Everyone froze.
Some mouths hung open. Some eyes went wide. A handful of the devout actually dropped to their knees, hands clasped, lips moving in silent prayer.
"Good!" someone shouted.
"Long live!" "Long live!" "Long live!"
The cheers crashed over the clearing like a wave, flushing whole flocks of birds from the trees in a black storm across the sky.
The white stag jerked its head up at the noise, alarm flashing in its dark eyes.
Joffrey reached out fast and laid a gentle hand on its neck.
He reconnected with that strange thread of feeling.
The stag settled.
Then it turned its head and looked straight at him.
Its clear gaze was like a mountain stream, carrying one simple, eternal question.
What's for dinner?
Joffrey couldn't help smiling.
He took a handful of salted barley from a retainer, held it out in his palm, and offered it.
The stag sniffed once, lowered its head, and licked it up.
"Come with me," Joffrey said softly. "Plenty of good food back home."
He wasn't sure it understood.
But once it finished eating, the stag stood and followed right at his heels.
Robert's gaze bounced between Joffrey and the stag.
"I've hunted half my damn life," he said, "and I've never seen anything like that."
Joffrey smiled at him.
"Father, how was my practice shot?"
"Good?" Robert strode over for a closer look at the beast. "Good my ass!"
His eyes were shining.
He reached out to touch the snow-white coat, then pulled back halfway—like he was afraid of startling it.
Or afraid the whole thing would vanish if he laid a finger on it.
"Your Grace!" one noble blurted, voice shaking with excitement. "The stag is the royal sigil!"
"Prince Joffrey taming a white stag—this is the gods' own blessing!"
"Yes, exactly!" another noble jumped in. "Heaven itself is watching over House Baratheon!"
Robert glanced at the man, then grinned wide.
"Well said!" he boomed. "Take this stag back to the Red Keep. Put it in the gardens!"
"Let every soul in the realm see that my son Joffrey made the Kingswood's white stag kneel to him of its own free will!"
"Long live Your Grace!" the lords roared.
The sun slid west.
The hunting party made camp in a forest clearing.
Crackling bonfires threw sparks up toward the stars.
Joffrey tended a skillet of bacon, the rich smell drifting on the night air. His eyes kept drifting to the white stag lying a few feet away, head resting on its front hooves, dark eyes half-closed.
He wondered if the animal really did have some kind of spirit.
He'd promised it food, shelter, and even a few mates if it followed.
And here it was, trailing along the whole way.
After scratching its head, one thought rose in Joffrey's mind.
Good thing you didn't run.
Otherwise…
"That venison is going to be incredible—send some over to Lord Eddard!"
Even while he thought it, Joffrey couldn't relax.
He stared into the fire, listening to the wind move through the trees.
Maybe it was the stag. Maybe the wildly over-the-top cheers. Or maybe the quiet dread he felt about whatever might happen to Robert next.
He'd already lived through Bran's fall.
Some things you couldn't stop no matter how hard you tried.
The next few days the party kept roaming the woods.
The legendary great bear never showed.
Every boar they flushed was small. Robert wouldn't touch them.
So they followed the king as he crashed through the trees, cursing everything under the sun.
Every time Lancel handed over a wineskin, Joffrey checked it first to make sure none of that homemade firewater appeared again.
"Hunting's just like war," Robert said after a long pull.
Joffrey looked at him.
"You see a man's true colors out here," Robert went on, eyes on the dense forest ahead, voice unusually calm. "The loudmouths who scream at the first boar are the first to run when real fighting starts. The hotheads who charge straight in are green boys who won't last three battles. A real hunter knows when to wait, when to strike, and when to pull back."
He turned to Joffrey.
"That shot you took the other day—you missed on purpose, didn't you?"
Joffrey paused.
Robert grinned. "I've hunted long enough to spot it. That arrow was meant to scare off the wolves, not hit the stag."
Joffrey was quiet a beat, then nodded.
Robert clapped him on the back.
"Whether you felt sorry for it or just wanted it for yourself… before you act, you damn well better know the consequences and be sure you can handle what comes next."
He spurred his horse.
"Let's go! Today we're finding something big!"
Joffrey watched the man and felt a flicker of strangeness.
At dusk they found a cave.
Robert only lasted three hours before he was back to his old self.
When the huge beast was driven out of its den, everyone sucked in a sharp breath.
It was the size of a small bull, tusks over a foot long, bristles standing straight up its back, tiny eyes gleaming with savage light.
The so-called great bear had vanished long ago.
But this boar was ten times more terrifying.
The second Robert saw it, he forgot every word of the wisdom he'd just preached.
"That's the one!"
He swung down from his horse and grabbed a boar spear from a retainer.
Joffrey wanted to stop him, but Robert was already charging.
"Everyone stay back—this one's mine!" he bellowed. "Anyone who gets in my way gets the spear first!"
The boar lowered its head, hooves pawing the ground, a low threatening rumble in its throat.
Robert leveled the spear and advanced slowly.
Man and beast faced off in the clearing.
Then the boar charged—head down, straight at him like it had a rider guiding it.
"Good beast!"
Robert laughed and met it head-on.
Joffrey instantly triggered [Affection and Righteousness].
He tried to reach the boar's mind, slow it, make it flee—
"Ugh!"
The connection snapped back hard.
No.
This wasn't an ordinary animal at all.
Its mind held no thoughts.
No fear, no hesitation—just pure, primal, all-consuming rage.
Joffrey's pupils shrank.
But sober Robert didn't need help.
He thrust the spear with perfect precision, driving it into the boar's shoulder right above the foreleg, straight into the heart.
A killing blow.
Timing, angle, power—all flawless.
Just like sixteen years ago at the Trident when he'd smashed his warhammer into Rhaegar's chest.
The boar let out a piercing squeal, front legs buckling as it dropped to its knees.
Joffrey's heart, which had been in his throat, slowly eased.
Robert raised his left hand, ready for the cheers.
Crack!
A sharp snap rang out.
The boar spear in his hand broke clean in two.