On the Prowl
When we arrived, the world seemed to blur into a patchwork of tents and restless servants, their hands busy with saddles and trays of refreshments. The air was thick with the scent of horses and the sharp, eager barking of hunting dogs, their noses twitching as if they could already taste the chase. Among them, the hired hunters stood tall and sure, while the amateurs looked lost in borrowed bravado, muscles tensed for a show. Janus, however, fit right in and immediately blended into the fray after saying his goodbyes before he joined his brothers.
He had also brought a horse for me, almost as pale as my own skin. But I had no interest in saddling up. I remembered the clumsy joy of riding a few ponies on my grandparents’ farm, but the equestrian life had never really called to me. Besides, it was a different game here. Most weren’t here for a joyride; instead, most women draped themselves and their mounts in ribbons and braids, hiding the animal beneath layers of vanity. It was all a performance, really. Most of them weren’t here for hunting foxes, but for hunting men, their laughter and glances weaving through the morning like a net to ensnare their prey. I watched as Gertrude, ever persistent, guided her horse toward Janus, her intentions as obvious as the sun overhead.
Sigh, I didn’t think she would be this resistant to learning, but whatever; Janus and I had made it more than clear that she had no chance, so I ignored her pointless struggle and turned my attention to the other group of women present. They sat somewhat apart from everything else on a small hill, overlooking the area at open-air tables set with fine tablecloths and silver cutlery, with small cakes and tea. Around it, noble ladies chatted as if nothing in the world could disturb their peace, their laughter floating above the distant clamor of men and horses. They seemed untouched by the hunt, content to bask in the day’s warmth. As Janus was occupied with getting Gertrude off his side and with his brothers who had been waiting for him, I reluctantly made my way to the tables.
I always tried to keep my distance from the nobles. Even with the handful I’d met, the cliché rang true—arrogant, shallow, and so far removed from real life that I doubted some had ever touched a copper coin. Still, joining the men on their hunt was out of the question, and slipping away would only draw more attention. So I swallowed my bitter reluctance and made my way toward the chattering circle of noblewomen.
Of course, neither Rika nor her mother was there, and Olivia was missing too. I hadn’t seen Rika since she fled Hildegard’s tea party, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her. The Ivory King might have meant well, but his clumsy attempts at courtship had left her exposed beneath too many watchful eyes. Olivia, meanwhile, was off at another tea party, this one with the older women of society who quietly stitched their children’s futures together over warm tea and sweet cakes.
As I drew closer, the women’s conversation faltered, and their eyes found me. Curiosity flickered in most of their faces, even a few polite smiles blooming like cautious flowers. Only Lieselotte Bodman greeted me with a warmth so fierce it nearly startled me. Janus had told me about her—she was the one I’d helped when she was trapped under the door. I could feel her gratitude radiating, almost overwhelming in its intensity. I forced myself forward, each step feeling heavier than the last, until I finally reached their table.
“Lady Yuwen, it’s so good to see you. How have you been?” asked Lieselotte, nicer than any door-to-door salesman ever could.
“I-I have been well, Lady Bodman. May I sit next to you?”
Just recognizing her seemed to leave Lieselotte speechless, her eyes wide with surprise. It took a gentle nudge against her shoulder from another lady’s fan to bring her back to herself and answer me.
“Oh, absolutely, you can take my seat. I’ve already warmed it for you.”
The exchange left me more than a little unsettled, but I took her offer anyway since she was more familiar and at least sympathetic toward me. The chair she offered was indeed warm, and as I looked back at Lieselotte, I began to regret ever asking her for a seat. Lieselotte slid into the seat beside me—the one I’d meant to take—her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The other women exchanged glances, but Lieselotte seemed oblivious, her attention unwavering. I braced myself for a barrage of questions, but before she could speak, the lady with the fan turned her attention to me instead.
“So you are the rumored lady Ruby Yuwen? I take it that you are here with your husband?”
The woman with the fan had a sharp chin, long black hair tumbling down her shoulders, and eyes so green they almost glowed. Her dress clung to her like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination, and what was left was a body that many couldn’t even dream of. I nodded absently, a bit distracted by the seductive beauty before me, at her first question, but the second one caught me off guard, pulling me back to the present.
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh well, a few of us are here with our husbands, like Lieselotte with her Vernon.”
She gestured with her fan toward a distant cluster of servants, who were struggling to lift their round lord onto a horse that looked ready to bolt. Once, twice, three times they tried, and on the fourth, the whole group toppled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and embarrassment while the horse used this opportunity and ran away. Lieselotte’s eyes dropped to the table, her cheeks tinged with shame.
“But many of us are here with someone like Charles and me, or was it, David…”
She seemed to struggle to remember her escort’s name genuinely, her brow furrowed in concentration, until something behind me caught her attention and offered her an easier example.
“Or like Anna.”
“What is like me?”
Ugh. Just the sound of her voice sent a chill crawling down my spine. I probably looked like I’d bitten into something extremely bitter, but as I turned to face her, I forced my features into careful neutrality.
“Oh, I just meant your hair is as golden as yellow carnations.”
I almost laughed out loud at that comparison but was barely able to keep my poker face. Yellow carnations are used in flower language to express disdain and hostility toward someone else. Not to mention that they aren’t really golden but almost pale yellow. Yet Anna wasn’t noticing any of that and just took it in stride as a compliment. If it had been anyone else, I might have said something, but since it was Anna, I just let it be.
As Anna’s eyes wandered, satisfied, along the table, they landed on me, and for a second her mask fell. But only for a second, as she went on to say,
“It was nice seeing you all, but I better go back; the duke is waiting for me.”
“The Duke?”
“Yes, Elizabeth, haven’t you heard I’m here with the late Duke Henry Solaris?”
Said Anna, leaving the entire table speechless. She took our silence as us being impressed and pushed out her ample chest in pride, which almost fell out of her skimpy dress.
Ew. I turned away from Anna, trying to hide the disgust twisting my face. The late Duke Henry Solaris—father to the current Duke—was old enough to be her grandfather. Anna was nearing fifty, but Henry was at least ninety, clinging to life by the thinnest thread.
She walked away with her head high, as if she hadn’t just confessed to chasing after a dying man’s fortune. Around the table, I saw my own revulsion mirrored in the other women’s eyes.