the Hunted
"In the depths of the forest, predator and prey exchange masks."
Samon led Medea ever deeper into the ancient forest, his voice carrying the false warmth of a practiced deceiver.
"I spotted a silver fox earlier—a cunning creature. It's hidden itself well among the undergrowth."
Medea urged her horse to match his pace, though her voice betrayed a tremor of unease.
"Samon, we're venturing too far. What if we encounter wild beasts?"
"This hunting ground has been tended by gamekeepers for decades. There are no dangerous creatures here."
He cast a sidelong glance at her, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
"Besides, you wield a sword now. Simply swing it if anything approaches."
"I've never slain a beast with a blade before."
Medea's protest came out as a near-whimper—the vulnerable, trusting tone she had perfected for Samon and the Claudio family alone.
"Tell me, Dea—why did you conceal your swordsmanship all this time? Our entire family was stunned by the revelation."
Samon watched her from the corner of his eye, his question laced with something darker than curiosity.
"I was far more astonished to learn of your injury. Is your leg truly recovered? You should have confided in me sooner if the pain was so severe."
Medea's reply was measured, her tone deliberately soft.
Silence stretched between them. Samon—who had so readily refused her plea for assistance during the duel with Jared—found himself momentarily disarmed by her gentle reproach.
He forced another smile.
"It wasn't truly combat, Samon. I merely recalled the fundamentals Peleus drilled into me. You cannot imagine how grueling that training was—especially with so little natural flexibility."
A note of genuine irritation crept into her voice at the memory.
Such prowess from mere fundamentals?
Samon's thoughts turned bitter as he remembered Peleus—the prodigy who had first gripped a sword at five, awakened his Aura shortly after, and eventually subjugated even the King's elite Agema guard single-handedly.
Of course he would have poured his knowledge into his precious sister. She absorbed it as effortlessly as a nestling receives food from its mother's beak.
"Ha. You two are truly... remarkable."
The tendons on the back of his hand stood rigid against the leather reins. He recalled how he had taken up the sword at the same age as Peleus, yet never once managed to match that dazzling pace of advancement.
The old inferiority, long dormant, stirred awake.
No matter. The siblings' spectacle ends today.
The thought coiled through Samon's mind like venom as he unconsciously spurred his horse faster.
"Samon, you're riding too swiftly! I cannot keep pace. After my terrible fall years ago, I can barely manage the reins."
"Forgive me. I became too fixated on our quarry. To make amends, I shall ensure the victory is yours."
His words dripped with false warmth as his calculating gaze swept over her. The mare beneath Medea was a docile brown pony—gentle enough to obey even her uncertain commands without protest.
The web had been woven long before they entered the forest.
She follows so trustingly. Like a lamb to slaughter.
Before the competition had commenced, the Fourth Princess had smuggled twelve wolves into the hunting grounds. Samon had affixed a small sachet beneath his horse's saddle—a pouch emanating a subtle musk perceptible only to beasts, designed to lure them inexorably toward his prey.
Upon his own person, he carried a different scent—one that wolves instinctively avoided.
Even if Medea attempts to intervene, it will be far too late. She'll be torn apart and devoured before anyone finds her.
Afterward, he would simply play the traumatized survivor who barely escaped the savage pack.
Forgive me, Dea. But you've grown too powerful. You threaten everything our family has built. I must strike first.
Once, Medea had been the savior the Claudio family desperately needed.
But circumstances have changed.
With Peleus having already declared his triumph, keeping Medea alive had become an unacceptable risk.
Samon maintained his pace—swift enough that Medea struggled to keep up, yet slow enough that she never lost sight of him entirely.
The forest grew denser with each passing moment.
Eventually, they reached a clearing so remote that nothing remained visible but an endless sea of tall grass. Ancient trees had grown so thickly overhead that their interlocking canopy swallowed the sky, casting everything in perpetual twilight.
"I believe I spotted a fox's tail somewhere near here."
Samon dismounted and crouched beside a gnarled stump, circling it with feigned concentration as though searching for a den.
Internally, he counted the seconds. They had reached a place where no witnesses could possibly follow. When would Medea finally arrive?
