The invitation sat on the wooden table, its heavy gold seal mocking the poverty of the Prince's chambers. I stared at it, my mind running through every safety protocol I had ever implemented for high-net-worth clients.
"The Royal Hunt," Bastian said, his voice dripping with irony. He was leaning against the window, watching the sunset bleed across the capital. "It's where the men of this family go to pretend they are warriors while the servants beat the bushes to ensure they don't actually have to look for the prey."
"It's not the deer you should be worried about, Bastian," I said, walking over to him. "Lord Varick didn't give me this because he likes us. He gave it to me because he wants to see if we can survive an environment where accidents are easy to arrange."
I reached out, turning his face toward mine. His eyes were tired, but the fire I'd sparked in them was still burning. "In the corporate world, when a CEO takes the board members on a 'retreat,' it's usually because he's about to fire half of them. This hunt is your brother's boardroom. He knows the terrain. He knows the guards. And he knows exactly where the shadows are deepest."
"Then why go?" Bastian asked. "I can claim illness. I can go back to being the 'Trash Prince' for one more day."
"No," I snapped. "If you hide now, you prove to Varick that you are a coward. And cowards don't get contracts—they get replaced. We go. But we don't go alone."
I spent the next hour briefing him. I taught him "The Art of the Strategic Withdrawal." I showed him how to use his horse as a shield and how to keep his back to a rock face at all times.
But as night fell, the reality of the danger began to settle over us. The palace was too quiet. Sarah hadn't returned from the Empress's wing, and the sound of distant sharpening stones echoed from the barracks.
I was sitting by the hearth, checking the hidden pockets I'd sewn into my new "Hunt" trousers, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Elara," Bastian whispered.
I looked up. He wasn't looking at me like a Prince anymore. He looked like a man who was terrified—not of dying, but of losing the only thing that made him feel alive again.
"If something happens tomorrow," he started.
"Nothing is going to happen," I interrupted, my voice firm.
"Listen to me," he insisted, kneeling in front of me. "If we get separated... if the Crown Prince's men corner us... I want you to take the horse and ride for the Northern border. Varick might be a snake, but he hates the Empress. He'll protect you if you give him the ledgers."
I felt a strange, tight knot in my chest. "I'm a Fixer, Bastian. I don't abandon the client when the market gets volatile. We finish this together, or we don't finish at all."
He let out a short, breathy laugh and leaned his forehead against mine. For a moment, the Prince and the Maid vanished. There were just two souls caught in a storm of their own making.
"You're the most stubborn woman I've ever met," he murmured.
"It's called 'Brand Loyalty,'" I replied, though my heart was hammering against my ribs.
The moment was broken by a frantic scratching at the door. I jumped up, pulling a small paring knife from my belt.
I opened the door to find Sarah. She was panting, her hair disheveled, and her face was white with terror.
"They're not using guards," she wheezed, clutching my arm. "I heard the Crown Prince talking to the Master of the Hunt. They've released the 'Iron Hounds' into the forest. They aren't going after deer, Elara. They've been trained on Bastian's scent."
Bastian stood up, his face hardening into a mask of ice. "The Iron Hounds. They're bred for war. They don't stop until they taste blood."
I looked at the gold-sealed invitation on the table. The "Boardroom Retreat" had just become a death trap.
"Fine," I said, a cold, corporate fury rising in me. "If they want to use monsters, we'll use science. Bastian, get the oil from the lamps. Sarah, go to the kitchens and get every scrap of dried meat you can find. If they want a hunt, we'll give them one they'll never forget."
I looked at the darkness outside the window. You want to play rough? I thought. Then let's see how your hounds handle a woman who's spent ten years dealing with wolves in three-piece suits.