Julian pulled Lucius up into his brown horse and fastened the saddle, his touch gentle but efficient, and then got on the horse as well. He made sure not to linger on the Duke’s reaction, or to give Alaric the slightest delusion that this choice to reject the Emperor’s offer had been born of some personal attachment or Northern loyalty.

It was a calculation. A cold, hard look at the odds of survival.

Duke Alaric let out a sharp, exhaled breath, his jaw tightening. He didn’t look relieved; he looked unsettled. Julian’s pragmatism was a barrier he didn’t know how to breach.

"The woods are deep," Alaric muttered, his hand gripping the reins until the leather creaked. "Stay behind me and don’t wander into the shadows."

"Don’t worry, Your Grace, I plan to stick right by your side." Especially when in the sea of 0% affection, he was the only one with an affection level that could actually save him if his life was in danger.

The Duke nodded and straightened his back. "See that you are."

The Emperor got on his own horse and gave one final word.

"Children of the Sun!" Aurelian’s voice carried across the field, amplified by magic so that it seemed to come from the sky itself. "Tonight, let us hunt for the spirit of the Empire! Let the blood spilled tonight nourish the roots of our glory and make the Empire prosper ever more!"

When he spoke like that, Julian couldn’t help but liken him to a politician making a speech during an election campaign. It was 90% raw bullshit!

A roar went up from the nobles—a primal, terrifying sound that made Lucius whimper and press his face into Julian’s thigh.

The Emperor’s gaze swept over the crowd, pausing for a fraction of a second on the spot where Julian sat on his horse. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, the horns flared.

"Begin!"

The surge from everyone participating in the hunt felt like a roar into the night.

From the brilliant glowing lights of the camp area to the absolute black of the Weeping Woods was like being blinded. The air turned damp and heavy with the scent of pine and wet fur. There was even a lot of mist, making the ’weeping’ name of the woods seem literal.

Julian looked around the dark expanse of the woods and tightened his grip on the reins. The air was thick with the smell of damp pine and rot. Just being here in this eerie place was already a lot for him as an adult; now consider the child.

This is no place for a kid, he thought, glancing down at Lucius.

The boy was trembling, his small hands bunched into the fabric of the horse’s saddle. Julian wrapped one arm around him, pulling him closer to anchor him and assure him.

Duke Alaric kept his stallion at a measured pace, his head turning every few seconds to check the gap between them.

His brow was furrowed, his eyes constantly scanning Julian and Lucius. Even as the other nobles began to pick up speed and appear on their path, Alaric held back, his jaw tight with hesitation.

Are they okay with this pace? Should I go a little faster? But what if they can’t keep up? The thoughts gnawed at him ever since they crossed the palace threshold.

He glanced at them again and then looked at the dense, swirling fog, and then once again at the small boy in front of Julian.

Of course, Julian felt the Duke’s gaze every now and then. He could not deny the way the Duke looked at him, and could not deny the amount of attention he placed on him either.

But Julian chose to ignore it, since this meant he was in great hands.

This forest was a graveyard for the careless, and the Duke knew it. He didn’t care about the prestige of the first kill; he cared about the two people riding in his shadow.

"Stay close, Astrea," Alaric commanded, his voice low and strained. "The mist is starting to shift. If you lose sight of my horse, call out. Don’t wait. Do you understand?"

It was a precaution. They didn’t know what could happen at any moment.

"I understand, Your Grace," Julian replied, though his voice was flat with no flare. He adjusted his grip on Lucius, who was still shivering against his thigh.

Duke Alaric nodded, and then he spotted a prey.

He wanted to pay more attention to Julian, but then what would he do when he returned with no game? His family’s prestige would plumment.

And so, he gripped his bow tight, ready to be a hunter for the first time in so long. Then, as fate would have it, a White Fox—shimmering with a faint, magical hum on its fur—leaped onto a mossy log.

The hunter in Alaric sparked in an instant.

White foxes were rare, even in the weeping woods. If he caught this fox, he might not need to go around looking for another game.

Then, he could return safely with Julian and Lucius. So, he aimed for the kill.

He took out an arrow from the arrow carrier and notched it over his bow, drawing with his focus narrowing on the prize, but then he hesitated.

He glanced back one more time, his horse dancing restlessly as he waited for Julian to close the final few feet.

Then, the horns from the distance blasted, announcing the first kill for the night.

Alaric clicked his tongue, knowing what came next. He was going to release the arrow when the fox leaped off the log to the sound of the second horn.

A secondary hunting party, led by the Emperor’s more aggressive cousins, thundered through from their right, their eyes set on the white fox that had just begun to flee.

Alaric’s stallion, usually disciplined, reared at the sudden intrusion of the other horses. The Duke was forced to gallop forward just to maintain his seat and guide the beast away from the path of the charging nobles.

"Stay on the path, Astrea!" The Duke shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the thunder of the hooves. "Don’t move from this trail!"