Chapter 10: The Journey to Halebrook Vale
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The morning of the Grand Hunt arrived with a chill that clung to everything.
Even inside the palace walls, where hearths were stoked and silk curtains kept out the frost, there was a strange stillness in the air. Like the very stones were waiting.
I rose before dawn, dressed in silence, and didn't speak a word to anyone until I was halfway to the stables.
The armor Roland had given me the day before fit like a second skin. Light enough for travel, but solid enough to take a hit. The leather had been treated with a soft oil that smelled faintly of pine and smoke. The silver trimming gleamed faintly in the torchlight.
Calemir, my blade, sat sheathed across my back.
Not for ceremony.
For survival.
Outside, the sky was still navy blue, caught between night and morning.
The palace courtyard bustled with movement. Horses pawed at the cobblestones, nobles barked at servants, and squires darted between carriages like ants on fire. The royal convoy was enormous—over a hundred men and women, dozens of wagons, and five banners flying overhead.
Gold for the Empire.
Red for House Marlowe.
Blue for House D'Arvell—mine.
And black.
Unmarked. Silent.
I knew what that meant now.
Bodyguards in black. Unaligned. Hired to "observe." In truth, they were probably assassins in disguise, watching the prince they'd been instructed to remove.
I didn't let it show.
Instead, I mounted my horse with quiet dignity and rode to the front of the caravan.
A familiar voice called to me from behind.
"Looks like you clean up well, Prince."
I turned—and saw Mirelle approaching on a dark gray mare, armor gleaming in the first touch of sunlight.
She looked different than usual.
Less like a girl forced into court dances and more like the knight she truly was. Her tunic was stitched with her house's crest—a sword piercing a mountain—and a long silver braid trailed down her back.
"Lady Mirelle," I said, with the hint of a smirk. "Decided to join the parade?"
"I'm not here to decorate the road," she replied. "My father insisted I ride with you. Publicly."
"Your father?" I raised a brow.
"He says I need to be seen supporting House D'Arvell if we're to rebuild our image. His words, not mine."
I chuckled softly. "How dutiful."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't get used to it."
Despite the sarcasm, there was something steady in her tone. She wasn't just following orders—she chose to stand beside me today.
And in this world, appearances meant everything.
I nodded. "Then I'm glad to have you at my side."
[Ding!]
[Mirelle Affection +3 — Status: Public Ally]
The journey to Halebrook Vale took most of the day.
We rode through the golden lowlands of southern Virellia, past rolling hills, wildflower meadows, and ancient forests untouched by axe or fire. The path was broad and well-patrolled, but I could feel the weight of eyes on me all the same.
Every time I glanced back at the procession, I saw them.
Whispers behind lace fans. Muted laughter from behind armored masks.
They weren't watching Lucien the prince.
They were watching Lucien the puzzle.
The problem.
The one who didn't die on schedule.
Halebrook Vale revealed itself just as the sun began to sink toward the horizon.
It was breathtaking.
A wide clearing nestled at the edge of an ancient forest, bordered by low stone ridges and dotted with watchtowers. Colorful tents were already raised, forming a crescent camp facing the woods. Bonfires crackled. Horns sounded. Servants rushed to unpack wagons.
The Marlowe estate sat nearby—an imposing fortress built into the side of the rocky hills. Its walls were dark stone, its gates wide open in welcome. The banners of visiting nobles fluttered from high poles like declarations of pride and challenge alike.
I dismounted near the main camp and handed my reins to a groom.
Before I could even speak, a voice like thunder boomed across the clearing.
"PRINCE LUCIEN! At last!"
I turned—and braced myself.
Lord Berion Marlowe.
Mirelle's father. General of the Eastern Front. A man built like a cathedral with a voice to match.
He marched toward me in full ceremonial armor, red cloak billowing like fire behind him. His beard was braided, his eyes sharp, and his smile just barely too wide to be sincere.
"An honor," I said evenly, bowing with the right amount of stiffness.
"Save the bowing for the Emperor's feet," he replied, clapping a gauntleted hand on my shoulder hard enough to knock the breath out of me. "You'll need your spine tomorrow."
"How reassuring."
He laughed, and the sound echoed like a drum.
Mirelle stepped in smoothly. "Father. Prince Lucien has traveled far. Perhaps we could let him rest before the formal introductions."
"Hmph. You're right. No use shaking hands with a man half-asleep." He waved me toward the inner camp. "You're in the north tent. Close enough to hear the wolves at night."
"How thoughtful."
That night, as the nobles feasted in the great pavilion, I skipped the banquet.
Not out of fear.
Out of necessity.
I needed a clear head.
Instead, I sat outside my tent, alone, staring into a modest fire as the moon climbed high. Sparks danced like fireflies in the cold air.
I unrolled Wren's map again.
She'd marked three routes through the forest. One official. Two secret. The official route would be monitored—heavily—but the others might offer escape if things turned ugly.
I committed them to memory.
Then I did something unexpected.
I pulled out a blank page, dipped a quill in ink, and began to write.
Not a report. Not a plan.
Just thoughts.
Scattered, imperfect, but honest.
Something the old Lucien would never have allowed.
Footsteps crunched nearby.
I tensed—then relaxed as Claribel stepped into the firelight.
She wore a dark riding cloak over a plum dress, her hair braided down her back, a single candle held in her hand.
"Couldn't sleep," she said quietly.
"Me neither."
She sat beside me, placing the candle between us like a small sun.
"Tomorrow's going to be messy, isn't it?"
I didn't lie.
"Yes."
She looked into the fire for a long time.
Then said, "Promise me something?"
I turned.
"If something happens out there… and I'm not with you… don't try to die noble. Just survive."
I was quiet.
Then nodded.
"Only if you do the same."
She smiled. "Deal."
[Ding!]
[Claribel Affection +4 — Status: Private Pact Formed]
We sat there until the candle burned low.
The fire cracked.
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By Ecstasy Crown