The sun had already begun to dip, staining the skies in warm hues of amber and crimson as the nobles trickled back from the forest one by one. The broad clearing near the hunting grounds had been transformed into a spectacle of its own—velvet draped tables, shaded pavilions trimmed in the Feltogoran colors of red and black, and servants hurrying about with polished trays of wine. The air was thick with murmurs of excitement, each noble eager to see what rare game had been claimed that day.
One by one, the hunters stepped forward to present their trophies. A fat stag with its antlers polished by the sun; pheasants with plumage bright as embers; a wild boar whose tusks gleamed under the light of the lanterns now being lit. Each offering was received with polite applause, some gasps of admiration, and others with half-suppressed envy. The atmosphere hummed with anticipation, every noble craning their neck toward the forest's edge, waiting for the more illustrious competitors to emerge.
It was Prince Zejidiah who appeared next, strolling into the clearing with the same lazy gait that seemed to mock the grandeur around him. A servant trailed after him, carrying his catch—a turkey of rare and striking plumage, its feathers shimmering with shades of bronze and green that caught the fading light in an almost ethereal way.
Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd.
"A turkey?!" a noblewoman whispered, astonishment in her tone.
"No ordinary one. Look at those feathers—magnificent!" another countered, eyes wide.
Zejidiah merely shrugged, his expression unreadable as always, as if he had stumbled upon the bird by accident and thought it hardly worth showing. Yet the nobles leaned forward, captivated, praising the rarity of his find with hushed awe.
Then came the Crown Prince.
Matthew stepped into the clearing with assured steps, his musket still slung across his back, the light of confidence gleaming in his eyes. Two servants followed him, carrying delicately between them his prize. Gasps rose in unison as the gathered nobles caught sight of the small creature—white fur pristine as fresh snow, eyes the color of glacial blue fire. The mystic fox, a creature spoken of only in half-believed tales, its very presence whispered of fortune and rarity beyond measure.
The audience erupted. Some nobles clapped in delight, others could scarcely find their words, stunned at the sight of something most had only ever heard in legends.
"The blue-eyed fox!" one elder noble exclaimed, almost reverent.
"A miracle indeed. The Crown Prince must surely be blessed!" another agreed.
Matthew smiled, his expression polished, charming—but the glint in his eyes as they slid toward Princess Zuleika betrayed a different intent. His lips curved into a smug, triumphant smirk, as though silently declaring his victory not just in the hunt, but in every unspoken rivalry between them.
The nobles murmured louder, some already declaring him the inevitable winner of the day. Their praises fell like a chorus, feeding his pride. The fox sat eerily calm in its bindings, as though aware it was now a token of power in this cruel pageant.
Zuleika's steps were measured, her posture regal as she moved toward the dais where Prince Althurd sat with the other royals. In her hands, the modest hunting sack looked unassuming compared to the elaborate displays of stags, boars, and exotic birds already paraded before the nobles. Some snickered softly, expecting the Princess of Nexus to present nothing more than a pheasant or hare—something delicate, unfit for the grandeur of Feltogora's traditions.
When she placed the sack before the Second Prince, silence rippled through the gathering. Althurd raised a brow, his boyish grin tugging at his lips as though already amused by what surprise she might offer. With a flourish, he loosened the ties and pulled the opening wide—
—and froze.
His eyes widened, breath catching as he beheld the gleaming feathers within. The nobles leaned forward instinctively, their voices breaking into shocked gasps as the truth spread among them like fire.
"The Mystic Hawk…"
"Impossible… it hasn't been seen in decades!"
"Golden eyes! By the gods, she has caught it—!"
The forest clearing erupted into a storm of murmurs, awe and disbelief mingling in equal measure. The bird's feathers glistened faintly even in death, its golden eyes dull now but unmistakable, proof of the rarest of prizes. Even the most skeptical of nobles could not deny the truth standing before them.
From his seat at the rear, His Imperial Majesty observed the chaos with a sharpened gaze. For the briefest moment, surprise flickered in his eyes—quick and cold—but it was soon swallowed by the faintest curl of a smirk tugging at his lips. He leaned back against his gilded chair, voice cutting effortlessly through the noise.
"I expected nothing less," the Emperor drawled, "from my future daughter-in-law."
The words rang with cruel finality, deliberate and calculated. A shiver of recognition rippled across the hall, nobles exchanging glances heavy with implication.
Zuleika's stomach twisted, a wave of disgust rising at the title forced upon her. But her face remained smooth, her chin tilted ever so slightly higher, refusing to grant her enemies the satisfaction of a reaction.
