The Royal Hunt began not with a horn, but with a suffocating, heavy silence. The Imperial Forest was a sprawling maze of ancient oaks and thick, tangled briars that seemed to reach out and snag at my skirts as I rode behind Bastian.
The air was damp, smelling of pine needles and the faint, metallic scent of the "Iron Hounds." These weren't dogs; they were biological weapons—massive, silver-furred beasts bred for the sole purpose of tracking and tearing apart anyone with "Royal Blood" who wasn't authorized to be in the forest.
"Stay close, Elara," Bastian whispered, his hand white-knuckled on the reins of his black stallion. He was wearing the hunting leathers I'd salvaged from the Prince's old trunk. He looked lethal, but even a Prince is just a man when faced with a pack of monsters.
I checked the pouches at my waist. I had three jars of heavy lamp oil, a flint, and the sack of dried meat Sarah had stolen from the kitchens—meat I'd soaked in a concentrated solution of sleeping draught from the Prince's medicine cabinet.
"Bastian, listen," I said, my voice as calm as if I were delivering a quarterly earnings report. "In my world, when a competitor releases a 'Disruptive Product' to destroy you, you don't fight it head-on. You divert its resources. The hounds are the product. The forest is the market. We are going to crash the system."
"I don't understand half of what you say," Bastian muttered, but he gave me a sharp, determined nod. "But I trust the woman who used a rolling pin to save my life."
Suddenly, a low, guttural howl ripped through the trees. It wasn't the sound of a dog; it was the sound of grinding metal.
They've found our scent, I thought, my blood turning to ice.
"Ride!" Bastian shouted, digging his spurs into his horse.
We tore through the undergrowth, the branches whipping at my face. Behind us, the sounds of snapping wood and heavy paws grew closer. The Iron Hounds were fast—too fast. In three minutes, they would be on us.
"Bastian, the ravine! To the left!" I screamed over the wind.
We skidded to a halt at the edge of a steep, rocky drop. Below us was a narrow path choked with dried leaves and fallen timber. It was a natural "bottleneck."
"Get down!" I commanded.
We slid off our horses, sending them galloping further into the woods to lead the main pack away. I knelt at the entrance of the ravine and began pouring the lamp oil across the smooth, flat stones of the path.
"The oil?" Bastian asked, helping me tip the last jar. "You think they'll slip?"
"I don't think they'll slip, Bastian," I said, my eyes darting toward the shadows where three pairs of glowing red eyes had appeared. "I think they'll burn."
The first hound lunged. It was a nightmare of muscle and silver fur, its jaws wide enough to crush a man's skull. I waited until its front paws hit the oil-slicked stones.
"Now!"
I struck the flint against my paring knife. A single spark fell into the oil.
WHOOSH!
A wall of orange flame erupted across the path. The Iron Hound shrieked, a high-pitched, metallic sound that set my teeth on edge. It scrambled back, its fur singed, as the fire created a temporary barrier between us and the pack.
"The meat!" I yelled to Bastian.
He grabbed the sack of drugged dried beef and began hurling it over the flames, deep into the bushes where the other hounds were circling.
In a normal hunt, the hounds would ignore the food. But these beasts had been starved for three days by the Crown Prince's Master of the Hunt. Hunger is the most powerful "Market Driver" in the world.
I watched as the red eyes vanished from the shadows, replaced by the sounds of frantic tearing and growling as the pack fought over the poisoned meat.
"One... two... three..." I counted under my breath.
One by one, the growls turned into heavy thumps. The sleeping draught was powerful enough to knock out a horse; for the hounds, it was an instant "System Shutdown."
Bastian stared at the smoking ravine, then at me. His face was splattered with mud, his chest heaving, but his eyes were wide with a new kind of respect. "You just neutralized the Empress's most feared hunters with... a jar of oil and some snacks."
"It's called 'Strategic Resource Allocation,' Bastian," I said, wiping the soot from my forehead. "Never fight a war of attrition when you can use a distraction."
"Elara," he said, stepping closer. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he touched my arm. "If I had ten women like you, I wouldn't just have the throne. I'd have the world."
"You only have one of me, Bastian," I reminded him, my heart doing a strange little flip. "And I'm very expensive. Now, move. The fire won't last forever, and we still have to find your brother and show him that his 'Hounds' have been liquidated."
We began to climb out of the ravine, but a cold voice stopped us in our tracks.
"A very impressive performance, little maid."
Standing at the top of the ridge, mounted on a white charger and surrounded by ten armored guards, was the Crown Prince. He looked down at us with a smile that didn't reach his eyes—a smile I had seen a thousand times on the faces of men who thought they had already won.
"It's a shame," the Crown Prince said, raising his hand. "I was really hoping the hounds would finish you. Now, I'm going to have to get my hands dirty."
I looked at the ten spears pointed at our chests. I didn't have any more oil. I didn't have any more meat.
I looked at Bastian. He drew his sword, stepping in front of me.
"If you want her, Brother," Bastian said, his voice like cold steel, "you'll have to go through the King first."
I looked behind the Crown Prince. Emerging from the trees was Lord Varick and the King's Royal Escort.
Audit time, I thought, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across my face.