A Knot in the Grain by Robin McKinley

remember. The people have declared that they wish to welcome us; so let us allow ourselves to be welcome.”
    They buried the Regent with restrained pomp and the respect that might have been due a queen’s uncle who had stood by her and cared for her when her parents died while she was yet too young to rule herself. Gelther, who knew much more about the Regent than he would ever have admitted to his wife, would let no man say a word against him. None ever knew if he had died naturally, or been slain, by his own hand, or another’s; perhaps even by a portent he had wrongly tried to call up.
    Her people did indeed honor their queen when she returned to them; they could not leap quickly enough to do her bidding, smile quickly enough when her eye fell upon them, clamor loudly enough to serve her, spread quickly enough the tales of her evenhanded justice, of her kindness to the weak and patience with the confused. But their hearts were perhaps particularly captured by the prince, who was loud and strong and merry—it was noticed that the queen never laughed—and who refused to be crowned king in deference to his wife, who, he said, “is the real thing.” And of course, the people of Arn had seen Gelther only in triumph, and the fact that the queen did not find anything in her native land to rouse her to laughter perhaps stirred memories they wished to forget.
    Gelther also made Arn’s army the finest in the whole of the Damarian continent, and all the countries near Arn were very careful to stay on the most cordial terms with it; and the Arnish families’ greatest pride was to have a son or two or three in the prince’s army. A goodly number of the young men who flocked to carry the Arnish prince’s banner came from other countries, for tales of the prince’s greatness travelled far.
    Ruen bore four children, all sons; and she was kind and loving to them, and they responded with kindness and love. But, although there was perhaps no one to notice, her maternal kindness was little more exacting than the kindness she gave the least of her subjects who pleaded for her aid. But perhaps it was only that she had so little in common with her children; for while her sons treated her always with respect, they thought of nothing but the army once they were old enough to be propped up on their first ponies.
    The people did notice that the queen seemed most at ease with folk young enough not to remember the days of the Regent’s rule; but her people chose to tell one another that many women are happiest in the company of those they may pretend are their children, and such a one was their queen. It had been only a very short time after Gelther accepted the Arnish welcome in the queen’s name that all her subjects were eager to tell her that they had forgotten the Regent entirely—and the longer anyone had lived under him, the more eager he was to proclaim his complete lack of memory—if she had asked; but she never asked.
    Her youngest son was eleven years old and would soon outgrow his third pony the morning that her eldest burst in on his parents’ quiet breakfast. “Father! We go hunting today! There are sightings of a great stag—as large as the one that gored you when you met Mother—to the northwest. Several sightings. He’s been showing himself to different villages but everyone’s been afraid to mention it … seems they think he’s half man or something, and an ill portent—some nonsense about something my stupid great-uncle did. You’d think they’d have forgotten by now.”
    â€œNo.” It was so unusual for the queen to say anything when the conversation turned to hunting that both Gelther and their son gaped at her.
    Gelther swallowed. “No … er … what?”
    â€œNo, you will not hunt this stag. I insist.” She opened her wide eyes wider and fixed them on her handsome husband. “You shall not