The morning air carried the crisp scent of salt from the sea, cooler now that the sun was just beginning to rise higher over Nivaria’s harbor. Noel and Elena stepped out of the hotel side by side, their steps unhurried, though both knew the day ahead would be anything but light.
At the front of the street, carriages were lined up, polished wood gleaming under the light. Each bore the subtle marks of its house—colors, patterns, design—nothing gaudy, but clear enough to tell where they belonged. Drivers waited by the doors, reins in hand, the horses restless after being kept still for too long.
The mont had co to separate.
Elena tightened her hold on Noel’s hand for an instant, her golden eyes searching his. The flush in her ears betrayed her reluctance. "I’ll see you there."
"You’d better," Noel replied with a faint smirk, masking the small weight pressing in his chest.
She smiled, brief but warm, before finally letting go. Her father’s attendants were already calling her na. Elena climbed into her carriage, the door shutting behind her with a soft thud.
Noel stood for a mont longer, watching as her carriage rolled forward, wheels crunching against cobblestone before fading down the road. Then his gaze shifted to the waiting Thorne carriage.
A servant gestured politely for him to board. Noel exhaled slowly, sliding a hand along Revenant Fang’s hilt before climbing in.
The journey ahead would not be short. The area chosen for the Hunt lay deep in Nivaria’s territory—a land of steep forests and jagged mountains, far removed from the safety of the coastal cities. It would take hours, perhaps most of the day, to arrive at the grounds Lord Edric had prepared.
Noel leaned back against the cushioned seat, closing his eyes for a mont. He could still feel Elena’s warmth lingering on his hand, a reminder of the night before. But soon that comfort would have to give way.
The interior of the Lestaria carriage was warm, lined with dark oak and cushions embroidered with silver thread. Elena sat opposite her father, Lord Thalanor von Lestaria, whose ever-present grin already softened the heaviness of the morning. Beside him sat her mother, Lady Avelyne, graceful and composed, though her golden hair and gentle gaze gave her a more approachable air than most nobles.
Thalanor leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "So," he began with a teasing glint in his eyes, "how’s young Noel treating you? Don’t tell my daughter let herself fall for a boring man."
"Father..." Elena’s ears flared crimson, her eyes darting to the window. "Must you ask so directly?"
"Of course I must. A father has the right to know," Thalanor replied, chuckling. "Besides, last ti I said I wanted plenty of grandchildren, and you promised you’d make proud."
Elena’s breath caught. Her mother glanced at her, curious, while Thalanor’s grin widened as if he already sensed sothing.
"Well..." Elena muttered, twisting a lock of her platinum hair between her fingers, "that might not be so far off."
Thalanor blinked, then sat back with a hearty laugh that filled the carriage. "Oh? So soon? That’s wonderful!" He gave her mother a playful nudge. "You hear that, Avelyne? Our little girl isn’t so little anymore."
"Thalanor," Avelyne chided softly, though even she was smiling now.
Elena hid her face behind her hands, her heart hamring. "Don’t make it sound like that! It’s not... not exactly what you think."
Her father leaned in again, still grinning. "Then when’s the wedding?"
The question hit her harder than expected. Elena lowered her hands, her expression caught between embarrassnt and hesitation. "That’s... complicated."
Thalanor’s brow furrowed for the first ti. "Complicated? Why?"
Elena’s voice dropped to a whisper, her gaze falling to her lap. "Because... I’m not the only one."
The laughter in the carriage quieted instantly. Even her mother’s calm expression faltered, though she quickly schooled it back into neutrality.
Thalanor’s smile faded, his tone sharpening with curiosity. "Not the only one?"
Elena’s ears twitched nervously. "Noel... he has others. It isn’t just ."
Elena hesitated, glancing once at her mother before leaning a little closer to her father. Her voice dropped low, almost a whisper. "He already has three. Including ."
Thalanor blinked, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into sothing else—curiosity, calculation, and a faint spark of amusent. "Three? That’s... bold. For soone so young."
Avelyne folded her hands neatly in her lap, her expression calm but her eyes sharp with interest. "And who are the others?"
Elena swallowed, her cheeks warm. "Elyra von Estermont," she admitted first.
Thalanor’s brows shot up. "Estermont? Second only to the Imperial family itself in Valor." He let out a low whistle, sitting back against the carriage seat. "That’s not bold, that’s insane."
"Father," Elena muttered, her ears flushing red.
But Thalanor only chuckled, rubbing his chin. "Still, it explains a lot. The boy’s got ambition, I’ll give him that. To think he’d catch the eye of an Estermont..."
Elena lowered her gaze, her voice even softer now. "The third is... Charlotte."
Both parents looked at her in silence for a long mont. Thalanor’s grin slowly returned, but it carried an edge this ti. "Charlotte... as in the Saint?"
Elena nodded quickly, whispering, "Yes. But that one’s a secret. Hardly anyone knows."
Thalanor’s laughter broke the silence, though this ti it was quieter, more thoughtful. "Three won—an Estermont, a Saint, and my daughter. And all of them agreed? Hah. Either the boy is truly exceptional... or he’s the unluckiest fool alive."
"Thalanor," Avelyne said gently, though there was the faintest smile tugging at her lips. "Don’t make light of it. This could beco... complicated."
"Of course it’s complicated," he replied, waving a hand dismissively. "But that doesn’t an it’s impossible." He leaned forward, his eyes sharp now despite the warmth in his tone. "Then we’ll need a talk. With Noel, with Caeron and Elisabeth Estermont, and with Father Orthran. That’s a table I wouldn’t miss for anything."
Elena sighed, pressing her hands to her face. "You make it sound like I’ve already dood us."
Her father chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her hair gently. "Dood? Hardly. If anything, you’ve chosen soone who can survive the impossible. And that, Elena, is a rare thing indeed."
The Thorne carriage rattled softly as it rolled over uneven stone, the curtains drawn just enough to let in slivers of morning light.
Noel sat across from Lord Albrecht Thorne, the patriarch’s iron-straight posture unshaken by the motion of the ride. His gray eyes, sharp and unreadable, rested on Noel with a weight that felt heavier than the air itself.
Beside Albrecht, in the corner seat, was Frederick, the old butler. His back was slightly bent with age, his face etched with decades of lines, but his eyes were still as keen as a hawk’s. He said nothing, only observed.
The silence pressed in. No siblings this ti. No distraction. Just Noel and the man who had given him his na, staring at one another in a space too small for escape.
Noel shifted his gaze to the window, watching the blur of trees pass by. ’So this is how it’s going to be...’
The wheels hit a rut, jolting the carriage slightly. Neither Albrecht nor Frederick flinched.
Finally, Albrecht exhaled slowly through his nose, his eyes never leaving Noel.
The silence wasn’t broken. If anything, it deepened—heavy, deliberate, as though words would only co when Albrecht decided they were deserved.
Noel sat back, jaw tight. ’Fine. If you want to play it that way, I can wait too.’
The carriage rolled onward, carrying them both toward a conversation that neither could avoid.
Reviews
All reviews (0)