The northern hunting grounds were louder than Niana expected.
Not unruly — no, nobles would never allow something so uncultured — but alive in a polished, performative way. Silk dresses shimmered beneath filtered sunlight as ladies gathered beneath embroidered pavilions. Fine horses stamped against the earth, their bridles adorned in silver and gold. The scent of leather, polished steel, and expensive perfume mixed strangely with the crisp forest air.
And then—
She arrived.
The murmurs began immediately.
It wasn't loud at first. Just the faint shift in tone. A ripple in the fabric of the gathering.
"Is that—"
"Valeris?"
"She never attends."
"I heard she's reclusive."
"After the incident…"
Niana stepped down from the carriage with controlled grace, her gloved hand resting lightly in Lucien's as he assisted her. She wore deep forest green — subtle, but intentional — the shade catching gold in the sunlight without screaming for attention.
Lucien followed half a step behind her, posture straight, expression neutral, gaze scanning.
She had told him repeatedly she was only here to watch.
Only to observe.
Only to distract herself.
That had been the plan.
Now she was reconsidering the definition of "quiet attendance."
Within moments, a semicircle of nobles had formed.
Polite smiles. Curious eyes.
"Lady Valeris," one gentleman bowed deeply. "What an… unexpected pleasure."
"Yes," another added. "We did not think your house took interest in such events."
Niana maintained a pleasant smile.
"We do not," she replied lightly. "I am expanding my horizons."
The statement confused them.
Good.
More questions began layering over each other. Speculations. Veiled inquiries about whether the Valeris estate was re-entering public politics. Whether she was aligning with certain factions.
It was exhausting.
And then—
A voice cut gently through the noise.
"Forgive me, gentlemen. You are crowding her."
The nobles parted slightly.
The woman who stepped forward was striking in a quiet, calculated way. Her hair was a soft ash-blonde swept neatly back, not extravagantly styled but impeccably arranged. Her eyes were a cool gray — not cold, but observant, like someone accustomed to reading rooms rather than commanding them. A faint beauty mark rested just beneath her left eye, subtle enough to notice only upon second glance.
Her expression carried warmth.
But not softness.
There was intelligence there.
Poise.
"I am Marchioness Elara Wynthorne," she introduced smoothly, offering Niana a graceful bow. "I apologize for the enthusiasm of my peers."
Niana blinked.
Close to her age.
Perhaps three years older.
But the marchioness carried herself with someone who had already survived politics and chosen to enjoy it.
"Lady Niana Valeris," she returned the greeting.
Elara smiled faintly. "I know."
The answer was meaningful without being invasive.
Elara turned slightly toward the others. "Surely you have preparations to attend to. The horn will sound soon."
The nobles dispersed reluctantly.
Niana exhaled under her breath.
"You saved me."
Elara tilted her head. "Hardly. I merely interrupted."
"Which qualifies as saving."
A small, amused curve touched the marchioness's lips.
"You are not what they expected."
"Neither are you," Niana replied honestly.
Elara's gaze sharpened just slightly at that.
"I attend every year," she said. "Observation is valuable. Men reveal much when they believe they are competing."
Niana followed her gaze toward the riders assembling at the edge of the clearing.
"And the prize?" Niana asked casually.
Elara studied her briefly before answering.
"A relic recovered from the eastern cathedral ruins. A minor holy artifact. Nothing kingdom-altering… but significant."
A holy artifact.
The words echoed in Niana's mind.
Something sacred.
Something possibly useful.
Something that might help in ten days.
She turned slowly.
Lucien stood exactly where he always did — slightly behind her right shoulder, silent, unreadable.
A holy artifact.
Ten days.
Her gaze sharpened.
"Lucien."
"Yes, Milady."
"You are entering."
He did not react immediately.
"…Entering."
"Yes."
"You informed me earlier you intended only to observe."
"I have changed my mind."
A faint pause.
"You are aware this requires me to represent you."
"I am aware."
"And you trust me with a sacred artifact."
"I trust you with my life."
The words left her mouth before she could filter them.
Silence settled between them.
Lucien's eyes shifted — just slightly.
Not softened.
But something moved beneath the surface.
"…Then I will win it," he said calmly.
The simplicity of his tone made it sound less like a promise and more like inevitability.
But as he straightened, adjusting his gloves, a subtle tension flickered through him.
He would be leaving her unattended.
Only briefly.
But still.
Without turning his head, his gaze shifted faintly to the treeline beyond the pavilion.
A man stood there casually, leaning against a carriage wheel — dressed plainly, almost forgettable.
An ally.
Lucien's eyes narrowed slightly.
The man gave the faintest nod.
Understood.
He would watch her.
Lucien returned his gaze forward without ever appearing to move.
Niana, meanwhile, was completely unaware — now politely conversing with Elara about falconry traditions as though she had not just committed her butler to public competition.
Then—
The horn sounded.
Deep.
Resonant.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
The air grew taut.
The laughter dulled into anticipation.
Riders moved toward the center clearing where banners marked their assigned territories. Ladies gathered closer, some stepping forward with delicate silk pouches, embroidered ribbons, handkerchiefs scented with perfume.
Niana blinked.
"What are they doing?"
Elara glanced at her, mildly surprised. "Good luck charms."
"…Good luck charms."
"Yes. A token from the lady to the gentleman representing her. It is tradition."
Niana froze.
Tradition.
She had not brought anything.
No ribbon.
No charm.
No embroidered keepsake.
Lucien approached her now, fully prepared, posture immaculate.
"You appear troubled," he observed quietly.
"They're giving charms," she whispered urgently.
"Yes."
"I did not bring one."
"You were not planning to participate."
"That is irrelevant now."
"Milady," he said calmly, lowering his voice, "I require nothing. I am your butler."
That word.
Butler.
As if that erased the fact that he was about to risk himself in a forest full of armed noblemen for her.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"No."
Lucien blinked.
"No?"
"You are representing me."
"Yes."
"Then you deserve a charm."
He hesitated, clearly preparing to argue—
She stepped closer instead.
"Lean down."
He stiffened.
"…Milady?"
"Lean down."
There was no room for negotiation in her tone.
Lucien obeyed.
Slowly.
The surrounding chatter continued — laughter, silk rustling, horses shifting.
But for a brief second, the world narrowed.
Niana rose slightly on her toes.
And pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.
It was not dramatic.
Not lingering.
Just warm.
Intentional.
"For good luck," she said gently, smiling.
Lucien froze.
Completely.
His eyes widened — just barely — but enough that anyone who knew him would have recognized the shock.
For a man who did not flinch at blades, he looked utterly undone.
She stepped back before her courage reconsidered.
"You must win," she added lightly.
Lucien straightened slowly.
His composure returned in layers — like armor locking back into place.
He placed a hand over his chest briefly.
"…I will."
Then he bowed.
Deep.
Not as a butler.
But as something far more deliberate.
And when he mounted his horse moments later, there was something different in his gaze.
Focused.
Unyielding.
Because now—
He was not merely hunting.
He was winning a relic.
For her.