Chapter 60 The hunt begins
Inside the carriage, the air had grown cold and stagnant. Faye and Liora crouched near Elara, their faces etched with worry.
"My lady, are you alright?" Faye whispered, her hand hovering over Elara’s trembling shoulder. "You look like you saw a ghost."
Elara’s breath was shallow, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The whistle, she thought. The scream. “Something is not right,” Lyra stirred, her voice low and edged with a primal warning. “I felt the vibration, Elara. But the others... they are too calm.”
Elara looked at her maids. "Did you hear that? The sound from the bush?"
Faye and Liora exchanged puzzled glances. "Hear what, my lady? It was only the wind and the sound of the wheels," Liora replied gently.
Elara’s skepticism grew. If only she had heard it, it meant the message was intended for her alone. She couldn’t risk telling them about the vision of the red moon. Queen Arwen was still away, and with the hunt being moved ahead of schedule, Elara felt more isolated than ever.
"It was... nothing," Elara lied, leaning back against the velvet seat. "Just nerves, I suppose."
After a brief moment, Liora leaned in closer. "My lady, I don't like the way Lady Cierce was staring at you before the carriage moved. Please, stay close to us. Or better yet, stay by the King’s side."
Elara nodded absently. "I intend to."
A few carriages back, Pandora lounged across her silk cushions, lazily examining the edge of a jagged obsidian dagger. The memory of her conversation with Cierce played in her mind like a sweet melody.
"Soon," Pandora murmured to the empty air, a slow smirk spreading across her lips. "Soon, Elara will be nothing more than a passing thought, and Ronan will realize who truly belongs by his side."
Across from her, Kira shuddered. She didn't know the details of the plot hatched between the Southern Princess and the Northern Luna, but the dark gleam in Pandora’s eyes told her one thing: Elara might never return to the Lycan palace alive.
A sudden flutter of wings startled them. A large raven, jet-black save for a strange red mark shaped like a bleeding eye on its chest, landed on the window ledge. In its beak, it held a small, wax-sealed letter.
Pandora’s eyes lit up. She dropped the dagger and snatched the letter. As she broke the seal, her smirk deepened.
"It’s from my father," she whispered. "He has heard of the 'embarrassment' I suffered during the duel. He says he will avenge me. He’s already waiting at the campsite."
She looked out the window at the passing trees, her eyes cold. "Elara is as good as dead."
Hours later, the caravan crested the final ridge, revealing the sprawling campsite of the Great Hunt. It was a massive plateau nestled between jagged peaks, decorated with hundreds of silk tents and roaring fire pits. The air was thin and crisp, smelling of woodsmoke and the musk of hundreds of Lycans and wolves.
Guards in silver armor stood at attention as Ronan alighted from his horse with effortless grace.
"Your Highness!" the soldiers bellowed in unison, heads bowing.
Ronan ignored the fanfare, walking straight to Elara’s carriage. He pulled the door open and extended his hand. Elara hesitated, her eyes flickering from his steady palm to his face. Behind her veil, she bit her lip, but finally reached out and took his hand.
Draven, standing near the Northern tents, watched the intimacy with a jaw so tight it looked ready to snap. Beside him, Cierce’s expression soured. She didn't mind Elara’s death, but she despised the way Draven’s obsession with her had only intensified.
As Ronan led Elara toward the central pavilion, a booming, deep voice cut through the air.
"Finally. The Lycan King decides to show his face."
Ronan halted, his grip on Elara’s hand tightening protectively. Emerging from a group of Southern warriors was a massive man with shoulders like an ox and a beard shot through with grey. This was Alpha Silas of the South, Pandora’s father.
"Silas," Ronan said, his voice dropping into a warning growl. "It has been a long time."
Silas snorted, his eyes immediately landing on Elara. "It would have been better if my daughter hadn't been utterly humiliated by a... guest." He spat the word, his glare so predatory that Elara instinctively flinched.
"Elara won fairly," Ronan countered with a practiced smile, his voice like rolling thunder. "Pandora was the challenger."
Pandora chose that moment to emerge from her carriage, her face suddenly transforming into a mask of meek, fragile sorrow. She rushed to her father’s side, clutching his arm.
