The hunting grounds brimmed with noise and expectation. Rows of sleek horses snorted impatiently, their hooves digging into the soft earth, harnesses glinting beneath the morning sun. Nobles, dressed in embroidered riding coats and feathered hats, milled about with excitement, some laughing, some boasting about the prey they would bring down in the royal hunt. Servants hurried to and fro, adjusting saddles and tightening straps, while the three men who commanded all eyes — the Crown Prince Alaric, Prince Alistair, and General Sebathine — stood at the forefront, mounted on their powerful steeds.
But one man was missing.
Whispers had already begun to ripple through the gathered nobles. Murmurs of discontent rose like smoke.
"Where is the new tutor? Does he not know the importance of punctuality?"
"To keep princes waiting—it's arrogance."
"Perhaps he's too fragile to join us after all."
