a bad shot, because if she was a bad shot, then maybe, just maybe, they’d never ask her to accompany them on a hunt again.

They were on their own for well over two hours. Most of that time was spent in instruction, but Paulina eventually convinced Harry that she understood everything he was saying, and confident in her words, he decided to venture down into the deer’s dwelling. While he did that, Paulina climbed a nearby tree and settled herself in there. She had been carrying around a small rucksack, filled with water and snacks and also a few books. Since she was being allowed time to herself, she pulled out her tattered copy of Jane Eyre. It wouldn’t have been right to have gone into the moors without having read it. It would’ve been absolutely unpardonable, and that was why she read it with such a massive smile on her face. She genuinely enjoyed reading up in that tree. It was so much better than hunting. Not that Harry would agree, but she thought so. And she took great pleasure in reading up there. She would’ve been content to have passed the rest of the hunting excursion up in the tree, but when Prince Philip returned, they asked her to come down and join them.

Prince Philip had been successful in his tracking, but unsuccessful in securing a trophy, which is ridiculous considering the weapon he had, but still, for some reason or another, the hunter returned without anything and was determined to do better now that the deer had returned.

“Then you should have first shot, Sir.” Paulina had said. “It wouldn’t be right for me to shoot and startle them off, not when this is your favorite sport.”

“Nonsense,” was Prince Philip’s reply. “First shot is yours. Only this time, we shall be at the ready, so when your shot rings out, we may take our own.”

“Oh . . .”

“Is that not to your liking?” inquired Prince Philip.

“It is. Of course, it is.” She lied, hurriedly. “It’s an honor, truly. I was only . . . I’m nervous. I’ve practiced with Henry, but I’m not quite yet confident in my abilities.”

“Nervous?” Prince Philip shook his head. “Miss Balcázar, the only reason one should ever feel nervous with a rifle is if one is on the wrong side of it.”

The elderly Prince didn’t say anything further. Perhaps others would’ve uttered rousing words of encouragement, but he didn’t think there was a need to. There was no need to be nervous, either she’d miss or she’d get a trophy. Those were the only two possible outcomes, and although he was rooting for the latter, he wouldn’t be terribly upset if it was the former. This was her first outing and since she didn’t come from a family who valued hunting, it was only natural that she not be skilled at it.

Knowing there was no way to get out of it, she went back to her place. Earlier in the day, the earth had been comfortable. Its dampness had been welcomed. It cooled her down from the near hour of walking, but now it was a bother. She didn’t want to be wet and dirty anymore. She wanted a shower and tea and dinner. She wanted to sleep more than anything, but there was still hunting to be done. So with a face that didn’t betray her emotions, she lay down on the ground and picked up her rifle. All she had to do was fuck up convincingly. She couldn’t fuck up right away of course. There was no way they’d believe it was a mistake if she shot as soon as she laid down, so she was there a good while, scoping out the forest. The deer were still coming back. With every passing moment their numbers swelled, and she allowed ten minutes to lapse, it was ten minutes since her brief exchange with Prince Philip ended that she finally decided it was time to shoot.

Again, she looked for a deer near a tree, but that time the damn things wouldn’t stand close enough to them, which was ridiculously, considering they were practically in a fucking forest. But no – no! They wandered neared bushes, they went into clearings, but the trees were no longer good enough. And she was starting to grow a little frantic, because the others were looking at her. They’d already gotten into position to shoot as soon as she shot, but they kept glancing over to her to see if it was time to go. And she hated it. She hated the fact that they were staring at her while she was looking down the scope to try to find a deer to pretend to try to kill. She could feel their eyes on her and she had half a mind to tell them to fuck off, that she couldn’t shoot while they were staring at her like that, but she couldn’t that. No. For God’s sake, she couldn’t do that. All she could do was sweat profusely as she struggled to keep herself in an uncomfortable position. She had to find a deer soon. She had to shoot before they realized she was cowardly when it came to that.

“Everything alright, darling?” whispered Harry.

“Yes.” She replied as she kept her eyes firmly fixed ahead.

“Then why haven’t ya fired?” he pressed.

“Because I haven’t found one I like.”

“They’re not bloody shirts.” Harry was starting to grow irritated. “Just pick one, already.

With narrowed eyes, she turned to him. “You pick!”

“That one!” and he pointed at a stag that was standing in front of high bushes. “Get the stag in front of those bushes.”

She didn’t say anything. She simply turned to where he pointed, and when she saw no one was behind the stag she positioned her rifle and then proceeded to look down the scope. She aimed low, hoping that the bullet would bury itself in the earth, and taking in a deep breath, willing that beautiful creature not to move, she pulled the trigger.

