Neigh!!!

  The hunting grounds bustled with energy, horses snorting and stamping around us. The competition was in full swing, and here I was, face-to-face with His Highness’s steed, a big, glossy black horse named Nightfall. His coat gleamed more than mine on a good hair day, and his body—well-toned, muscular, and downright luxurious. It looked like it belonged in a stable catalog.

  “Are you even a real horse?” I mused, reaching up to pat his silky mane. “If you weren’t so enormous, I’d make you my pet. I’d carry you around, Nightfall.”

  Nightfall snorted, answering with what sounded suspiciously like a judgmental eye-roll. But he didn’t move away; instead, he let me hug his massive head. He was huge, sure, and he smelled like a horse, but… not in the way I’d expected. No, he didn’t have the usual musty odor that clung to the horses back in the modern world’s riding clubs.

  He smelled… like cologne. Expensive cologne. I sniffed closer, amused. “I bet your shampoo costs more than my salary back at home.”

  “What are you doing?” I jumped back, my cozy moment with Nightfall interrupted by an unmistakably unimpressed voice. Michaelli stood there, eyebrow arched in that infuriating way. “Is the preparation done?”

  Straightening up, I cleared my throat and composed myself. “Yes, Your Highness. Lady Evelyn of House Alaric is in the fourth tent along with the other ladies.”

  I remembered my last visit to Lord Alaric’s estate, where I’d arranged to inform him of our “mutual agreement” and collect my reward. As part of the arrangement, I’d advised him to prepare his daughter for the upcoming hunt. It seems he took my suggestion quite seriously—Lady Evelyn is now here, dressed to impress.

  More pressing was whether she’d actually taken my advice about the prince. Knowing his infamous temper, I wasn’t entirely sure how this would play out for her, but she seemed well-informed about the palace dynamics. Maybe she had a plan of her own? Either way, she was here now, and I’d like to think I had something to do with that… probably.

  Michaelli gave me a long, assessing look, glancing between Nightfall and me. “Good. Now, move,” he said, slipping on his gloves with practiced ease. “Go back to the pavilion and keep an eye on things while I am away,” he added as he mounted Nightfall, his movements so smooth he made it look effortless—like he was riding just an ordinary horse, not this massive horse. I couldn’t even meet Nightfall eyes-to-eye.

  I hesitated, not entirely sure what my role here was supposed to be since the preparation was already done. “Ah… Your Highness, which tent should I go to? Could I maybe stay and enjoy the ladies’ company?”

  I looked up at his imposing figure, doing my best to hide my excitement. Honestly, I missed chatting with girls my age—the kind of conversations that didn’t revolve around muscles, swords, and relentless training. Why was the prince’s palace practically a no-women zone anyway? Even here, it was like testosterone central.

  “I mean,” I began casually, “the whole ‘keeping an eye’ thing could probably be handled by, I don’t know, those people.” I waved vaguely toward the ever-watchful guards nearby. “I’m not exactly your guard, after all.” My eyes flicked longingly to the distant table in the ladies’ tent, piled high with pastries and treats. “And… their food does look… really good.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The prince narrowed his eyes, clearly catching on to my not-so-subtle enthusiasm. “Don’t even think about it,” he said, his tone as dry as the desert. “Stay at my pavilion. Nixon will be nearby.”

  My shoulders sagged a little at the royal buzzkill, but inspiration struck almost immediately. “Well… could I at least eat from your provisions, Your Highness?” I gave him my best I-haven’t-eaten-in-days look. “I skipped breakfast because of the sudden orders and all.”

  He rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Do you really have to ask?” he grumbled, waving me off like I was an annoying fly. “Eat whatever you want.” And with that, he nudged Nightfall forward, riding off with that infuriatingly majestic aura he always managed to pull off.

  As soon as the prince was out of sight, a grin spread across my face, and I practically skipped toward his pavilion. Jackpot! His tent looked like it had been plucked straight out of a royal banquet. Dishes gleamed under the soft lamplight, each one more mouthwatering than the last. Forget keeping an eye on the council—I was about to keep both eyes on this feast.

  I dove right in, savoring every bite like a starving stray invited to a gourmet dinner. Between bites of flaky pastries and juicy roasted meats, announcements about the event filtered through the air.