"Father," she whimpered, casting a tearful look at Ronan. "Ronan isn't being good to me anymore... because of her." She pointed a trembling finger at Elara.
“Since when was this vixen capable of looking so pathetic?” Lyra scoffed in Elara’s mind.
Elara rolled her eyes behind her veil, her irritation finally overcoming her dread. Ronan exhaled, his patience thinning. "Silas, we are not here to discuss domestic squabbles while standing in the dirt. The hunt is imminent. We will find a suitable time to talk. For now, everyone must be settled."
Silas narrowed his eyes but eventually relented, leading a sulking Pandora away. The moment they were out of earshot, Elara pulled her hand from Ronan’s grasp.
Ronan’s fist clenched at the loss of contact, but he didn't protest. Instead, he mind-linked Matthew. “Get everyone to their tents. Ensure the perimeter is secured. The hunt begins at midday. Be on the look out for rogues and nosferus. They've become really silent.”
The day passed in a blur and soon it was the day of the hunt.
The sun reached its zenith, casting a golden glow over the assembly. The pack flags of the North, South, and the Lycan Crown whipped in the mountain breeze.
Ronan stood in the center of the clearing, dressed in dark, reinforced hunting leathers. He looked every bit the predator he was.
"The Hunt begins!" Ronan announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the camp. "As tradition demands, the first blood must be drawn by the Crown. I thank the Alphas, Betas, and Lunas for joining this annual rite."
The crowd erupted in cheers. Matthew stepped forward, presenting a magnificent black bow and a quiver of arrows. Another guard brought a flaming torch.
"The rules are ancient," Matthew proclaimed, taking the bow. "No one enters the woods until the King’s arrow has lit the beacon of the Great Ridge. The first kill belongs to the royal party. Only then is the forest open to all."
He dipped the arrow into the flame and drew the string. With a sharp twang, the flaming projectile arched through the sky, landing in a massive pyre atop a distant hill. The wood ignited instantly, sending a column of white smoke into the air.
"Long live the King!" the crowd roared, and the Lycan warriors bowed low.
Ronan turned toward his horse, but he found Elara standing behind him. She had changed into her midnight-blue hunting gear, her mask rested neatly against her face. She looked at him expectantly, knowing the tradition required the King to bring the first catch.
"I know you wish to accompany me," Ronan said softly, seeing the unspoken question in her eyes.
"I’m not staying in a tent while everyone else runs," Elara replied firmly.
"She won't be accompanying you, Ronan."
Pandora stepped forward, dressed in striking red hunting gear, a bow slung over her shoulder. She wore a confident, haughty smile. "After all, I have been the one to accompany you for every hunt since we were children. It's tradition."
Elara’s gaze sharpened. "Things are going to be different this time around, Pandora."
Pandora sneered. "Don't get haughty just because you had a lucky streak with a sword and a mask. You don't even know how to handle a hunting weapon. Why would the King want a liability in the deep woods?"
"I may be new to your 'traditions,'" Elara stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous chill, "but I handled the Southern Princess well enough. I think I can handle a bow."
The tension between them was so thick it felt like a physical weight. Ronan stepped between them, his eyes lingering on Elara.
"Enough," Ronan commanded. "Elara will accompany me for the first hunt."
"Ronan!" Pandora’s face turned a brilliant shade of purple. "Fine! Enjoy the spotlight while it lasts, Elara. The woods have a way of swallowing things that don't belong."
She stormed off toward her father’s tent, her eyes flashing a signal to Cierce, who stood nearby. Cierce nodded almost imperceptibly.
Ronan turned back to Elara, mounting his stallion. He watched as Elara climbed onto her horse—a sleek, brown mare—with a grace he hadn't expected. He wondered briefly when she had learned to ride so well, but there was no time for questions.
He motioned for the horn bearer who raised the Great Horn to his lips and blew a long, resonating blast. The sound signaled the official start of the Royal Hunt.
As Ronan and Elara galloped toward the treeline, Cierce and Pandora exchanged a final, knowing look. The trap was set.