Flame in the Palace

20. Hunt

The court moves on the road to the Kinggrove, an ancient and revered forest of the kingdom within Runewell lands. The treeline indicates the edge of the border. A small encampment of brightly colored tents signals the welcoming party of Duke Mathias, Eulalia's father. He greets them with a stony, smooth face, his expression stern even with the polite smile he offers to the royal family. Eulalia stands radiant next to her mother, Countess Euphemia, tall and regal as her daughter, the same stern smile as her husband. Prince Leor steps up to the Runewell duchess, kissing her hand, which earns him a slight softening of her features.

"The Runewells, while quite cordial, are not known for their excessive warmth," Olympe whispers to her.

Myria's chest tightens as she watches Eulalia carrying all the light and kindness of House Runewell on her shoulders.

The noble families are led away to designated tents, the Bramble one appropriately decorated with golden tapestries that sway in the gentle breeze. Geffrey follows behind Myria, carrying her ever-present trunk of dresses before depositing it heavily on the ground inside the large tent. He throws back the lid, and Olympe quickly rifles through its contents. Myria waits patiently on a bench for their decision, resigning herself to the fact that there would be no escaping the court this time.

"What are we doing?" she asks, watching the flurry of activity outside through the open tent flap.

"The Wild Weald Hunt," Geffrey answers. "House Runewell appoints our quarry, and then the family who can trap the creature without killing it is the winner. Then, we reconvene at Oakhaven for dinner."

"Is there a prize?"

"I imagine that Duke Mathias will have a similar prize as Cressida's for this year, a private dinner with the prince."

"Do you have the hounds?" Olympe asks him, selecting a gown from the collection.

Geff turns sheepish. "We do not have hounds," he reveals slowly, as if this is a great source of shame. "I applied those expenses elsewhere."

Olympe meets his gaze, her face thin with displeasure, but she nods in understanding all the same. "Very well, we will do what we can," she decides.

The gown is thin for the sake of agility and smooth for comfort. It comes with a black cape that matches the black skirt, but the bodice, a dark brass color, represents House Bramble. A thick leather belt cinches the waist. When Olympe helps put it on her, Myria is surprised to learn she can breathe and move easily with the fabric. She marvels at her reflection in the mirror as her aunt pins large hawk feathers in her braids.

Outside the tent, other ladies gather in similar hunting gowns, capes, and corsets, a predominant style. Duchess Cressida dons a bright red ensemble, making her quite visible through the trees. Theodora stands off to the side, speaking to her brother in a low voice. Myria notices how her brow looks knitted, as if they are having a disagreement. She wants to learn more, potentially about Aryn Stirling's return to court, but someone pulls at Myria's elbow, drawing her to the side.

It is Eulalia with a sad, apologetic smile. "Hello, Lady Myria," she greets carefully.

Despite the apparent bad news her friend is about to share, Myria cannot help the pleased grin that stretches across her face. "Lady Eulalia," she greets enthusiastically. "I'm sorry for my recent absence—"

"Please," she says shortly. "There is no need for you to apologize. We were designed to be rivals from the start."

"Rivals?" Myria repeats, her own smile fading.

Eulalia nods meaningfully. "You know this. Perhaps I was the foolish one by letting my guard down around you."

"How is that foolish?"