The forest had been loud earlier.
Men shouting. Horses snorting. Steel clashing against wood. The false chaos of nobles pretending at danger while calculating reputation and marriage prospects with every arrow released.
But this part of the forest was different.
It was quiet in a way that did not feel peaceful.
It felt… listening.
Niana stood still, her breath shallow beneath the weight of her riding cloak. The red-haired noble remained a few steps away from her, posture relaxed but eyes sharp — too sharp for a man who had nearly been "accidentally" trampled moments ago.
The ambush had retreated.
Too easily.
Branches swayed where the conspirators had disappeared. No pursuit followed. No accountability. Of course not. This was a noble competition. Blood spilled in the woods could always be explained away.
He studied her.
"You intervened," he said finally, voice smooth, measured. "At a precise moment."
Niana offered him a composed smile — the kind taught to Valeris daughters before they learned how to read.
"I dislike poor sportsmanship."
A corner of his mouth twitched faintly.
"And yet," he continued, stepping slightly closer, lowering his voice so it threaded between them rather than carried, "you moved as though you knew exactly where the arrows would fall."
She held his gaze.
The world seemed to narrow.
Because she did.
And that was the problem.
Before she could craft an answer—
The forest erupted.
Not with controlled chaos.
Not with staged aggression.
But with something real.
A deep, guttural roar tore through the trees, shaking leaves loose from their branches. Birds scattered violently overhead. The ground trembled.
Both of them turned at once.
Too late.
A massive boar burst from the underbrush, tusks long and curved like ivory blades, its hide scarred and dark with old fights. Its eyes were wild — not driven by instinct alone, but pain.
An arrow protruded from its flank.
Poorly placed.
The red-haired noble cursed under his breath.
"That's not part of the course."
The boar charged.
Not at him.
At her.
There was no time to think. No time to weigh consequences.
Niana's body reacted before her mind caught up — she stepped back, calculating angle, terrain, distance—
But the ground betrayed her.
Her heel caught against a root buried beneath leaves.
For a split second — that horrible, elongated second — she saw it clearly:
This was not in the story.
This was not how she remembered events.
The red-haired noble moved faster than she expected.
He lunged forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her sharply toward him just as the boar's tusk sliced through where she had stood. The animal barreled past, crashing into a tree with violent force before turning again.
His grip tightened around her waist.
Too close.
Much too close.
"Can you stand?" he asked quietly.
She swallowed.
"Y-yes."
He released her immediately — controlled, deliberate — already drawing his bow in one fluid motion. This time there was no theatrical flourish. No audience.
Just survival.
The boar charged again.
He waited.
Waited.
Waited—
And released.
The arrow pierced cleanly through the creature's eye. The impact was immediate, brutal. The boar staggered, momentum carrying it forward before it collapsed heavily against the forest floor.
Silence.
Heavy.
Thick.
Niana realized she was gripping the fabric of his sleeve.
She let go as though burned.
"You are reckless," he said calmly, lowering his bow.
"I was..." she replied, straightening her cloak.
He looked at her.
Longer this time.
"This is all because you entered the hunting grounds."
It was not a question.
Before she could answer—
Distant horns sounded.
Not the elegant call of ceremonial progress.
But the sharp triple-note of alert.
The atmosphere shifted.
Somewhere in the forest, riders were shouting.
And for the first time since she arrived—
Niana felt it.
Something had gone wrong beyond this clearing.
The red-haired noble's expression sharpened.
"This is no longer a competition."
And then—
Elsewhere.
Deeper into the marked hunting zone.
Lucien stood alone in a clearing littered with fallen game.
A stag. Two boars. Three foxes. And the massive shadow of a bear cooling at the edge of the brush.
He had not changed out of his butler's uniform.
Not even the gloves.
The nobles had laughed when the horn first sounded.
They were not laughing now.
Whispers followed him instead.
"Is he even trained?" "That's not regulation attire." "He's showing off." "He's trying to embarrass us."
Lucien did not respond.
He adjusted his cuff calmly, wiping a thin streak of blood from his glove with a handkerchief.
He had no interest in reputation.
Only in the prize.
The holy artifact.
For her.
Unconsciously — without realizing —
His fingers brushed against his forehead.
The place she had kissed.
He stilled.
Then lowered his hand as though caught doing something indecent.
The count had reached nine.
Nine confirmed kills.
He did not miss.
A branch snapped behind him.
He did not turn.
"I thought you would be further ahead," came a familiar voice from the trees.
Lucien's gaze shifted slightly.
A shadow detached itself from the undergrowth — dressed in dark leathers, movements silent, presence controlled.
An ally.
One assigned to watch from a distance.
Lucien's expression did not change.
"You're not here to compliment my efficiency."
The shadow hesitated.
Then said quietly—
"Lady Niana has entered the hunting grounds."
Everything stilled.
The wind. The leaves. Even the distant sounds of riders.
Lucien turned slowly this time.
"What?"
"She left the spectator route. We lost sight of her near the eastern ridge."
For a moment—
Just a moment—
His composure cracked.
"She what."
The ally swallowed.
"We are searching, but—"
Lucien stepped forward.
"You let her wander alone?"
"She dismissed—"
Lucien did not let him finish.
His jaw tightened, something dark flickering beneath the polished restraint.
"Where."
"The eastern sector. Near the older tree line."
"They lost her," the shadow admitted quietly.
Something dangerous settled behind Lucien's eyes.
Not anger loud and explosive.
But cold.
Controlled.
Furious.
He looked down briefly at the field of hunted game around him.
Nine.
The prize was within reach.
He exhaled once.
Then—
He turned away from it all.
"Continue the count," he ordered calmly. "Say I'm tracking something larger."
And without another word—
Lucien vanished into the forest.
Abandoning the hunt.
Far ahead, beyond the eastern ridge—
A second horn sounded.
Closer to where Niana stood.
And this time—
It did not sound ceremonial at all.