Vasileios stood before Seraphine and his sister, Elysia, the three of them engaged in a conversation. Seraphine laughed softly, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Since I am heading into such a dangerous hunt," Vasileios said, "surely a lady as kind as you wouldn't let me go without a token of good luck?"
Seraphine blushed and pulled out a fine silk handkerchief, and offered it to him a token of favor for the hunt. Vasileios accepted it with a graceful bow and a charming smile before turning to make his way toward the hunting grounds. But as he turned to head toward the grounds, his path was blocked by Lethia.
He said with a playful glint in his eyes. "My Lady, is there a particular animal skin you fancy? Tell me, and I shall bring it back as a trophy for you."
Seraphine's smile faltered slightly as she watched him address Lethia.
Lethia didn't smile back. She looked at him with a completely dead expression, her voice flat and cold. "I prefer human skin, actually."
Vasileios paused for a heartbeat, then burst into a delighted laugh.
Annoyed by his laughter, Lethia stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "Specifically," she added, "the skin of those who laugh far too much."
Without waiting for his response, she turned on her heel and continued toward the pavilion. Vasileios chuckled... he looked at her, his gaze lingered on her far longer than it should have.
Seraphine watched his face, her heart stinging. Her shy smile vanished, replaced by anger. Her hands tightened around her skirts, her gaze fixing on Lethia resentment.
Lethia took her place in the pavilion, offering Lady Valencia a brief, elegant nod of acknowledgment.
From her seat, Lethia's gaze drifted toward the edge of the grounds. There stood Serik and Davian, readying their mounts. They were busy adjusting the saddles and checking the horses' gear, but something about Serik felt off.
Even from a distance, his usual composed, stoic aura seemed weighed down. He looked drained, his movements slightly sluggish.
Suddenly Lady Delayna rose from her seat, her face pale. She turned to them with a strained smile. "Lady Valencia, Lady Lethia... if you will excuse me, I find I must withdraw to my tent for a rest. I am not feeling quite well."
After a few brief, words of concern from the ladies, Delayna gathered her skirts and departed.
When Lethia looked back toward the ground she couldn't find Serik again. He was lost in crowd. It made Lethia little bit annoyed.
Why did you even come, Delayna if you were just going to leave even before the hunt began, she thought.
Rysa, sitting close to Lethia, opened her mouth to strike up a conversation, but she quickly went quiet. One look at Lethia's cold, distant expression told her everything she needed to know.
Down on the grounds, the atmosphere reached a fever pitch. The last of the participants led their horses to the starting line, checking their weapons and tightening their cloaks. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and the restless energy of the hounds.
***
The hunt had finally begun.
The air was thick with excitement as knights and noblemen gathered their courage. The hounds were unleashed, their baying echoing through the trees as the participants surged toward the forest.
Leading the charge was Crown Prince Lucian with his closest companions, Kallias and Vasileios.
As the dust settled and the men disappeared into the woods, the older ladies withdrew to their private tents for tea and gossip. The younger noblewomen gathered in their own circles, whispering behind silk fans.
Lethia and Rysa walked along the edge of the grounds, taking in the sights.
"Lady Lethia," Rysa asked curiously, "have you ever witnessed a hunt before?"
"Many times," Lethia replied casually. "I used to accompany my grandfather and uncle quite often."
Rysa's eyes widened in amazement. "Truly? Is it... is it exciting? Is it fun?"
Lethia stopped and turned toward Rysa, "Is there any kind of fun to be found in the act of killing?"
Rysa immediately pressed her hand over her mouth. "Ah... you're right. I hadn't thought of it that way. But then, what did you do during those hunts?"
A faint smile touched Lethia's lips. Rysa froze, startled, she was used to Lethia's permanent scowl. Seeing her like this was like seeing a rare eclipse.
"Lady Lethia," Rysa whispered, "your smile is beautiful. You should smile more often."
Lethia looked at the girl, and for a fleeting second, she saw Elowen. She is so much like her, she thought. Overcome by a rare moment of tenderness, Lethia reached out and gently patted Rysa's head. Rysa flinched in shock, affection was the last thing she expected from Lethia but then she beamed, feeling like they had finally bridged the gap between them.
"Hunting isn't always for sport, Rysa," Lethia explained softly. "Whenever the people in our Duchy were terrorized by wild beasts, we hunted to protect them. Those were the hunts I joined."
"Whoa! you are so different from others." Rysa chirped. "I want to be exactly like you."
Lethia let out a dry chuckle. "Believe me, you are much better off not being like me."
As they wandered behind one of the larger tents, the sound of high pitched giggling stopped them. Rysa pulled Lethia back, pressing a finger to her lips. "Shh," she whispered. "Let's hear what the gossip is."
Three girls stood in a huddle... Lady Marcella, Lady Genevieve, and Lady Isotta.
"Did you see Lord Kallias?" Marcella sighed dramatically. "He looked so handsome. I would have died if he'd asked me for a token."
"Dream on," Genevieve scoffed. "He's the son of Marquess Montrose. He wouldn't even glance at girls like us."