It missed the stag.

Thankfully, it was a few inches short of it, but unfortunately, the high bush had concealed a female deer. She didn’t know that immediately. She didn’t know that it was a female deer that had been struck. She just heard a strange noise, a piercing sound she’d never heard before and despite the fact that the Princes were now shooting, she could make it out, and she knew she’d fucked up. Without thinking, she cast aside the rifle and ran down. She didn’t care if the others were still shooting. She ran. The child in her demanded that she run to see if she’d killed Bambi’s mama. Fortunately for her, the others soon realized she’d gone into the danger zone, and since they’d already killed their trophies, they set down their rifles and while Prince Philip went to inspect his kill, Harry chased after her.

When he reached her, she was kneeling beside a dying hind. Her hands were covering the wound, thinking that if she just pressed on it hard enough it’d be alright. That was what they did in the movies. Not to deer, of course, but to people, but the same principle had to work. If she could stop the bleeding, she could find a vet and have her taken care of. She had to have her taken care of, because she was someone’s mama and she wasn’t supposed to get hit.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“Trying to stop the bleeding,” she said, her voice wavering.

“I can see that.” He crouched down beside her. “Why?”

“Because I wasn’t supposed to hit her!” she replied. “You said to aim at the stag, and I did, but then . . . then she got hurt and she wasn’t supposed to.”

“S’alright.” Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter if it was her or the stag, as long as you’ve got yourself a trophy, you’re fine.”

“This isn’t a trophy.” She couldn’t keep up the act anymore. “And I’m most certainly not fine! I tried to get into this. I really loved the landscape. The hiking was great! But this,” she lifted a bloodied hand to point to the injured animal, “This isn’t fun. And I’m sorry that I can’t share in the pleasure of this tradition, but this isn’t for me. Now go and get your trophy.”

“Don’t be cross with me!” he got defensive. “I’ve not done a thing.”

“Henry, I’m not looking for an argument. I’m just trying to figure out how to make her better.”

“Ya can’t.” He couldn’t understand why she was so upset. Then again, he’d never watched Bambi. “You’ve shot her, and all you’re doing now is prolonging her pain.”

“That’s not true. I’m gonna make her better.”

“How?” he questioned. “We’ve nearly an hour hike ahead of us and now with the deer, it’ll be longer. By the time we get that back, she’ll be dead and she’ll have suffered more for it.”

“You’re lying. I can get a vet.”

“They’d laugh at ya.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” she questioned, a desperation taking over her voice.

“Put it out of its misery.”

“No!”

“It’s what’s right.” Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol. “Here.” He waited, but she made no move to take it. “Either you do it or I do. Go on, decide which way will be more honorable.”

“I’ll do it.” She was starting to cry now, and he was genuinely taken aback.

He’d thought she was being difficult and oversensitive, but as he looked into her eyes, he saw the sadness he saw in his mother’s whenever she sent them off to hunt with their father. Diana had hated hunting. Only once had she joined Charles in it. She’d been lucky, if that’s the right word, and had killed a beautiful stag, but then the Ghillie bloodied her, because it was tradition. He grabbed blood from the animal and smeared it across her forehead, and Diana took off crying, because it was a dreadful, dreadful thing.

“You don’t have to do it,” he said, his voice softened. “Go with Denison. I’ll take care of this.”

“I condemned her. It’s only right I free her.” And she took the pistol into her hand. “Is the safety off?”

He replied that it was.

With a gentleness she didn’t know she had, she stroked the deer where the flesh was unharmed and sang softly in Spanish. She soothed the deer to the point where she lowered her head and stopped making those horrid noises, now it was only the ragged breathing that could be heard. Paulina waited until the deer seemed at peace, and she lowered her lips to place a kiss and to ask forgiveness, because she honestly hated herself as much as she did the hunter that killed Bambi’s mama. She then pulled away and grabbed the pistol with both hands. With tear filled eyes she aimed at where she believed the heart to be and fired.

The deer made no further sound.

The wailing that echoed came from Paulina.

Unable to control herself, she collapsed atop her trophy. Had she been careful, she wouldn’t have allowed her face to fall onto the bullet hole, but she did. The blood was smeared across her face, and when she smelled it, she grew nauseous.

“Henry . . .” she whispered, pulling away from the creature. “I don’t feel . . .”

And then, because she was exhausted and disgusted with herself and because she felt something wasn’t quite right, she fainted.