Chapter 16: The Hunter Knight Urus
Dawn light crept through the windows of Princess Thalira's chambers, burning away the last traces of morning dew. The room smelled of sandalwood and rose—luxury made manifest in scent.
Thalira stood before her mirror in a silk robe, blonde hair still damp from bathing, green eyes sharp with irritation. A maid worked nearby with scent fumes, preparing the ceremonial ash of gold that marked noble women. Two others arranged clothing sets in precise order.
"My sister sent me a mirror," Thalira said, her voice carrying that particular edge that preceded punishment. "It was supposed to arrive at dinner yesterday. Where is it?"
The nearest maid dropped to her knees immediately. "Forgive us, Princess. A new maid named Aisa was bringing it, but she dropped it in the eastern corridor. The floor was slippery from—"
"How dare you suggest the Siena Palace has slippery floors?" Thalira's hand moved to the thick decorative rope on her dressing table—the kind meant for tying back curtains, but equally effective for other purposes. "Are you saying the castle isn't properly maintained?"
The maid's face went white.
"Thalira." The voice came from the doorway, casual and utterly inappropriate. "It seems you're still very busy with these small matters."
Prince Lucien stood at the threshold, leaning against the frame with that infuriating half-smile. His violet eyes assessed the scene with the detached interest of someone watching a theatrical performance.
"How did you get permission to enter my chambers?" Thalira's free hand instinctively checked that her robe was properly secured. "Guards! Where are you?"
"Oh, the guards?" Lucien stepped inside without invitation. "They mentioned having urgent business elsewhere."
He approached the terrified maids with measured steps, then picked up a perfume bottle from the dressing table, examining it with exaggerated interest.
"You should stay calm, dear sister. Otherwise that expensive silk might tear from all the tension you're carrying."
His gaze flicked to the rope still clutched in her hand, then to the kneeling maid.
"By the way, I was the one who pardoned all the maids involved in that incident. If you have any complaints about my decision—" He set the perfume down with deliberate care. "I suggest you visit my chambers before you leave for Zyrick. We can discuss it properly."
The smile he gave her was all teeth and no warmth.
Thalira stood frozen, caught between fury and the uncomfortable awareness that he'd just undermined her authority in front of her own servants. "You—"
"Enjoy your preparations, Princess." He turned and left as casually as he'd entered.
'He disgusts me,' Thalira thought viciously, staring at the doorway. 'But if I had his looks—that otherworldly face as a woman—I could marry into any empire. Control kingdoms through marriage alliances he'll never have access to.'
She threw the rope down in frustration. The maids remained motionless, unsure whether they were safe or merely in a different kind of danger.
---
Lucien walked the palace corridors with his usual unhurried grace, finding Aisa near the fountain where she'd been assigned cleaning duties.
"You're the maid from yesterday," he said. Less question, more statement of fact.
She stood frozen, staring at him with that particular expression of awe mixed with fear that he'd seen countless times before. She didn't bow.
Two senior maids rushed over immediately. "Prince Lucien, please forgive her—she's new and doesn't understand proper protocol—"
They tried to force Aisa into a proper greeting, but she remained transfixed.
"You're one of the maids who'll be handling my chambers and the surrounding areas," Lucien continued, ignoring the commotion. "You can ask Stella for the specifics."
He walked away before Aisa could respond, leaving her standing there with that look of confused gratitude—as if he'd saved her life rather than simply claimed her for his own purposes.
The morning training grounds were just visible beyond the garden path. Ethelia was there, working through sword forms with methodical precision. Each strike, each parry, executed with the kind of discipline that came from a lifetime of turning oneself into a weapon.
Lucien began walking in that direction with the same deliberate slowness he brought to everything, preparing for the performance of "training" that would serve entirely different purposes.
---
Hundreds of miles away, in the cramped throne room of Kingdom Kazzara, King Aslon paced like a caged animal.
The kingdom was small, poor, perpetually desperate. Most of its resources went toward futile schemes against neighboring Kingdom Vox Pop and the massive Aurelith Empire—strategies that accomplished little beyond keeping Kazzara perpetually on the edge of starvation.
"Why didn't Aurelith attack Zyrick?" Aslon's frustration spilled over into the assembly of ministers and courtiers who'd learned to keep their distance when he was like this. "I paid thousands of gold coins for that rebellion! Months of planning! They should have massacred those people and proven themselves tyrants!"
"Your Majesty—" One advisor bowed low, careful to keep his tone neutral. "Our informant in capital Siena sent word by messenger owl. They're holding a banquet instead. No military action. The order came from the Emperor himself, but the strategy apparently originated with the Second Prince."
"The Serpent Prince," another courtier muttered.
Aslon stopped pacing. "I spent gold we didn't have on this scheme—"
"You'll get your investment back," a new voice interrupted from the side of the chamber.
A figure lounged on one of the benches with complete disregard for court protocol—legs sprawled, playing with a gold coin that he flipped repeatedly between his fingers.
Hunter Knight Urus Deacon. Rank 8 Death Knight. Twenty-eight years old, shorter than most warriors at five-foot-six, lean and compact in his green cloak. Brown eyes that tracked movement with predatory focus.
"Should I visit Zyrick?" Urus asked, still playing with the coin. "I heard Princess Thalira of Aurelith will be attending this banquet."
He stood and approached the king with the casual confidence of someone who'd never met a threat he couldn't eliminate.
"A princess." His smile was wrong somehow—too wide, too eager. "It's been too long since I've hunted anything interesting."
King Aslon took an involuntary step backward. "You want to—to go after her? Even you would have to get through thousands of soldiers. More military force than our entire kingdom possesses."
Urus's hand shot out, fingers closing around Aslon's throat—not quite choking, but the threat implicit.
"I can get what I want, little king. I'm Rank 8 for a reason." His grip tightened slightly. "Though I suppose if you had a princess of your own, I wouldn't need to travel so far."
"Hunter Knight Urus," the Army General interjected carefully, using flattery like a tool to defuse violence. "You're Rank 8 among the Death Knights. Surely you could reach her if you chose. Your tracking abilities are legendary."
Urus released Aslon and stepped back, still smiling that unsettling smile.
"The banquet will have security, but hunts are always more interesting with obstacles." He flipped the coin one more time, caught it, and pocketed it. "I'll need three days to position myself properly. Make sure your informant sends word the moment the princess departs for Zyrick."
King Aslon rubbed his throat, trying to reassert some dignity. "And if you're caught? If this brings Aurelith's full military force down on us?"
"Then you'll die quickly instead of slowly from poverty." Urus turned toward the door. "Either way, I get what I want. The question is whether you get anything from it."
He left the throne room with the silent efficiency of someone who'd spent a lifetime learning to move without being noticed.
The court remained quiet for several long moments.
"He's insane," one minister finally whispered.
"He's Rank 8," the General countered grimly. "Which makes him the most dangerous kind of insane. If he decides to hunt the princess, thousands of soldiers won't matter. He'll find a way through them—or around them, or under them."
King Aslon sank back onto his throne, caught between the hope that Urus might actually succeed in creating chaos that would benefit Kazzara, and the fear that they'd just unleashed something even they couldn't control.
Outside the palace, Urus adjusted his green cloak and began mentally cataloging what he'd need for a hunt of this particular complexity.
Princess Thalira Aurevane.
Eighteen years old. Blonde hair, green eyes. Daughter of an empire.
And in three days, she'd be traveling to a rebellious state with limited security, thinking she was safe behind the reputation of Aurelith's military might.
He smiled to himself in the gathering darkness.
Hunts were always best when the prey didn't know they were being stalked.