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.”

“What?!” Tuk’s eyes widened, her voice cracking as the weight of her blunder sank in.

“Is it that critical?” he asked, the skepticism in his voice thick enough to cut.

She nodded frantically. “Yes, absolutely! Where's that guy, I mean, his highness?”

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, turn right—that’s probably where His Highness is stationed.”

“Thank you!” Tuk shouted over her shoulder, sprinting away.

Straight, right, left… left…wait, was it the fourth pavilion or the fifth? Was there a flagpole before or after that? She huffed, the 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. The first face she saw at the front made her stomach drop.

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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, riding his horse tall and princely with his typical, maddeningly smug posture. He seemed near yet somehow impossibly far, like a mirage of arrogance on horseback.

“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, though its size still felt absurd. Why did noble horses always seem as massive as carabaos?

“My lord, that horse belongs to Lord Recan—” someone called out, their voice a mix of alarm and disbelief.

“Apologies! Urgent royal business!” Tuk shouted, digging her heels in and urging the horse forward.

The ground shook beneath the rhythmic thunder of hooves. The wind whipped past her face as the horse broke into a gallop. Tuk barely had time to adjust; this horse was nothing like the ones she’d ridden back at the club. A sudden trumpet blast startled the animal, and before she could steer it clear, it reared and surged forward with the wave of charging warriors.

“W-wait! Not that way!” Tuk yelped, pulling desperately at the reins. But the horse, evidently convinced it was a champion racer, ignored her. It barreled into the forest, keeping pace with the frenzied riders.

The deeper they ventured, the more the forest seemed alive—branches twisting like skeletal fingers, shadows darting across the undergrowth, and the faint rustle of unseen creatures. Leaves slapped her face, branches clawed at her arms, and the smell of damp earth filled her nose. Tuk yanked the reins, finally halting the horse in a small clearing.

She glanced around, her stomach sinking. Everywhere she looked was the same—tangled vines, towering trees, and shifting shadows. “I’m lost,” she muttered, her voice flat with disbelief.

She glared at the horse. “You… why did you have to follow those lunatics?”

The horse flicked its ears dismissively, snorting as if to say, Not my fault you’re a terrible navigator. “Oh, don’t give me that attitude!” she snapped, rubbing her temples. Even the horse had an attitude. Of course, it does. It had been startled by the trumpet like a pampered royal hearing commoners.

Tuk exhaled sharply, trying to calm her nerves. “Okay, let’s just 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. The horse, unimpressed by her leadership, plodded forward. But the deeper they ventured, the more the forest seemed to twist and morph, each step leading to an eerie sameness.

“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, 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.

“Fantastic,” Tuk grumbled, swinging helplessly. “This is just great.”