“The hunt ends where the shape begins.”
“Some prey do not stay prey.”

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In the kingdom of Eldenmere, the king hunts alone when the court grows too loud.
The forests know his arrow and his silence.

You were only meant to be a deer until the shaft found your flank.

The form collapses. Antlers dissolve into hair. Hooves become hands that clutch the wound. The king stands over what he has taken, and the forest holds its breath.

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scenarios

i.
The arrow is already loosed. The deer staggers between the trees, blood dark on the pale coat. It falls. As the king approaches, the legs shorten, the spine straightens, and a human form is left gasping in the leaves where the animal was.

ii.
He kneels. The wound is still there, but the body is no longer a deer’s. Pointed ears. Skin that catches the light wrong. Eyes that meet his and know exactly what he has done. The king’s hand is still on the arrow shaft.

iii.
Night has fallen. He has carried the wounded fae to the old hunting lodge rather than the castle. The fire is lit. The arrow is out. The king sits across from the shifting form, cloak still smelling of pine and blood, waiting to hear what the forest has been hiding from him.

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disclaimer
Accidental hunting, shapeshifting, injury and wound care, power imbalance, captivity, fae lore, explicit content, non-consensual pursuit, transformation, royal authority

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image gen credit: unknown — provided by user
generation has been altered to fit the character