── 𝓣𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐒 𝓘𝐍 𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓦𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝅄 ݁ ⏜



❝ 𝐈𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. ❞

✧ ࣪⊹˖ 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓣𝐄𝐍 𝜗𝜚˚⋆



The early days of autumn had arrived, heralding the season of the royal hunt. It was a time of tradition, an event that signaled unity among the empire's nobility—on the surface, at least. Beneath the gilded veneer, it was yet another arena for whispered alliances and subtle power plays. The crisp air carried with it the sharp scent of falling leaves, a reminder of change, though you found little comfort in it.

Amelie's absence weighed heavier than you cared to admit. No matter how often you told yourself that she was merely a servant, the void she left behind was palpable. The replacements, no matter how finely trained, seemed incapable of meeting your gaze without trembling.

Rumours of your icy demeanour had preceded you, shaping their perception before they even stepped foot in your chambers. They moved with a skittishness that grated on your already fraying nerves, their hands fumbling with ribbons and hairpins, their voices stammering over apologies for mistakes you'd barely noticed.

They were shadows, where Amelie had been a constant, a grounding presence amidst the chaos.

The morning sky was painted in muted shades of grey and gold as the carriage rattled down the cobbled road leading away from the Valenrose estate. Despite the heavy curtains drawn tightly over the windows, the chill of the season crept in, wrapping around you like an unwelcome companion. The faint scent of withering leaves wafted through the cracks, mingling with the dull thud of horses' hooves against the uneven ground, the only sound to break the tense silence within the carriage.

Your father sat across from you, his figure as imposing as ever, even in the confined space. He held his cane with an iron grip, the polished wood gleaming faintly in the dim light. His posture was stiff, his every movement calculated to exude control. He had spoken sparingly in the days since the prince's invitation arrived, but the weight of his discontent was ever-present, filling the carriage like an oppressive fog.

Now, as the estates and forests of the empire blurred past the windows, he broke the silence, his voice cutting through the stillness like the crack of a whip.

"You'll behave as is expected of you," he said, his tone a command rather than a request. His sharp eyes fixed on yours, unyielding, leaving no room for defiance. "This is not an opportunity for indulgence in whatever peculiarities you seem determined to display at court. You will show the empire that the House of Valenrose is above petty scandal."

Your gloved hands tightened in your lap, the soft fabric bunching beneath your fingers. The sharpness of his words was nothing new, yet they cut as deeply as they always had. "I've never sought to bring scandal, Father," you said quietly, your voice measured.

"No?" His lips twisted into a thin, humourless smile. "Then why do the whispers of your defiance reach even my ears? You'll redeem yourself at this hunt, [Name]. You'll remind them all of your place."

There was no room for argument in his tone, no space for anything but submission to his will. His words hung heavy in the air, laden with expectation and the unspoken threat of consequences should you falter. You turned your gaze to the window, letting the scenery blur into streaks of gold and crimson, the fiery hues of autumn stretching endlessly. It was a beautiful facade, masking the suffocating reality that gripped you at every turn.

The carriage jolted slightly as it hit a rut in the road, and you gripped the armrest to steady yourself, your father's reprimands still echoing in your ears. The royal hunt awaited—a spectacle of wealth and tradition. To the court, it was a gathering of camaraderie and sport. To you, it was yet another stage where you were expected to play your role with perfection, to wear your mask of icy poise and endure the endless scrutiny of those who had already decided who you were.

Outside, the vibrant leaves fluttered to the ground, their descent graceful yet inevitable, and you wondered, not for the first time, if you were meant to do the same—falling silently, unnoticed, amidst the grandeur of the season.



───────── ⟡ 𝜗𝜚 ‧ ⁺ ⊰ ─────────

The royal hunting grounds stretched out before you, the forest loomed at the edges, its trees clad in the fiery hues of early autumn, their leaves dancing to the rhythm of a crisp breeze. In the clearing, nobles paraded in their finest riding attire, their boots polished to a mirror-like sheen, their voices mingling in a symphony of laughter and clipped conversation. Servants flitted between them like shadows, burdened with saddles, weapons, and supplies, their movements precise and practised to avoid the watchful eyes of their lords and ladies.

You descended from the carriage, your boots meeting the gravel path with a satisfying crunch. The air was sharp and cool, carrying with it the faint, earthy scent of fallen leaves and freshly churned soil. The sights and sounds overwhelmed the senses: the gleaming bridles of restless horses, the flutter of flags bearing the crests of the empire's most powerful families, the gilded edges of armour catching the sunlight.

