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A soft chuckle as she turns and winks at him the rush forward swiftly incapacitating in at its weak point well looks like am leading now your highness. You'd better not go back on your words

You agitate too easily your highness allow me to have some fun alright.

The dire stag skids, then collapses in a cloud of frost, steam rising where its great flanks heave. For a beat the forest holds its breath — then the hunters cheer, a brittle, uncertain sound that ripples through the trees.

Kaelith dismounts with the same economy as a drawn blade. He crosses the short distance between them without hurry, boots scuffing the frost-crusted earth. Up close, the stag’s eyes are glassed; there’s a faint, honeyed sheen around its muzzle — like the afterglow of a charm.

He doesn’t look pleased. He looks… measured. Cold curiosity hunting through the ice.

“You used something,” he says quietly, so only she can hear. The accusation is flat, but the edge beneath it is sharper than any spear.

He crouches, runs a gloved finger along the stag’s flank, then straightens. “Not many can touch the old magics and leave a beast breathing.” His eyes lift to meet hers — for a long second they feel less like a test and more like an inventory of what she is now.

Straightening, he lets a single corner of his mouth twitch — not a smile, but a concession. “Very well. You led.” He straightens completely and addresses the surrounding riders, voice calm and controlled so the hall of trees can hear it. “The wager stands. She has bested the first trial.”

Then he turns back to her, closer than etiquette would normally allow, the air between them thin and dangerous.

“One wish, then. I will keep my word when the hunt ends — but understand this: if you use that…gift…to quietly bend my will, you forfeit the protection of my honor and earn the attention of my blade. Fool me once, and I will not be so patient the second time.”

His tone is cold as winter glass, layered with something else — the smallest, hardest thread of warning that could almost be read as care.

Without waiting for an answer, he mounts, his cloak settling like a shadow. “Ride carefully,” he adds, not unkindly, and with a sharp whistle rips his horse forward. He rides past her, glancing over his shoulder once — a look that is less dismissal and more assessment.

The hunt resumes. The woods seem a little thinner now around them — as if the game itself has noticed the change in the rules

I don't know what your highness is taking about 😊😘 everyone knows I'm without magic

[Kaelith]

From ahead, his stallion slows just enough that he can glance back at her, the icy wind tugging at his cloak. His eyes narrow, cold fire catching in them as though her words were both an insult and… a challenge.

He reins in, turning his horse just enough to ride alongside her, their knees nearly brushing as the hunting party lags a few paces behind. His voice drops low, private, dangerous:

> “Without magic…?”

The corner of his mouth lifts, not in amusement but in something sharper — a razor-thin smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes.

> “Then perhaps I imagined the commander of my guard blushing like a boy yesterday.”

“And perhaps this beast dropped for you by… luck.”

He leans in a fraction closer, his gloved hand resting on the saddle horn as if to cage her with his presence.

> “But you and I both know, Seraphina… nothing about you feels like luck anymore.”

His gaze lingers on her a beat too long — not entirely suspicion, not entirely threat. There’s something else flickering there, something he’s refusing to name.

Finally, he straightens, voice snapping back into its cold precision as he raises his spear.

> “Enough chatter. The forest isn’t done testing us.”

And just as he says it, the ground trembles — low, rhythmic, heavier than the stag before. From the mist between the trees, a second beast emerges, darker, more monstrous: a shadow-fanged direwolf, its massive teeth dripping with black venom, eyes like coals.

The hunters behind gasp.

[Kaelith]

His eyes cut back to her.

> “Well then, little princess…” he draws his spear with a sharp crack of frost,

“…shall we see if your luck holds twice?”

---

Chuckles does your highness enjoy my company that much?? I'm honoured blows him a kiss with a wink

[Kaelith]

The kiss drifts across the space between them like a spark. For a heartbeat, Kael’s grip on his reins tightens, the black stallion stamping at the frost as if it felt his pulse jump. He doesn’t turn away this time.

His eyes — ice-blue, glacial — stay locked on hers. There’s no smile, but his jaw flexes, the faintest tremor of breath leaving his chest like a sigh he didn’t mean to give. When he speaks, his voice is lower, rougher, the frost melting just enough to reveal something underneath:

> “Enjoy?”

A pause, his head tilting slightly, hair falling across one brow.

“You’re a nuisance, Seraphina. A reckless, infuriating nuisance…”

Another beat, his eyes flicking to her mouth before dragging back to her eyes.

> “…and yet here I am, riding at your side.”

He straightens, but the spear in his hand dips a fraction, not as steady as before. He clicks his tongue to his horse, forcing a few strides’ distance between them to recover his composure.

> “Focus on the beast,” he mutters, but the edge has dulled, his voice softer.

“Win your wager first. Then you can ask whether I enjoy your company.”

Ahead, the shadow-fanged direwolf crouches, muscles coiling, saliva sizzling where it drips onto the frost. It’s far more vicious than the stag — and this time, it’s not going to hesitate.

Kael lowers his spear fully, cloak billowing. His eyes flash once, frost swirling at his boots.

> “On my mark, princess,” he says, voice like a command but laced with something that almost sounds like trust.

“We take it together.”

As you wish your highness innocent but not so innocent voice. Together.

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