They continued deeper into the forest, the marked trail narrowing until it was little more than a faint path winding between ancient trunks. The discarded vest and snapped marker still lingered in Elara's mind, a silent warning that refused to fade. Lucien walked a half-step ahead, his posture rigid, gray eyes scanning every shadow. He kept a deliberate distance — no hand on her back, no unnecessary words. She was a tool. A means to an end. He had reminded himself of that fact repeatedly since the gala. Yet the memory of her body pressed against his during the river crossing kept intruding, and it irritated him more than he cared to admit.
A low murmur of voices ahead made Lucien slow. Elias and Sophia emerged from a side trail, moving with the same cool efficiency they had shown at the fork earlier. Their path had converged again at a natural choke point — a massive fallen oak blocked the trail completely, its thick trunk and tangled roots creating an impassable barrier. The official route required couples to find a way around or over it, but the dense undergrowth and steep drop on one side made it tricky.
Elias nodded once at Lucien, his expression neutral. "Brother. Seems the forest wants to test teamwork early."
Lucien's response was curt. "It does."
While the brothers discussed the obstacle in low, clipped tones — assessing angles, stability, possible routes — Elara found herself standing beside Sophia. The older woman was calm, kind in a quiet, elegant way, her movements graceful even in tactical gear. Sophia offered a small smile.
"Congratulations on your marriage," she said softly, voice warm but measured. "It was quite sudden, but you carry yourself well. Lucien is… not an easy man to stand beside."
Elara returned the smile cautiously. "Thank you. I'm still learning the rhythm of it all."
Sophia's eyes held gentle concern. "I hope he's treating you well. These Volkov men can be… intense."
The question landed oddly. Elara wondered why Sophia had asked it with such careful wording. Before she could respond, Sophia continued, her voice dropping lower.
"The last woman I met who was dating Lucien… she ended up in a psychiatric hospital. I don't know the full details, but it's like all the women who get close to him—"
She never finished the sentence.
Lucien appeared behind Sophia without a sound, his presence sudden and looming. "It's time to go, Elara."
Sophia's heart visibly jolted. She spun, hand flying to her chest, eyes wide. It was clear he had heard every word. Yet he didn't acknowledge it, didn't push. His face remained perfectly composed, cold as stone.
Elias walked over to his wife at the same moment, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. "Everything alright?"
Sophia recovered quickly, nodding, but the tension in the air thickened.
Both couples turned their attention to the fallen oak. They circled the obstacle, testing routes. The drop on one side was too steep for safe passage, and the tangled roots on the other made climbing risky without proper leverage.
Lucien assessed it once, then moved alone. He scaled the thickest part of the trunk with efficient, powerful movements — no discussion, no request for help. He tested branches, cleared a narrow path over the top, and dropped down on the far side. Only then did he speak, voice flat. "Follow my route. One at a time."
Elara watched him, a quiet realization settling in her chest. The way he related to Elias was no different from the way he treated everyone else — cold, distant, self-reliant. He offered no warmth even to his own brother. Always the middle son who solved problems on his own.
They made it over one by one. Once on the other side, the couples exchanged brief nods and went their separate ways, Elias and Sophia veering toward a parallel trail.
Elara walked beside Lucien in silence, her thoughts churning. He's just as cold with his brother as he is with me. Why? What made him this way — so closed off, so unwilling to let anyone in? She was so lost in wondering about the man she would be tied to for at least the next year that she didn't notice the root in her path.
Her foot caught. She pitched forward.
Lucien moved faster than thought. His arm shot out, catching her around the waist and pulling her upright in one smooth motion. For a brief moment their bodies pressed close, faces inches apart. Their eyes locked — gray fire meeting her startled gaze. The sexual tension spiked instantly, sharp and electric, her breath catching at the solid heat of him. She noticed a thin scar on his lower lip again, a faint white line that made his mouth look even more severe… and somehow more compelling.
Then she pulled away, stepping back quickly. The moment shattered.
"Why are you like this?" she asked, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. She wanted to know the man she was bound to, even if only on paper. "You barely speak to your own brother. You shut everyone out. What happened to make you this cold?"
Lucien's expression didn't soften. He kept walking, voice curt. "My past is not your concern."
The short answers irritated her. Every question met with a wall. "That's all I get? Curt replies and silence? We're supposed to be married — even if it's fake. I need to know you if we're ever going to make this convincing enough, Why do you find it so hard to let me see any part of you?"
The argument heated quickly as they moved deeper into the trees.
Lucien's tone remained even, but ice-cold. "Know your place, Elara. You are a means to an end. A wife for show. A body for an heir. Nothing more. Don't mistake necessity for intimacy."
The words landed like a slap. Anger flared hot in her chest. "Then why the possessive touches? Why the kiss in the corridor? Why act like I belong to you if I'm nothing but a tool?"
"It's the act," he replied flatly. "Nothing else."
The argument grew sharper, voices rising in the quiet woods.
It was in the middle of that heated exchange — Elara pushing for answers, Lucien shutting her down with cold finality — that the underbrush exploded.
A massive wild boar charged out, tusks lowered, eyes mad. The loud voices had drawn it straight to them.
"Run!" Lucien snapped.
He grabbed her hand — hard, instinctive — and yanked her off the trail. They sprinted through dense trees, branches whipping their skin. The boar thundered after them. Lucien's grip was iron, pulling her when she stumbled. The map slipped from her fingers during the frantic turn and vanished into the undergrowth.
"Leave it!" he ordered, voice cold even in panic.
They burst into a small clearing. The boar finally veered off as the terrain grew too steep. Lucien released her hand abruptly, stepping back sharply, jaw tight with self-directed irritation.