Hunting horns hung from saddles, their brass glinting as if freshly polished, while the royal pavilion dominated the center of the encampment. Its towering structure of rich crimson and gold, adorned with intricate embroidery, gleamed like a jewel against the muted backdrop of the forest.

For a fleeting moment, the sheer scale of it all nearly distracted you from the weight pressing against your chest. Nearly. But the grandeur of the hunt could not erase the tension coiled within you.

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of him. He had already made his way into the throng of nobles, his stride purposeful, his cane tapping against the gravel as he approached a cluster of men whose laughter carried above the din. His focus was absolute, his attention consumed by the intricate dance of alliances and appearances. He did not spare you so much as a backward glance.

Good. You released a slow breath, the tightness in your shoulders easing fractionally as his absence granted you a reprieve, however brief. Left to your own devices, you turned your attention to the grounds, taking a measured step forward.

Your gaze swept over the activity, noting the careful choreography of the servants as they adjusted saddles and checked the hounds' leashes. The dogs strained against their collars, their sleek forms quivering with anticipation, their sharp barks punctuating the hum of conversation. Horses tossed their heads, their bridles jingling, the mist of their breath curling into the cool air. The nobles, adorned in layers of velvet and leather, moved with the confidence of those born to power, their voices laced with idle gossip and subtle barbs.

You felt their gazes alight on you as you passed—some curious, others cautious, and still others sharp with thinly veiled disdain. The villainess had arrived, the whispers would say. To them, you were not a guest but an interloper, a dark presence amidst the splendour. You felt the weight of their judgement settle over you, familiar yet no less suffocating, like a cloak you could never shed.

Yet, you held your head high, your posture impeccable, your expression composed. The midnight blue of your riding attire, tailored to perfection, gleamed faintly in the sunlight, the silver embroidery catching the light like threads of frost. The boots on your feet were polished to a mirror shine, the spurs discreet yet sharp. You exuded the grace and poise expected of your station, even as your mind churned beneath the surface.

Your steps carried you closer to the forest's edge, where the hum of conversation softened, and the scent of earth and moss grew stronger. The towering trees offered a sense of seclusion, their branches stretching high above, dappled light filtering through the canopy.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to pause, to breathe in the crisp air and feel the wind tug at the loose strands of your hair. It was fleeting, a stolen reprieve, but it was enough to remind you of the small pockets of stillness that could be found even amidst the storm.

The faint sound of a hunting horn drifted through the air, its call sharp and commanding, signalling the approach of the royal party. The Crown Prince himself would be among them, his presence no doubt another burden to navigate in a day already fraught with tension. You squared your shoulders, your gloved hands brushing against the folds of your attire.

For a fleeting moment, your gaze lingered on him, though you chastised yourself almost immediately. His brilliance was undeniable, yes, but it was also suffocating, a spotlight that left no corner unilluminated, no flaw unseen. Lucian de Valmont was as much a predator as the hounds straining at their leashes nearby, and you had no desire to draw his focus again.

You averted your eyes quickly, your heart clenching as if gripped by unseen hands. The memory of your last encounter with him—his piercing gaze, his measured words, and the unspoken weight behind his proposals—hung like a shadow over the present moment. You had no wish to revisit that web, no desire to be drawn further into the currents of his intrigue.

Sliding into the throng of shifting nobles, you allowed the tide of silks, velvets, and idle laughter to carry you away, your steps calculated to place as much distance as possible between yourself and the prince.

But disappearance, as you knew too well, was a luxury never afforded to you. The whispers followed as they always did, shadowing your every step, their tones hushed but not enough to mask the venom within their words:

"That's her. The Duke's daughter. You've heard, haven't you?"

"They say she's not entirely blameless in what happened to poor Vivienne. Such a tragedy..."

"Lady Beatrice's been quite vocal about it, hasn't she? And Lady Marianne seems all too eager to support her claims. Makes you wonder."

The words curled through the air like smoke, insidious and clinging, their intent as sharp as any blade. You could feel the weight of their glances, fleeting but deliberate, each one brushing against you like a cold draft. Some eyes darted away when you looked their way, guilt or fear flaring briefly in their expressions. Others lingered, emboldened by their whispers, watching with a smug satisfaction that made your chest tighten.

