“I walked away from truth, keeping a blind eye. And in darkness’ embrace, I found myself running back.”

  “I really thought you’d understand.”

  Her words echoed in my mind like shards of glass — sharp and unforgiving. The memory clung to me in the quiet dark, refusing to fade.

  I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling as rain tapped softly against the windowpane. The garden was still alive in my thoughts — the Silverose petals falling, fragile and shattered beneath her palm.

  The coldness of her eyes, the bitterness wrapped in her voice.

  Funny, isn’t it? How this flower and I… we share the same fate.

  I closed my eyes, willing the weight of guilt and regret to lift, but it only pressed deeper.

  Sleep came reluctantly, dragging me under again.

  A faint whisper, a familiar voice creeping in,

  "Vincent."

  Chiselled stones of the ceiling greeted me, empty and intricate cracks webbing out lightly.

  I felt tired, heavy with guilt perhaps. The empty spaces felt profound, the silence more pronounced.

  Her words echoed back, like it was the only memory left for me to remember. I snapped out of it, pushing myself to move forward— though way unclear as to how I could.

  I did everything as it was like another day in the Hill and as I sat at the long dining table, my mind flooded with thoughts that gave me no rest... or peace.

  The hall felt emptier than usual, the distant footsteps of servants muffled by thick carpets. Sunlight filtered through the high windows in pale, dusty shafts. My mind kept circling back to the garden, to the way she had looked at me — as if I’d betrayed her without even realising how.

  A familiar, steady tread echoed across the marble floor behind me, each step firm enough to break the quiet.

  “What’s with that face?”

  I turned slowly, nearly choking on my food.

  Beltrom sat beside me, casual as ever — one leg crossed over the other, helping himself to a slice of pear from my plate like it was his own.

  “Y–Your Majesty—” I stammered.

  “Don’t call me that when I’m stealing your fruit,” he said dryly, taking a bite. “Makes me feel guilty.”

  I sat frozen, unsure if I should laugh or run.

  “I just came to thank you,” he said between chews. “For representing Ivory in the Hunt.”

  “I... what did I...” fumbling out of confusion.

  “So she didn’t tell you,” he said, eyeing me. “make sense.”

  “She, uh… might’ve left out a few details.” managing a lie.

  “Like you volunteering to be her Huntsman.”

  I scratched the back of my neck, trying to look unfazed. “yes... I'm her... huntsman”

  He let out a short breath — half amusement, half resignation. “She can be quite impulsive... like her mother.”

  A pause followed. Not hostile, just quiet and considering.

  “I’ll be honest with you,” he said at last. “I never wanted her to enter the Hunt. Said as much to you before. Too dangerous. Too final. But she wouldn’t back down. Months of arguing, reasoning, outright forbidding her — even had you try to talk her out of it — none of it worked.”

  I glanced at him. “So you changed your mind?”

  He gave a tired nod. “Eventually. She left me no choice. If I blocked her, she’d find another way. Risk more. Lie more. I offered my advice to choose a skilled noble to be her Huntsman”

  He paused

  “but she insisted on choosing you.”

  My brow furrowed. “You agreed?”

  “I didn’t like it,” he said flatly. “You’re still a stranger to this place. No history. No training. No blood ties. But she said something that stuck with me.”

  He turned to look me directly in the eye.

  “She said you’re the only one who’s ever truly seen her. Not the princess. Not the heir. Just her.”

  He sighed. “Perhaps something I didn’t do for her.”

  I had no answer for that.

  “And that scared me more than it comforted me,” he added. “the fact that she’d trust you more with her life than the protection of anyone else... even me”

  “I didn’t ask for that,” I said quietly.

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  “No,” he agreed. “You didn’t. But she did, and I want to honor that.”

  He stood, brushing crumbs from his tunic.

  “Truth is, I wouldn’t have agreed — except someone I trust talked me into it.”

  “Who?”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is, he’s convinced you’ll make a decent Huntsman… eventually.”

  “Eventually?”

  “He’ll be overseeing your training.”

  “Training?”

  Beltrom chuckled, turning toward the door. “All in good time, Vincent.”

  With a parting pat on my shoulder, he walked off, leaving me alone with a plate of uneaten food, more questions than answers, and a sinking feeling in my chest.

  Later that day, I waited in the corridor outside the eastern wing until the sun dipped low. Pondering of the responsibility forced on me. Questions of why she did what she did.

  "Out of spite for nobles?"

  "Out of anger for what I said?"

  My thoughts circling in an endless loop, giving no rest or reason. To clear my thoughts, I decided to take a walk— past empty halls, past guards who barely acknowledged me — until I finally gave up and returned to my room.

  Sleep took me again, uneasy and restless.

  “Aerehu Vhaskhara, Vyhruth Aegoth”

  The whisper returned — slipping through the cracks of my dream like smoke.

  Words I didn’t understand but couldn’t forget.

  Evening brought no peace.

  I sat up in the dark, heart pounding. There — again. A whisper, barely audible, tugging me from bed.

  The castle was quiet, cloaked in velvet shadows. My steps echoed faintly against marble floors as I wandered through its sleeping halls.

  Then a subtle tremble over my boots, a burst of explosion reached my ear.

  "Evespire" I whispered, remembering that tonight was Fire Show. But what little joy or interest I had to see the Lightworks, faded into the noise that hammered my mind.

  Hoping that seeing the skies might offer some comfort I decided to climb to the garden at the eastern tower.

  The climb was heavier than before, the weight of feelings and thoughts root my steps.

