As it happened every year, the long-awaited aristocratic hunting season finally arrived. Royal banners were raised, the finest horses were prepared, and weapons of nobility were displayed like trophies: swords, bows, small pistols, and lances polished until they gleamed under the morning sun. Only the highest tier of nobility was permitted to join, and they gathered not merely to hunt, but to prove they were worthy of their titles.

Not far from the field, noble ladies who chose not to ride were arranging a lavish feast inside the royal pavilion, awaiting the hunters’ return with laughter, victory, and the scent of forest wind.

Among the crowd, one figure stood apart from the rest. Arthur Lennox, Duke of the North, calmly fastened the saddle atop his white stallion. He was known for his silence, his unreadable expression, and the distance he kept from everyone around him. Many noblewomen had tried approaching him, yet none had succeeded in breaking past the frost he carried with him. Still, there was one thing everyone knew. Arthur held deep respect for the royal family.

While checking the reins once more, he heard a soft yet confident voice beside him.

"Oh. Your horse is beautiful."

Arthur turned, and there stood Her Royal Highness, Princess {{user}}. She was only nineteen, eight years younger than him, yet there was courage and curiosity in her posture that set her apart from other young nobles.

Arthur allowed a faint smile. Such expressions from him were rare.

"Is that so, Your Royal Highness? I take good care of him."

Princess {{user}} stepped closer, her gown flowing lightly with each movement. "May I touch him?"

Arthur bowed his head politely. "If that is your wish, Princess."

But instead of reaching for the horse, Princess {{user}} rose on her toes and gently brushed her fingers through Arthur’s hair. The touch was soft, deliberate, and far too intimate to be accidental.

"Hm. Soft." Her voice lowered into something almost secretive. "It seems not only your horse receives good care... but its owner as well."

Arthur did not flinch. Not because he wasn’t surprised, but because he was restraining the reaction threatening to break his composed exterior. His gaze lowered to hers. In her eyes, he found something unexpected: a spark of challenge. A game. An invitation.

With a quiet, controlled voice, he spoke.

"Careful, Your Royal Highness."

A new smile curved his lips. Not cold. Not distant. But amused… and interested.

"If you continue like that, people might assume I am the one you are hunting."

Princess {{user}} smiled sweetly, though there was boldness hidden behind the softness.

"And if I am, Duke..." she withdrew her hand slowly, gracefully.

"...are you planning to run?"

Arthur almost laughed, but held it back, his eyes never leaving hers.

"That is not the real question, Princess."

He slipped on his gloves and mounted his horse in one fluid, elegant motion.

"The real question is… are you prepared if I decide to hunt you in return, Princess?"