Your jaw clenched, but you kept your expression serene, your posture impeccable, each step measured and deliberate. To react would be to give them what they wanted—confirmation, perhaps, of their cruelty's effectiveness. You knew better than to falter under their scrutiny; you'd weathered far worse storms than this.

To them, you were not a person, but a story, a character to be dissected, reshaped, and whispered about until the truth was buried beneath layers of rumour and speculation. Yet, you told yourself, their words would not reach you anymore. You refused to grant them the power they so desperately sought.

You tilted your chin slightly higher, your expression a mask of polite indifference as you navigated the labyrinth of nobles and intrigue. The soft breeze carried the scent of pine and damp earth, mingling with the sharper tang of leather and polished steel from the gathered riders. The hounds barked in the distance, their sharp cries echoing faintly through the clearing.



───────── ⟡ 𝜗𝜚 ‧ ⁺ ⊰ ─────────

The ceremonial breakfast beneath the royal pavilion was a spectacle of indulgence and excess. The pavilion's vaulted canopy shimmered with golden embroidery, catching the morning light as though determined to compete with the sun itself. Long tables groaned under the weight of an extravagant spread: roasted game, glistening fruits still kissed by dew, and pastries so delicate they seemed like works of art rather than food.

The nobles gathered in clusters, their chatter a symphony of laughter and subtle intrigue, punctuated by the occasional clink of crystal goblets.

You had chosen a seat near the edge of the gathering, the din of the crowd fading to a dull hum as you focused on the steaming cup of tea before you. The scent of bergamot wafted upward, mingling with the faint aroma of autumn leaves drifting in from outside. It was an odd sort of reprieve, this moment of stillness in the eye of a storm you knew would not hold.

And, as expected, the storm arrived in the form of Lady Beatrice.

Her voice, sweet and sharp, cut through the ambient noise with the precision of a finely honed blade. "Why, Lady [Name]," she began, her tone dripping with mock sincerity, "you look positively radiant today. I daresay the prince might find you quite... intriguing during the hunt."

Lady Marianne, trailing behind like a shadow, let out a soft, silvery laugh, a sound so affected it grated against your ears. "Indeed, though I imagine His Highness will be cautious. After all, one wouldn't want to end up like poor Vivienne, would they?"

The insinuation hung in the air, sharp and deliberate, its venom masked by the dulcet tones of her delivery. A few nearby nobles paused in their conversations, their heads tilting ever so slightly, eager to catch the brewing drama. The faintest heat rose to your cheeks, but you pushed it down, your grip tightening on the porcelain teacup in your hands.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet Beatrice's. Your expression was calm, impassive even, but there was a subtle shift in the air around you, a quiet warning that you would not be cowed. "Lady Beatrice," you said, your voice measured, each word polished to a fine point, "if you're truly concerned about the prince's welfare, I suggest focusing on your aim during the hunt. A misplaced arrow is far more dangerous than idle gossip, wouldn't you agree?"

The corners of Beatrice's smile faltered for a split second before she recovered, her expression tightening into one of forced grace. "Oh, Lady [Name]," she cooed, tilting her head as though you were a particularly puzzling child, "you mistake my intentions. I only meant to—"

"—highlight your talent for thinly veiled insults?" you interrupted, setting your teacup down with a soft clink that somehow felt louder than it should have. "Well, consider your point made. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd prefer to prepare for the hunt rather than endure another of your performances."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the nearby nobles, soft gasps and barely suppressed chuckles passing between them like a spark caught in dry leaves. Marianne's smirk faltered, her lips parting as though to interject, but Beatrice's hand shot out to stop her. Beatrice's eyes narrowed, her knuckles tightening on the handle of her parasol.

Before she could deliver a retort, a shadow fell across the table, and the murmurs stilled. The commanding presence of Crown Prince Lucian de Valmont turned the already-charged atmosphere into something palpable. He stood just beyond the table, his golden hair gleaming in the morning light, his expression poised in that maddening way of his.

"Ladies," Lucian said, his voice warm but laced with a quiet authority that left little room for argument. "I trust we're all here to enjoy the hunt—not simply the sport of courtly banter."

Beatrice's composure wavered ever so slightly, and she dipped into a curtsy, her expression carefully schooled into one of deference. "Of course, Your Highness," she replied, her voice taking on an almost saccharine tone. "We were merely offering Lady [Name] our well-wishes for the hunt. It's so rare to see her join such events."

