Chaos, Niana decided, had a very specific sound.
It wasn't screaming—not exactly. It was the clash of startled voices layered over the thunder of hooves, the sharp crack of branches snapping under careless boots, and the echoing horn that had been blown far too early, far too loud, by someone who clearly did not know what they were doing. The hunting grounds, once dignified and orderly, had descended into a spectacle that could only be described as nobles experiencing consequences for the first time in their lives.
Niana stood near the edge of the clearing, skirts gathered just enough to keep from tripping, eyes darting everywhere at once. She had come here intending to save Lord Ruvain. That had been the plan.
So of course the universe laughed and said, Absolutely not.
"Why—why is that horse charging toward the refreshments?" she muttered, gripping the edge of a wooden railing as a very expensive-looking stallion thundered past, scattering silver trays and shrieking attendants.
A nobleman leapt aside with a noise that was undignified enough to be memorable.
"This is fine," Niana whispered to herself, eyes wide. "This is perfectly fine. No assassins. No prophecies. Just aristocrats being aristocrats."
Something whistled past her ear.
She froze.
It took a full second for her brain to process what her body already knew—that had been an arrow. Not aimed at her. Not missing her either. Just… dangerously close.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"Oh," she said faintly. "So that's how today is going."
Before panic could fully bloom, a figure moved—swift, decisive, utterly composed amid the disorder.
Lord Ruvain.
He stepped between Niana and the chaos with practiced ease, one hand raised, the other gripping his bow as if it were an extension of himself. His red hair caught the light like a warning flare, vivid against the green of the forest and the muted tones of noble attire. With a sharp command that brooked no argument, he redirected a cluster of competitors away from her position, his presence alone enough to impose order where none should have existed.
"Your Grace," he said calmly, glancing over his shoulder, "you should step back. This area is no longer secure."
Relief washed through her so suddenly she nearly laughed.
Saved.
They were saved.
"Thank you," she said quickly, placing a hand over her chest. "Truly. I seem to have underestimated how… enthusiastic everyone would be."
Ruvain's mouth twitched, the faintest hint of amusement flickering across his composed features. "That is one way to describe it."
Niana exhaled. The tight knot in her chest loosened. For a moment—just a moment—everything felt manageable again.
And then—
Something pulled at her.
Not physically. Not magically in any way she could name. It was an instinct so sharp it made her breath hitch, her fingers curl, her vision narrow as if the world had decided to focus on a single invisible thread tugging her forward.
Her gaze dropped.
To the bow in Ruvain's hand.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
No. No, no, no—why am I looking at that?
Her mind raced, fragments of memory surfacing unbidden—ink-stained pages, hurried notes written in the margins of a book she was never meant to read. A single line she had dismissed at the time, buried among tragedies and footnotes.
A red-haired hunter will die beneath a false sky.
Her breath caught.
Not die.
Almost.
Before she could talk herself out of it, before logic could reassert control, her body moved.
"Forgive me." Niana said—and then she grabbed the bow.
Ruvain stiffened, eyes widening in shock as she wrenched it free with a strength that surprised both of them.
"Your Grace—?!"
"I'm borrowing this!" she blurted, already nocking an arrow with movements that felt terrifyingly natural.
Her hands did not shake.
That terrified her more than anything else.
The world seemed to tilt, sound dulling as her focus sharpened. She didn't know what she was aiming at—not exactly. Only that something was wrong. Something hidden. Something watching.
Her instincts screamed.
She drew the string back.
Time stretched.
And then she released.
The arrow cut through the air in a clean, perfect arc—not toward a person, but just past the treeline, disappearing into shadow with a sharp thunk.
A second passed.
Then a cry—more startled than pained—and the sound of something heavy collapsing behind the brush.
The chaos faltered. Conversations stuttered. Even the horses seemed to quiet, ears flicking nervously.
Niana stood there, bow lowered, heart hammering, staring at the place where the arrow had vanished.
"…I didn't kill anyone," she said weakly. "Right?"
Ruvain stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time.
"You… did not," he said slowly. "But whatever you struck… was not meant to be there."
A chill crept down her spine.
And then—
She felt it.
A pressure so dense it seemed to warp the air itself. Not loud. Not explosive. Just there, settling over the clearing like a shadow cast by something enormous and very, very close.
Niana swallowed.
Her smile twitched.
"Oh," she whispered. "That's… new."
Slowly—far too slowly—she turned.
Lucien stood at the edge of the clearing.
His posture was immaculate as ever, hands folded behind his back, expression calm to the point of emptiness. His butler's uniform was pristine despite the disorder around him, not a single crease out of place.
And yet—
The air around him felt wrong.
Dark. Heavy. Pressurized.
In Niana's mind, warning bells screamed.
He's going to kill me.
Not now. Not publicly. But someday. Somewhere quiet. Efficient. Clean.
Her imagination, ever unhelpful, supplied the image of her own obituary.
Duchess Found Mysteriously Deceased After Stealing Someone's Bow.
Lucien's gaze met hers.
It lingered—brief, assessing, unreadable.
And Niana, possessed by equal parts fear and audacity, lifted a hand and waved.
"Haha," she said, voice cracking just a little. "Lucien. Fancy meeting you here..!"
The dark aura pulsed.
Lucien inclined his head.
"Your Grace..." he said calmly. "May I ask… why you are holding another man's bow?"
Niana smiled wider, sweat forming at her temple.
"Long story," she replied. "Short version? We are absolutely, definitely, not dead."
For a moment, Lucien simply looked at her.
Then, ever so faintly—
His fingers twitched.