Upon discovering the importance of the letter, Tuk sprang from her seat and dashed outside. The sharp sunlight hit her face like a slap, drawing a groan from her lips. Great, just what I need—bright sun after finally having a decent sleep. Her body felt stiff, a direct consequence of the feast she couldn't resist. All those roasted lamb and steak are making me pay now.
“Where the hell can I find him?” Tuk muttered, squinting as she took in the sea of tents and pavilions. The mountains loomed around her, green and unfamiliar.
Why did it have to be a place I’ve never been before? The scale of it all felt as if she were searching for a needle in a haystack—if that needle wore an arrogant smirk and led an army.
She thought about hunting down Lord Nixon for more instructions but dismissed it. Finding the prince should be easier—at least he's flashy enough to spot. “Excuse me!” she called to a warrior stationed under a canopy. The man, broad-shouldered and clad in armor that gleamed even in the shade, raised an eyebrow. “What round is the hunt in now? I need to find His Highness—it's urgent.”
He tilted his head, glancing at her rumpled state. “The third round is about to begin, my lord.”
Tuk’s eyes widened. “What?!”
“Is it that critical?” he asked, the skepticism in his voice thick enough to cut.
She nodded frantically. “Yes, absolutely! Where is he?”
He sighed, rattling off directions as if reciting a list: “Go straight, right after the fifth pavilion, past the flagpole, then left. There’s a large pavilion big enough to seat a hundred warriors—that’s where His Highness is stationed.”
“Thank you!” Tuk shouted over her shoulder, sprinting away. Straight, right, left… left…what comes after that? She huffed, the leather vest pressing the royal-sealed letter into her chest.
Why did Nixon pick me for this errand? I am bad at navigation! Her mind flashed with a vision of her boot connecting with Nixon’s shin. When this is over, I’ll kick his pompous—
Ahead, she spotted a cluster of warriors on horseback, their mounts stamping and snorting, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the chase. The most important person should be in front, right? She weaved through them, her breath ragged and legs burning.
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The first face she saw at the front made her stomach drop. Arrogant, yes. Handsome, no. Not the right arrogant jerk.
“Where’s His Highness?” she muttered, scanning desperately to the left. Then she spotted him—Prince Michaelli, standing tall and princely with his typical, maddeningly smug posture. He seems near yet too far.
“Damn it,” she whispered. I took a wrong turn. Nixon’s words buzzed in her head, his voice annoyingly crisp: “Deliver this to His Highness before the third lap. Immediately.”
Her eyes darted to the nearest stable. With a groan, she mounted the smallest horse she could find, its sheer size still daunting. Why do noble horses always look like they’re one growth spurt away from being elephants?
“My lord, that horse belongs to Lord Recan—” someone called out, a mix of alarm and disbelief.
“Apologies! Urgent royal business!” Tuk shouted, digging her heels in to get the horse moving.
The ground vibrated under the powerful, rhythmic thud of hooves. Wind whipped past her face as she guided the horse into a gallop. She barely had time to feel the horse, it's body was way too different to what she used to ride in the horse club. Suddenly, a trumpet’s blare sent a wave of warriors galloping forward, startling her mount. It reared and surged with the group of horses before Tuk could steer it away.
“W-wait! Not that way!” Tuk shouted, trying in vain to steer. This horse must think it's a competition stallion! It ignored her, following the mass of thundering bodies into the dense forest.
The world turned green and dark as the trees enveloped her. Leaves and branches slapped at her, and the smell of damp earth filled her nose. Her pulse pounded as she reined in the horse, halting in a small clearing where everything looked the same—twisting vines, towering trunks, shadows flickering with the sway of leaves.
As the trees closed in around her, a sinking realization hit Tuk. "I’m lost." She stared blankly at the sea of identical leaves and tangled branches. Great! Stranded in the middle of nowhere, and my compass is a horse with trust issues.
“You... why did you have to follow those lunatics?” Tuk muttered to the horse beneath her. It flicked its ears dismissively and snorted, as if to say, Not my fault you’re a terrible navigator. She scowled. Even the horse had attitude. Of course it does. It had been startled by the trumpet like a pampered royal hearing commoners.
Tuk rubbed her temples, trying to ignore the ache forming behind her eyes. All I wanted was to deliver this letter before the third round started. Now, she was stuck in an eerie forest with colossal, twisted trees that seemed to breathe menace. “Okay, let’s go back the way we came,” she muttered, pulling the reins with the decisiveness of someone who was definitely not sure what they were doing.
They moved at a cautious pace, Tuk glancing around as if the trees were conspiring against her. The deeper they went, the more everything blurred into green sameness. Is this forest shifting?
“Alright, horsy, I need you to channel your animal instinct and get us out of here. Otherwise, I’ll paint your hooves rainbow and make you the laughingstock of the stables.” She shot a glare at the horse, who seemed unimpressed. Still, it snorted, pawed the ground, and took off suddenly.
“Too fast! TOO FAST!” Tuk shouted, bouncing wildly as she clung to the horse’s mane, her fingers aching from the death grip. They swerved around a tree so wide it could house a small inn. “Stop! Stop!” She tugged the reins frantically, and the horse reared, nearly sending her somersaulting over its head.
She landed with an ungraceful thud, groaning as pain radiated from her backside. Perfect. This is just the regal image of an advisor I was going for, she thought, feeling her ponytail half undone and hair standing at odd angles.
“You little—” Tuk’s complaint died in her throat as something cold and slimy slithered down the back of her neck. “Aaarrrgh!” She leapt up, flailing and clawing at her skin. The horse, startled by her outburst, bolted into the trees with a parting snort of good luck, fool.
As she stomped around, still battling the phantom chill, her foot landed on something that gave a distinct, gut-wrenching crack. What now? The ground spun, and suddenly, the forest flipped upside down. Tuk found herself hanging in midair, leaves spinning around her like a mocking dance.
Shit.