Lucian's gaze shifted to you, his expression unreadable but his attention as focused and unyielding as a predator sizing up its prey. "How fortunate," he said lightly, his words wrapped in a veneer of politeness. "Lady [Name] deserves nothing less."

You met his gaze with a calm defiance, though the weight of his attention settled heavily on your shoulders. "Your Highness," you said, inclining your head in a gesture of respect, though your tone carried none of the deference he might have expected.

The tension crackled in the air, an unspoken challenge lingering between you and the prince. Beatrice, perhaps sensing that she had lost this round, curtsied once more and took Marianne's arm. "Shall we, Marianne?" she said with forced brightness. "We wouldn't want to keep our hounds waiting."

As the two women retreated, their skirts sweeping dramatically behind them, you allowed yourself a small breath of relief. But the reprieve was short-lived. Lucian, still standing at your side, tilted his head slightly, his piercing gaze never wavering.

"You have a remarkable way with words, Lady [Name]," he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You forced a smile, rising from your seat with deliberate grace. "In the royal court, Your Highness, words are often sharper than arrows. One must learn to wield them carefully."

Lucian chuckled, the sound rich and infuriatingly smooth. "Indeed. Let us hope your aim proves as precise during the hunt."



───────── ⟡ 𝜗𝜚 ‧ ⁺ ⊰ ─────────

The forest stretched before you in a symphony of autumnal hues, its branches crowned with fiery reds and muted golds. The air was crisp and damp, carrying the faint, nostalgic scent of decaying leaves and freshly turned earth. The nobles around you made a spectacle of their departure, their brightly coloured cloaks fluttering behind them like banners as their laughter rose above the steady clatter of hooves. The energy was vibrant, almost electric, but it left you cold.

Your mare shifted beneath you, her movements steady and sure, mirroring your own quiet resolve to slip away unnoticed. You steered her toward the edge of the gathering, avoiding the knots of noblemen and women jostling for attention, each one eager to flaunt their skill or charm before the hunt had even begun. There was no place for you in their contrived camaraderie, and you had no intention of lingering where their whispers and sideways glances would follow you.

As the sound of voices faded, replaced by the rhythmic rustle of leaves and the soft cadence of hooves against the forest floor, a fragile peace began to take root. The deeper you ventured, the more the forest seemed to embrace you, its towering trees forming a protective canopy that muted the world beyond. Here, in this secluded part of the woods, the weight of the morning's barbs and judgment began to lift, carried away by the rustling breeze.

But peace was a fleeting thing.

"Riding alone, Lady [Name]?"

The familiar voice sliced through the stillness, warm and rich. Your hands tightened imperceptibly on the reins, your shoulders stiffening as the Crown Prince's unmistakable presence drew closer. You resisted the urge to sigh aloud, instead nudging your mare forward in hopes that he would take the hint.

He did not.

Lucian guided his stallion to your side, the sleek black horse moving with a fluid grace that mirrored its rider's unerring confidence. He looked at ease in the saddle, his emerald eyes gleaming with curiosity as they met yours. You didn't need to look at him to feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and unrelenting.

"Your Highness," you said, inclining your head just enough to satisfy propriety. Your voice was cool, clipped, but polite. "I wasn't aware you preferred such isolated paths."

He chuckled, the sound soft and low, as though he found your discomfort endearing. "I'm quite adaptable," he replied smoothly, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Especially when the company proves intriguing."

Your mare snorted softly, and for a brief moment, you envied her lack of restraint. You urged her forward, hoping to leave Lucian behind, but his stallion matched her stride effortlessly, his rider undeterred by your pointed avoidance.

"It's rare to see someone so eager to avoid company during the hunt," Lucian continued, his tone conversational, almost lighthearted. "Most would seize the chance to make alliances or impress their peers. But you've never been like most."

Your gaze remained fixed on the path ahead, your fingers tightening around the reins. "How observant of you," you replied, your voice edged with a subtle irritation you couldn't quite suppress. "Though I fail to see what's intriguing about valuing quiet over empty flattery."

Lucian laughed again, a deep, rich sound that grated against your nerves even as it softened the tension in the air. "Quiet is often misunderstood," he said, his tone now carrying a thoughtful edge. "But I've always believed there's a strength in standing apart. Wouldn't you agree?"

You finally turned your head, meeting his gaze with a steady look that masked the unease stirring within you. His words were deliberate, as always, and they left you wondering what lay beneath their surface. "Sometimes," you said carefully, "it's not strength but necessity."