Prince Althurd, however, was struck by a completely different current of emotion. His lips spread into a wide grin, mischief glittering in his eyes as he turned to Zuleika. Without hesitation, he clasped her hand, holding it with a warmth and enthusiasm that startled her.
"For me?" he asked, voice bubbling with excitement. His boyish charm was disarming, almost infectious, though his grip lingered longer than courtesy demanded. "You caught this… for me?"
Zuleika's composure wavered just slightly, discomfort prickling beneath her skin, though she quickly smoothed it with a polite smile. "Of course, Your Highness. It is tradition, after all."
From across the dais, Crown Prince Matthew's composure cracked. His jaw tensed, eyes narrowing like a blade drawn to strike. His gaze burned, not at the hawk, but at the sight of Althurd's hand wrapped so familiarly around Zuleika's. The corner of Althurd's lips curled into a smirk, sharp and mocking, as though savoring his brother's fury.
The tension between the princes radiated in silence, thick and palpable, as though the air itself grew heavier around them.
Zuleika, unwilling to be caught in the tug-of-war, gently withdrew her hand and inclined her head. "If Your Highness will excuse me, I must change before the feast begins."
She turned swiftly each step carried a quiet satisfaction, her chest lifting not from pride in the hawk itself, but from the expressions etched into the faces of the nobles she passed—horror, envy, astonishment, even grudging respect.
It was, for her, a victory far sweeter than any prey she had claimed in the forest.
As Zuleika made her way back toward her tent, her steps light with satisfaction, her path drew her past the nobles' tables. The murmur of voices still followed her, but she ignored them, her chin held high. Then, as fate would have it, she passed the table where Princess Aquila sat, regal even in silence, her fingers lightly grazing the rim of her goblet.
Zuleika slowed, her lips curving into a faint smile as she turned her head just enough to acknowledge her. Her voice was gentle, sweet even—but laced with steel beneath.
"A modest hare or perhaps a pheasant would have suited you better," she murmured, her tone too soft for the crowd but perfectly sharp for Aquila's ears. "Hawks, after all, demand a hunter's precision."
Aquila's silver eyes snapped up to her, glinting coldly. "And yet," she replied smoothly, her words as sharp as glass, "precision alone does not make a ruler. Do not mistake your little victory for anything more than luck, Princess."
Zuleika's smile widened, her gaze unflinching. "If luck can outshine the pride of Feltogora in front of its own court, then perhaps it is more valuable than I thought."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them, charged and biting, until Zuleika turned away, her skirts whispering against the floor as she left the princess fuming behind her. The ladies-in-waiting at the neighboring table cast each other quick glances, barely concealing their delight at the exchange, though none dared speak a word aloud.
Inside her tent, Zuleika finally allowed herself to exhale. She lowered onto the chair with deliberate grace, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips.
Cess was the first to break, clasping her hands together in awe. "Your Highness… that was magnificent! No one expected you to catch something so rare. The nobles will be whispering about this for months."
Captain Rhys, standing firmly by the entrance, permitted himself the faintest smile. "You've done more than just catch a hawk. You've struck at their pride—and that wound will fester."
Zuleika tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. "All the better, then. Let them fester. They will learn that a Princess of Nexus does not bend easily."
Rhys inclined his head in respect, but his gaze sharpened when Zuleika's tone softened. "Captain," she said quietly, "tell me—how fares Nexus? My family?"
The weight in the air shifted, but not with dread—merely with the weight of longing. Rhys straightened. "They are well, Highness. Your father holds the throne steadily, your mother remains strong by his side. Lady Eloisa continues her studies diligently, and the twins—Steven and Elijah—are as spirited as ever. Always running about the palace grounds."
At that, a flicker of relief softened Zuleika's face. "That sounds like them," she murmured, her lips curving faintly.
"As for the kingdom," Rhys continued, his voice measured, "there is little unrest. The only matter worth note is the Empire's claim on the mineral mines. Nexus is allowed use of them still, and much of the ore is being directed to strengthen the armor and weapons of our own knights."
Zuleika's brows knit faintly. "So even our strength is permitted only at their mercy."
Rhys gave a curt nod. "Precisely. It is our gain, but also their leash. For now, it is manageable—but it is something to keep watch over."
Silence stretched a moment, broken only by the faint rustle of the tent's fabric. Then Zuleika straightened, resolve burning anew in her chest. "As long as my family is well, I can endure. And as long as Nexus stands, I will not let the Empire believe us weak."
Cess smiled softly, her eyes glistening. "That is why you are our crown, Your Highness. You give strength just by standing."
Zuleika reached to brush her maid's hand in quiet gratitude, her smile returning. "Then we will stand together."
The vow lingered in the quiet tent, unshaken by the world beyond.