A voice drifted through the shadows.
"Samon. I think I see it."
"What?"
A fox? Or a wolf?
Samon began to turn—
Fwip.
A sharp, stinging pain—as if something had pierced his neck—and then his vision collapsed into darkness.
✦ ✦ ✦Medea snapped the brooch's hidden compartment shut.
A cat-shaped ornament glittered upon her right shoulder—a gift Akares had presented to her not long ago.
It functions precisely as he promised.
She gazed down at Samon's crumpled form, her expression devoid of warmth. The sleeping agent had worked instantly. She dismounted in one fluid motion and drew the sword from his scabbard.
It was a magnificent blade—far superior to anything its owner's mediocre skills deserved.
Should I simply end him here?
The temptation flickered through her mind before she dismissed it. No—she would adhere to the plan.
Let them search for me in desperation.
She intended to vanish from this place, leaving behind irrefutable evidence that Samon had orchestrated an attempt on the Princess's life.
Medea turned to leave, her unconscious cousin abandoned in the undergrowth—
Fwoosh—!
Instinct seized her body before thought could intervene. She pivoted, blade sweeping upward in a vicious arc.
Steel met flesh. The sickening sensation of severed muscle traveled through the hilt into her palm.
"GRAAAHK—!"
A bestial scream shattered the forest's silence.
Simultaneously, claws raked across her shoulders, shredding her cape. The fabric fell away in tatters as she twisted free.
Blood sprayed across the clearing—some hers, some the beast's—spattering the ground where Samon lay motionless. The metallic stench hung so thick in the air it stung her nostrils.
Yet he didn't stir.
There should be nothing like this in these woods. Which means...
Medea had anticipated treachery during the hunt. She had simply underestimated its scope.
A collaboration, then. The Fourth Princess provided the wolves. Samon—with his intimate knowledge of the hunting grounds—guided them to me.
"NEEEIIIIGH—!"
A desperate, agonized shriek pierced the air.
Medea's head snapped toward the sound. Several wolves had converged upon her gentle mare, their jaws clamping down in savage unison.
The horse was torn apart before it could even scream a second time.
Hungry eyes, bright with predatory intelligence, swiveled toward Medea.
Despite the chaos erupting around her, Medea's expression remained carved from stone.
She raised two fingers to her lips and whistled—a clear, commanding note.
Unexpected variables. But ultimately irrelevant.
Whatever unfolded here, she would weaponize it against her uncle. Every betrayal was merely another tool.
Samon's horse, which had been circling in panic at the wolves' appearance, responded to some deeper instinct. It galloped toward her.
"Come!"
Medea seized the reins and vaulted into the saddle with fluid grace—all trace of her earlier clumsiness vanished like morning mist.
She drove her heels into the horse's flanks and surged forward.
The wolves pursued without hesitation, their paws thundering against the forest floor.
Medea twisted in her saddle and fired her crossbow. Bolts hissed through the air—but the wolves anticipated each shot, weaving aside with unnatural coordination.
They've been trained.
Branches lashed at her arms as she plunged through the undergrowth. Dense thickets exploded around her as her mount crashed through them.
How far had she ridden? How long had she fled?
Suddenly, the horse refused to advance further.
Medea scanned the terrain ahead and wrenched the reins backward.
A sheer cliff face. No path remained.
The wolves recognized her predicament instantly. They spread into a crescent formation, bodies low to the ground, muscles coiled, advancing with deliberate menace.
"Grrrrrrrr..."
The nearest beast bared its fangs, saliva dripping from yellowed teeth.
One wolf lunged forward—a test, a challenge.
Medea's crossbow sang. The bolt punched through fur and flesh, and the creature crumpled mid-leap.
She yanked the reins, spinning her mount in a tight circle.
"CRACK—!"
Iron-shod hooves connected with a second wolf's skull, sending it sprawling.
A third beast darted toward her exposed flank. Medea's blade swept upward in a savage diagonal slash, and crimson arced through the air as the wolf collapsed, its belly opened from hip to ribcage.
And the final wolf—
KYAAAANG—!
It plummeted over the cliff's edge.
And Medea fell with it.
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