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on you as though dissecting your every word. "Necessity can forge strength," he mused, his voice softer now. "Perhaps that's why I find your company so... compelling."

The word hung between you like a living thing, its weight far greater than his tone suggested. Your heart quickened, but you forced your expression to remain calm, betraying none of the irritation—or the faint unease—that his presence always seemed to stir.

Your grip on the reins tightened, your knuckles whitening beneath your gloves. His words unsettled you, their weight tangling with your thoughts. Compelling. You doubted the sincerity of such a sentiment, knowing all too well that interest, in his world, was fleeting—a game he played with precision.

You turned your gaze forward, willing yourself to maintain composure. "Compelling, Your Highness?" you said lightly, as though tasting the word. "I would advise caution with such flattery. It often lacks longevity."

Lucian tilted his head, studying you as though you had just revealed something more significant than you intended. "Longevity," he repeated, his tone contemplative. "Is that what you seek, Lady [Name]?"

You stiffened at his insinuation, but you didn't falter. Instead, you replied with a faint smile that barely touched your lips. "What I seek, Your Highness, is irrelevant to this conversation."

He laughed again, the sound genuine, as though your deflections were more endearing than frustrating. "Perhaps," he said, falling silent for a moment. Then, his gaze sharpened, his next words striking like an arrow. "Or perhaps you're simply afraid to admit what you want."

You drew in a slow breath, your chest tight. His words threatened to peel back the carefully constructed mask you had worn for so long, but you would not allow it. Not here. Not with him. "Fear, Your Highness," you said smoothly, "is for those who have not learned the value of caution."

Lucian tilted his head slightly, his emerald eyes gleaming with amusement. "Caution is a useful shield, but it does little to inspire action," he mused, his tone conversational. "Some would say that taking risks is the only way to truly live."

"You're relentless, Your Highness," you said, your voice cool, the faintest note of exasperation slipping through. "But then, I suppose persistence has its merits."

His smile softened, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Only when the effort is worthwhile."

You urged your mare into a faster pace, her hooves striking the forest floor with renewed determination. Yet Lucian's stallion moved in perfect tandem, its powerful strides closing the gap between you with ease.

"Tell me," Lucian said after a moment, his voice breaking the rhythmic cadence of the woods, "what do you hope to find out here, riding alone?"

"Perhaps the same thing you're avoiding," you replied, your tone pointed, each word laced with quiet defiance.

"And what might that be?" he pressed, the faintest edge of amusement in his voice.

"Unwanted company."

His laughter came again, softer this time, as though he found your defiance more endearing than frustrating. "If that's the case, then I owe you an apology. Though I suspect my absence would be far less... stimulating."

You turned to him then, your gaze sharp as your patience frayed. "You assume too much, Your Highness."

"Perhaps," he conceded, his smile deepening, "but assumptions are rarely without merit. And I find myself curious, Lady [Name]. About you, about your thoughts, your motives. I can't help but wonder why."

The intensity in his eyes was unnerving, and though you held his gaze, the scrutiny left you feeling exposed, as though he were pulling apart the carefully constructed mask you wore. His curiosity wasn't harmless—it never was.

"Your Highness," you said, your voice cool but measured, "some doors are best left unopened. Especially when what lies behind them is none of your concern."

"Ah," he replied, the teasing note in his voice unabated, "but what is life without a little curiosity? Still, I'll respect your caution—for now."

With that, he pulled his stallion back slightly, granting you the distance you had sought. The tension in your chest eased as his presence receded, but the weight of his words lingered, a reminder that his curiosity was far from harmless. As you rode deeper into the forest, the leaves whispered secrets in the breeze, their rustling chorus masking the sound of your own unsettled thoughts.



✧ ࣪⊹˖ 𝓔𝐍𝐃 𝓞𝐅 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓣𝐄𝐍 𝜗𝜚˚⋆



𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓥𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝓘𝐒 𝓣𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃!

𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦! 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘹 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴! 𝘧𝘦𝘮. 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

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𝜗𝜚 ✧𓆪 ‧₊˚⊹

𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 ﹕edited !



Sorry for the late update!! (╥﹏╥) I've been feeling sick recently and haven't really had the energy to write, so this might not be the best! I know mc is ooc but I was feeling silly and decided to have her speak a little with her true feelings

Alsooo, just another question, how many love interests do you guys think would be a good amount? I lowkey might have too many planned...

P.S. LMK IF IT SUCKS BC I FEEL LIKE THIS CHAP DID NOT EAT...