  “These people are insane,” I muttered, stuffing a tart into my mouth. “Hunting beasts? What kind of lunacy is this? I prefer watching them afar” I pictured a giant tiger, the kind you’d see lounging lazily at a zoo. With a shrug, I decided it didn’t matter. Let them have their death matches. Me? I was perfectly content surviving with my muscles—brain muscles, mostly, but the arms were coming along nicely, thank you very much.

  “Oh, here we go,” I mumbled as I peeked outside, a bowl of green grapes in hand. I happily munched away, my eyes on Lady Evelyn and the prince, who were about to cross paths in what I’d imagined would be a scene straight out of a romance novel.

  Evelyn rushed toward her father, her ribbon fluttering dramatically as she attempted to offer it as a token of support. But fate had other plans. She crashed right into the prince, who caught her—well, less “caught” and more “picked her up like a sack of turnips.”

  “The hell?” I muttered, nearly choking on a grape. Where were the hearts? The sparkles? The moment? Instead, it looked more like a scene from a dodging-the-ball match. Sure, he accepted the ribbon, but romance? Not even close. With a dramatic sigh, I retreated back to my plush sanctuary. The romance was overrated here. Let's give up.

  “Now, for the exciting part!” boomed a voice from outside, snapping my attention back to the commotion. I peeked out again, just as curious as the rest of the crowd.

  “The palace has received word of a sighting of Onyxariel!” Gasps rippled through the nobles like a well-rehearsed wave.

  “Ony-what now?” I muttered, frowning.

  “Yes! The legendary black griffin with a golden beak that shines like molten fire! Its midnight feathers shimmer under the moonlight, while its haunting call echoes across the mountains. A creature of mystery and power, an omen of change!” The announcer’s voice was dripping with drama.

  Apparently, this Onyxariel wasn’t just any beast—it was some mythical avian on steroids. What even is a griffin? I think I’ve heard of it before—probably some kind of bird. The nobles were positively swooning as the announcer continued his over-the-top performance.

  “Who will brave the hunt? Who among you dares to face this legendary creature?”

  “Not me, that’s for sure,” I quipped under my breath, plopping onto the prince’s sofa with a plate of candied fruits. “They can keep their terrifying death-bird. I’ll be over here, making history as the first person to demolish an entire royal feast solo.”

  Lying back with my borrowed library book and a platter of pastries, I let the distant cheers and excited chatter fade into the background. Let them chase their mythical griffin. For me, luxury was the ultimate conquest.

  Time slipped by, and before I knew it, my eyes started to droop. The book is filled with words so deep and convoluted I can barely understand half of it. Soon, I find myself dozing off...

  “Hey,” An annoying nudge poked insistently at my shoulder.

  “Hey!” I grumbled, swatting the hand away and rolling to the other side, determined to stay in my blissful half-sleep.

  “Historian Tuk, are you planning to wake up, or should I send you to the afterlife so you won’t have to wake up again?”

  I snap awake, bolting upright and sending a few leftover grapes rolling off the bowl. Lord Nixon stands over me, his face shadowed by the light from the tent behind him. He’s looking at me with his usual annoyed expression. “Enjoying yourself, are we? While everyone else is working like horses.” He thrusts an envelope into my hands. “Deliver this to His Highness before the third lap of the hunt begins. Make sure he receives it immediately.”

  I stare groggily at the neat, sealed envelope he’s pressed into my hand. “What’s thi—”

  Before I can even finish my question, another warrior arrives, pulling Lord Nixon’s attention away, and they hurry off together without so much as a backward glance.

  “Rude,” I muttered, flicking a grape stem in the direction he’d gone. It dropped like a dead fly to the ground, a far cry from the majestic flick His Highness had pulled off in the past.

  “Tsk! How did he even do it?” Feeling more annoyed, I turned the envelope over in my hands. My breath hitched when I caught sight of the insignia stamped on the seal—a bold, unmistakable mark.

  The Emperor’s seal.

  “What?!” I nearly dropped it. “Why do I have to deliver this? Isn’t this the kind of super-important letter they hire couriers for?!”