Before Elara could catch her breath, a warm voice cut through the trees.
"Quite the entrance. That boar nearly had you for lunch,"
A tall, rugged man stepped out from the opposite side of the clearing. Dark hair tousled by the wind, dressed in practical hunting gear rather than the standard game vest, he carried a bow slung casually over one shoulder. His easy, confident smile landed first on Elara, appreciative but respectful.
"Name's Kairos. Independent tracker — sometimes the families hire me when the 'friendly' games turn messy." His gaze stayed on Elara, warm with genuine approval. "You kept your head remarkably well back there. Most new wives in these circles would've screamed or tripped. You ran like someone who belongs in the wild. Impressive instincts."
Elara blinked, heat creeping up her neck despite herself. No cold "adequate" or flat silence. Just straightforward, kind praise. It felt foreign after Lucien's constant detachment. "Thank you," she said quietly, offering a small, cautious smile.
Lucien's posture stiffened beside her. His hand flexed at his side — a tiny, involuntary slip — before he crossed his arms, voice ice-cold and flat. "We don't need assistance from strangers. Keep walking."
Kairos raised his hands in mock surrender, but his eyes sparkled with quiet amusement as he looked at Elara again. "No offense intended. Just offering a friendly word to a capable woman. The forest doesn't forgive mistakes, especially without a map. If you lose your way, look for the old lightning-struck oak — it's a reliable landmark. You strike me as the type who learns fast and adapts even faster."
He gave Elara one last encouraging nod, warm and genuine, then melted back into the trees with surprising grace.
The silence he left behind crackled.
Elara rubbed her wrist where Lucien had gripped her during the run. "Was that necessary? He was only trying to help."
Lucien's gray eyes were flat and dangerous. "Polite men in these woods usually want something. Focus on the game. Not on men who smile too easily and hand out compliments." His tone was clipped, colder than usual. He turned and continued deeper into the forest without waiting, hands clenched at his sides. She is a tool, he repeated silently, the words harsher this time. So why does the thought of another man looking at her like that make my blood burn?
Elara stared at his back, anger and unwanted confusion twisting inside her chest. The contrast stung sharply. Lucien couldn't even acknowledge when she did something right — when she kept pace, when she didn't panic — but the second a stranger praised her, he acted like a territorial beast. His coldness felt less like protection and more like a cage she was growing tired of fighting against.
Yet she couldn't quite shake the warmth of Kairos's easy smile — or how it had made her stand a little taller for the first time since the games began.
Unseen in the underbrush a short distance away, Kairos watched them go. His friendly expression slowly faded into something sharper, more calculating. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
The forest had just become far more interesting.
And the real hunt was only starting.
________
They kept walking deeper into the forest after the boar chase. The lost map made everything harder. Every turn looked the same. Lucien stayed a half-step ahead, his face cold and closed off. He had not said a word since their argument. Elara walked behind him, still angry. His words kept ringing in her head — "You are a means to an end. Nothing more."
The trail suddenly ended at a new obstacle. A wide, deep ditch cut across their path. The sides were steep and slippery with mud. At the bottom, sharp rocks and thorny bushes waited. There was no safe way to walk around it without going far off the marked route.
Lucien stopped and studied the ditch. "We go down carefully, then climb the other side. It is the most direct way. Logical."
Elara shook her head. "No. Look at the mud. It is too slippery. If we slip, we will get hurt on those rocks. We should go left, follow the higher ground. It looks longer but safer."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "We do not have time to take the long way. The checkpoint is ahead. We go down."
"That is stupid," Elara shot back. "You always want to do things your way. I am telling you it is dangerous. Why can't you listen for once?"
Lucien turned to her, his gray eyes hard. "Keep quiet."
"I will not keep quiet! You treat me like I know nothing. I am not your tool to order around—"
"Quiet," he said again, sharper this time. His body went still. He tilted his head, listening.
Elara opened her mouth to argue more, but Lucien suddenly grabbed her arm and yanked her hard against his chest.
A knife whistled through the air right where her head had been a second ago. It slammed into a tree behind them with a loud thunk.
Elara's heart jumped. She froze against him, feeling the solid wall of his body. For one short moment, his arm stayed tight around her. Then he pushed her behind him.
"Assassins," Lucien muttered, voice low and irritated.
Now they could hear it — soft movements in the trees above. Leaves rustling. Branches creaking under weight. More than one person.
Lucien did not wait. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a run. They crashed through the forest, off the trail, branches whipping their faces and arms. Behind them, footsteps followed. Fast. Quiet. Professional.
Elara's breath came hard. Her legs burned. Lucien's grip on her hand was strong and sure, but she knew he hated touching her like this when no one was watching. He saw her as a tool. Nothing else. Yet here he was, pulling her along to keep her alive.
They ran for what felt like forever. The sounds behind them grew closer, then farther, then closer again. Lucien changed direction twice, using the thick trees to lose them.
Finally the footsteps faded. Lucien pulled her behind a large fallen log and pushed her down. They crouched together, breathing heavily. His hand stayed on her wrist a second longer than needed before he let go and moved away.
"Stay silent," he said coldly, not looking at her. "Or you will get us both killed."
Elara's heart was still racing. She looked at him in the dim light. He had saved her without thinking. Pulled her close. Protected her. But now he sat there like nothing happened, face blank and distant again.
She wanted to ask why. Why he shut everyone out. Why he was so cold even when he just risked himself for her. But the words stuck in her throat.
The forest around them stayed quiet for now.
But both of them knew the hunters were still out there.
And they were getting closer.