They laughed, but then Isotta, the Baron's daughter, lowered her voice. "It's so unfair, isn't it? Even that girl Rysa, with that hideous, terrifying scar, has a better chance than us just because she's a Duke's daughter. Luck is wasted on the ugly."
"Honestly," Marcella added, "even my scullery maid has a prettier face than her."
Rysa's head dropped. She wasn't crying, but she felt a crushing wave of embarrassment. Of all people, Lady Lethia had to hear this, she thought, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.
Suddenly Rysa felt the wind shift. Lethia was moving in there direction already. Before Rysa could utter a word of protest, Lethia stepped around the corner of the tent and loomed over the three girls like a shadow of death.
The laughter died instantly. The three girls turned pale, looking as though they had seen a ghost.
"Do continue," Lethia said, her voice like a razor blade dragged over ice. "I found the part about the scullery maid particularly... enlightening."
"L-Lady Lethia! We didn't mean... " Isotta stammered.
Lethia stepped into Isotta's personal space, forcing the girl to stumble back. "You, are the daughter of a Baron, and still dare to weigh the value of a Duke's daughter? Tell me, does your father know his daughter has such a suicidal tongue? Or does he simply not care that you're an embarrassment to his bloodline?"
She turned her freezing gaze to Marcella. "And you. You speak of beauty as if you possess any. Your face is so remarkably common that if you stood in a line of commoners, I doubt even your own mother could pick you out. To compare Lady Rysa to a maid is laughable at least a maid is useful. You? You are simply a waste of expensive silk."
Finally, she looked at Genevieve. "If I hear your pathetic voices again, I will ensure that the next hunt involves tracking down the titles of your families and stripping them until you truly understand the status of the maids you love to talk about. Now, crawl away before I decide that your tongues are the trophies I want to bring home today."
The three girls didn't even wait to apologize. They gathered their skirts and fled in terror.
After the girls fled, Lethia turned back toward Rysa as if nothing happened. Her face was calm, her voice steady.
"We should move toward the ridge," Lethia said, gesturing toward a higher vantage point. "From there, you'll be able to see the movement within the woods."
Without waiting for a response, she began to walk, expecting Rysa to follow. Lethia moved with such effortless indifference, acting as though the confrontation had been nothing more than clearing a few cobwebs from her path.
To Rysa's own surprise, the burning embarrassment she had felt moments ago had vanished. Instead, a different emotion welled up. As she followed behind Lethia, hot tears began to spill over, and she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand.
Rysa had heard thousands of cruel things about herself. Over the years, she had grown numb to it, the insults had become a background noise she lived with every day. People never let her forget her flaw, some stared until she wanted to hide, others whispered about the scarred lady as if she were a broken doll.
But for the first time in her life, someone had made her feel that the scar was not her identity. Lethia hadn't comforted her with pitying words or told her she was beautiful, she had simply stood in front of her like an iron shield and demanded respect for the person Rysa was.
Lethia, sensing the girl's struggle, slowed her pace. She didn't turn around and simply gave Rysa the silence and the time she needed to compose herself.
Once the tears were gone, Rysa felt a surge of genuine affection. She hurried forward and, in a sudden burst of courage, tucked her arm into Lethia's and held her hand.
Lethia stiffened, the unexpected physical contact sending a jolt of shock through her. But when she looked down and saw the sheer, radiant gratitude on Rysa's smiling face, her own expression softened into a faint, answering smile.
So, this kind of kindness exists too, Rysa thought. A compassion that doesn't need a single word to be felt.
They reached the weapon racks, and Lethia reached out, her fingers closing around a finely crafted longbow. She tested the tension of the string with a practiced pull, then handed the quiver of arrows to Rysa
.
"Here," Lethia said, her eyes glinting with a sharp, dangerous spark. "Let me show you what real fun looks like. It is far more rewarding than gossiping like a gaggle of idiots."
When they reached the ridge, Lethia stood at the edge, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the dense treeline of the woods below.
"It seems the hunters have found nothing but shadows so far," she remarked coolly. She turned her gaze toward a wild fruit tree standing nearby, its branches heavy with small, ripened fruit. She looked at Rysa with a challenging glint in her eyes. "Pick one. Any of them."
Rysa's eyes lit up with excitement, her previous sadness completely forgotten. "Oh! Truly? Let's see what you can do then, Lady Lethia!" She scanned the branches, pointing toward the very top. "That one! The one on the far rig... "
Before Rysa could even finish the word, the sharp arrow cut through the air... and the exact fruit she had pointed to was pinned by the arrow, tumbling to the ground.
Rysa stood frozen, her mouth slightly open. The speed was incredible, she hadn't even seen Lethia draw the bow. But more than the speed, it was the grace of it... Lethia's silhouette against the sky had been perfectly still, her form flawless and lethal.
"Lady Lethia!!" Rysa gasped, her voice full of awe.
Lethia turned back to her, smile playing on her lips. "Pick another."