  As I stepped into the arched entrance, the burst of both sounds and color filled my ears and eyes. Truly it was magnificent. A rhythm of explosions weaving across the skies as bright as the sun, fading back into blackness— only to be followed by another blast.

  A moment that quieted my mind, right before flooding anger and confusion.

  Then a gentle tug behind me — soft, but firm.

  I turned.

  It was Ivy.

  “I heard what Beltrom said,” I began.

  She looked away, her voice thick with guilt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I had to do this.”

  “To prove something?”

  “Yes! To prove that I am not someone to be used for some political gain” her eyes full of rage, "my duty against those nobles who think that they can use my father's death to secure power!"

  My jaw tightened.

  Fists clenched.

  A heat rising from within.

  Then an echo of her words from the moment we spent under the sunset— clear as if it was yesterday.

  “the sense of duty?" I uttered "to mask one's selfishness with honor?”

  Her voice wavered, her conviction vanished.

  "I.... it wasnt like that.... its just a..." her voice wavering.

  A ghost of an emotion began to take hold, all too familiar but still overwhelming.. anger, disgust, a quiet rage.

  “A fortunate misfortune?” I whispered beyond the beats that echoed from the sky. Her eyes widened, tears forming at their seams. Her fist loosened, her lips shaken.

  Part of me wanted to forgive her— to reached out to her and tell her I understood. But that part of me faded as the night fell into a silence.

  Stepping away, my thoughts were clear, a semblance of peace I found in my moment of rage.

  The next morning, as I prepared to leave my room, the door creaked open. A guard came through, handing me a gray suite. It embelished by some gems and metals that held no significance for me.

  The thought of the responsibility imposed over me, tightened my chest. A stiffness around my jaw and my fist— a shot tremble creeping up into my shoulders.

  I took the suit without saying a word. Closed the door, with my appetite leaving with the creak of hinges that followed.

  Angry, confused, and craving solitude, I found myself climbing a tree outside the fort.

  Lying back on a sturdy branch, I watched the leaves sway, sunlight flickering through the gaps. I tried to understand, to find a reason for what she’d done — but it felt hollow. Selfish, even. Using me to fuel her ambitions left a bitter taste.

  Footsteps approached.

  “An odd place for an odd person,” came a calm voice.

  I glanced down.

  A man stood below, dressed in white formal attire, a sword sheathed at his side, long black hair with hues of blue, tied from behind. His back was turned to me, his face— hidden.

  “I needed time alone,” I said, voice sharp. “But I guess even loneliness seems hard to find.”

  He didn’t respond immediately, remaining silent for a moment before turning slightly — enough for me to hear, but not enough to reveal his face.

  “Is it really loneliness you seek?”

  I shrugged. Trying to reply "I..."

  but even before I could continue he interrupted,

  “Was it worth it?” he asked.

  “Worth what?”

  “Running away.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned fully away and walked toward the gate, his face still unseen.

  I watched him go, silence settling again.

  “to masks one's selfishness with honor?”

  His words echoed in my mind as I fixed the hem of my dress, fingers trembling slightly. The soft candlelight flickered across the walls of my room, but it couldn’t chase away the doubt that had settled deep inside me.

  A knock came at the door.

  “The King requests your presence, milady. The celebration will begin shortly.”

  I took one last look in the mirror. My reflection stared back — poised, polished, and pretending.

  "You have to face them Ivy" I told myself, "you have to be strong"

  The throne room glimmered with torchlight and nobility. Laughter and polished steel mingled in the air. Names echoed from the dais as royal families and their Huntsmen were announced.

  “From the northern lands of the Haze Mountains — King Maximus Darius Chilldred and his daughter, Princess Olivia Chilldred!”

  Applause rang out.

  “And representing them in the Hunt — Knight Commander Tristan Winterveil!”

  Then came the words I wasn’t ready for:

  “Ivory Steelborn. The Prized Jewel of Ironhill.”

  The curtain lifted.

  I stepped into the light.

  Eyes turned. Some with interest, others with expectation — and a few with skepticism sharpened like blades. The long banquet tables had been replaced by smaller round ones, forming an open path to the throne.

  I climbed the steps, my dress whispering against the stone, and faced the room.

  “I know the whispers,” I began, my voice steady though my pulse hammered in my ears. “I’ve heard what they’ve said — about a Princess, only Heir, entering the Hunt. How it is foolish. Dangerous. Impossible.”

  The words came slowly at first, each one measured, but with every breath, the weight on my chest loosened.

  “I am not here to be safe,” I said, stronger now. “I am here to be seen. To stand — not as a symbol of peace or politics — but as someone who has chosen the Hunt with her own will.”

  I scanned the faces, the conviction in my voice climbing with each syllable.

  “As for my Huntsman, I have chosen...” my guilt overwhelmed me, the choice I took from Vincent.

  I faltered.

  My chest tightened. The words caught behind the weight of all I hadn’t said.

  “I… the truth is… my Huntsman, he—”

  “LATE!”

  The word rang out like a sword drawn from its scabbard.

  Gasps stirred.

  Then — “He is… late,” the voice added, calm and clear.

  All heads turned.

  He emerged from the crowd, walking with quiet, deliberate steps.

  "Vincent" I whispered

  He wore the gray suit. But more striking was the Silverose pinned proudly to his chest — its soft, pale bloom catching the light, bold and unmistakable.

  He said nothing as he approached, only stopped at the base of the platform.

  Then, facing the crowd, his voice rang out — low, steady, and undeniable:

  “My name is Vincent. And I am my Princess’s Huntsman.”