"How did you do that?! It was like magic!" Rysa cried, bouncing on her heels.
Lethia's smile softened, though a hint of shadows returned to her eyes. "Someone... taught me long ago."
"Could you teach me too? Please, Lady Lethia!" Rysa begged, throwing her arms around Lethia's side in a sudden hug. "I want to be able to do that!"
Lethia opened her mouth to answer, but the words were swallowed by a sound that made the blood in their veins turn to ice.
A scream ripped through the air... a terrifying, guttural howl of pure agony and fear. It was so loud and piercing that it seemed to vibrate through the very ground beneath their feet, echoing from the direction of the Pavilion.
Both stiffened instantly. Rysa's face went pale, and she gripped Lethia's arm. "What... what was that?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Lethia stared toward the dark heart of the woods, her mind racing.
It's too early, she thought, her pulse quickening.
It can't be her.
"It's alright," Lethia said, her voice dropping into a low, commanding tone as she stepped in front of Rysa. "Do not be afraid. Stay behind me."
With the bow still gripped in her hand, Lethia began to move toward the source of the scream, her every sense on high alert.
When Lethia and Rysa arrived, the scene was pure chaos. Four massive, gray wolves had breached the perimeter. A few guards were struggling to hold them back, their blades shaking, while a group of noblewomen was trapped behind them, cornered against the silk walls of a tent.
The elite Royal Guards were already busy whisking the Emperor and Empress toward the safety of the manor, leaving the common nobility to fend for themselves.
"Lady Lethia, what do we do?" Rysa asked, her voice trembling.
Lethia surveyed the scene. The guards left behind were not skilled, barely holding their ground.
"We do nothing," Lethia said flatly. "Let's retreat."
"But... what about the people trapped there?" Rysa pointed toward the screaming group.
Lethia looked back. It was the three girls from earlier the ones who had mocked Rysa's scar. They were huddled together, weeping and begging for a savior.
A cruel smirk played on Lethia's lips. "They are a burden to the earth. Let them die."
She paused, seeing Rysa's horrified expression. "Don't look at me like that. Someone will eventually help them. We should prioritize our own lives."
But Rysa grabbed her arm. "I can't leave them, Lady Lethia! Can we... can we throw rocks? Or use fire? Wolves are afraid of fire, aren't they?"
Lethia stared at her, stunned.
She's so incredibly naive,she thought. Lethia had no heart for those who had wronged her, but Rysa was her polar opposite.
In that moment, Lethia didn't have the heart to break that innocence in Rysa just yet.
"Fine," Lethia snapped, reaching out and snatching the quiver of arrows from Rysa's shoulder. She slung it over her own back. "Leave. Now! Loop around the back of the tents where the wolves can't scent you."
"But... "
"If you stay, you'll only get in my way," Lethia commanded, her voice sharp with urgency. "Leave as quietly as possible!"
Rysa nodded, understanding the gravity in Lethia's tone, and left in the direction she was told.
Lethia stood her ground. She was at a distance, but well within range for a master. She drew an arrow, aimed, and released. The string hummed, and the first wolf collapsed with a pained yelp. The remaining three wolves immediately changed their target, their yellow eyes fixing on the new Lethia.
"Why am I even doing this God?" Lethia muttered.
The predators charged. Lethia turned and began to run. The cloak Serik had given her billowed in the wind behind her. It was a blessing she had chosen a simple skirt today, but she was still a woman on foot against beasts of the wild.
She spun around while running, notched another arrow, and let it fly. A second wolf tumbled into the dirt. Archery was the one thing that had kept her sane over the years, and even under pressure, her aim was perfect. But she couldn't outrun them forever.
She stumbled against a rock, and she went down hard. Panic flared as she tried to aim one last arrow at the remaining wolves.
She missed it.
In that final, frozen moment when the beast was nearing her, a voice she had spent five years trying to drown out echoed in the hollows of her mind.
Lia... I know you can do it, sweetheart. Cause you never give up...
The memory of her father was so vivid it hurt.
Lethia looked at the wolf.
A smile touched her lips.
"But I am tired... Father," she whispered closing her eyes. "I am so... very tired."
Cr-rack
The weight of the wolf thudded to the ground beside her. She opened her eyes to see a blade protruding from the animal's neck.
Ciro stood over her, his face pale with a terror she had never seen on him before. His sword was a blur of crimson as he turned to see the fourth wolf retreating into the woods.
Lethia looked up at Ciro and, despite the dirt on her face and the adrenaline shaking her limbs, she burst out laughing.
Ciro looked down at her, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and frantic. "Since when..." he choked out, his voice thick with a rare, raw annoyance, "since when have you become so reckless, My Lady?"
Lethia remained on the ground, a tired but smile on her face. "I think... I've been spending too much time with the wrong people, Ciro."
As the adrenaline faded, The world began to fade at the edges. The sounds of the returning guards and the distant sobbing of the noble girls became a muffled hum. Her vision blurred, and before Ciro could reach for her, Lethia's eyes fluttered shut, and she drifted into unconsciousness.