Dominance of Veiled Heart

Chapter 30

Neigh!!!

The hunting grounds pulsed with energy—horses snorting, hooves stamping, and the murmurs of nobility blending with the crisp morning air. The competition was in full swing, and here I was, standing before His Highness’s steed, a beast that could probably trample me without even noticing.

Nightfall. Even his name was unnecessarily dramatic. His coat gleamed, impossibly sleek, more polished than my hair on its best day. Muscles rippled beneath his glossy hide, and every movement exuded raw, effortless power. He looked like he belonged on the cover of an elite equestrian magazine, not here, preparing for a royal hunt.

"Are you even a real horse?" I murmured, reaching up to stroke his mane. Silky. Unfairly so. “If you weren’t so enormous, I’d make you my pet. I’d carry you around, Nightfall.”

The horse snorted, his ears twitching in what I swore was judgment. The kind that says If I am capable of keeping it around, which unfortunately, I am not. Yet, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let me wrap my arms around his massive head, his warm breath huffing softly against my shoulder. 

He smelled like… cologne. Not the usual musky, earthy scent of horses back home. No, this was something richer, more refined—like sandalwood and leather, the kind of fragrance that belonged to aristocrats who bathed in extravagance.

I inhaled, amused. "I bet your shampoo costs more than my entire salary back at home."

"What are you doing?"

I jolted, nearly stumbling back as the familiar voice cut through my little moment. Michaelli stood there, watching me with an arched brow, as if I were strange for admiring a horse so much. Well, if seeing a horse is normal for them, it’s not for me. Back home, I’d have to go horseback riding or visit a farmyard just to see one, which is, unfortunately, too far from the busy city.

I cleared my throat, straightening. "Yes, Your Highness. Lady Evelyn of House Alaric is in the fourth tent along with the other ladies."

Michaelli didn’t respond right away, just studied me for a beat too long. His golden eyes flicked from me to Nightfall, then back again, as if assessing something I couldn’t quite grasp.

"Good," he finally said, slipping on his gloves with smooth precision. "Now, move." I stepped aside as he brushed past me, his coat whispering against my sleeve. He mounted Nightfall in one effortless motion, the massive horse bending to his command with unnerving ease. "Go back to the pavilion and keep an eye on things while I am away."

I hesitated. "Ah… Your Highness, which tent should I go to? Could I maybe stay and enjoy the ladies’ company?"

He gave me a look. The kind that made me reconsider my life choices.

"I mean," I added quickly, "the whole ‘keeping an eye’ thing could probably be handled by, I don’t know, those people." I gestured vaguely toward the ever-watchful guards. "I’m not exactly your guard."

My eyes flicked longingly to the distant ladies’ tent, where a glorious spread of pastries and sweets awaited. I could almost taste the flaky crust of a warm tart, the buttery richness melting on my tongue.

Michaelli caught on immediately. "Don’t even think about it," he said, his voice as dry as the desert.

My shoulders sagged, but inspiration struck. "Well… could I at least eat from your provisions, Your Highness? I skipped breakfast because of the sudden orders and all." I clasped my hands dramatically, summoning my best starving-orphan expression.

He sighed, exasperated. "Do you really have to ask?" With a dismissive wave, he spurred Nightfall forward, leaving in a swirl of dust and aristocratic arrogance.

The moment he disappeared, a grin spread across my face. Jackpot. His pavilion was practically a banquet hall draped in silk, the dishes gleaming under soft lamplight, each one more decadent than the last.

I practically skipped toward his pavilion and dove in, savoring every bite like a stray dog invited to a royal feast. The buttery flakiness of pastries, the tender roast meats dripping with sauce—it was pure bliss. In the distance, announcements about the hunt echoed through the air, but they barely registered.

"These people are insane," I muttered between bites. "Hunting beasts? What kind of lunacy is this? I prefer watching them from afar."

Outside, the nobility stirred. I peered past the tent flap, a bowl of green grapes in hand after eating a heavy meal, just in time to witness Lady Evelyn approaching the prince. Her ribbon fluttered dramatically as she rushed toward her father to offer it as a token of support, but fate had other plans.

She crashed right into the prince—well, less “caught” and more “picked her up like a sack of turnips.”

Unceremonious. Efficient.

I nearly choked on a grape. “The hell?” What happened to my romance scene? Where were the sparkles? The stolen glances? The slow-motion moment of realization?

"What's the point of accepting the ribbon, dude?" I muttered, stuffing another grape into my mouth.

The romance was not in his blood, I see. Let’s give up.

Just as I settled back into my plush sanctuary, the announcer’s voice boomed across the field, snapping my attention back to the commotion.

"The palace has received word of a sighting of Onyxariel!"

A hush fell over the crowd. Gasps rippled like a rehearsed wave.

"Ony-what now?" I frowned, sitting up.

The announcer’s voice dripped with drama. "Yes! The legendary black griffin with a golden beak that shines like molten fire! Its midnight feathers shimmer under the moonlight, while its haunting call echoes across the mountains. A creature of mystery and power, an omen of change!"

I stared blankly. "So… a death-bird on steroids?"

Excited murmurs buzzed through the nobles. They were practically swooning over the chance to hunt this mythical beast. Meanwhile, I flopped back onto the cushions, plucking a candied fruit from the platter.

“Who among you will be lucky enough to face this legendary creature? Who will be brave enough to hunt the legendary beast?” the announcer continued

"Not me, that’s for sure," I muttered. "They can keep their terrifying death-bird. I’ll be over here, making history as the first person to demolish an entire royal feast solo."

Lying back with my borrowed library book and a platter of pastries, I let the distant cheers and excited chatter fade into the background. Time slipped by, my eyelids growing heavier with each convoluted sentence from the book I barely understood. Eventually, sleep won out.

"Hey."

A sharp nudge poked my shoulder.

"Hey!"

I groaned, swatting the hand away, determined to remain in my blissful half-sleep.

"Historian Tuk, are you planning to wake up, or should I send you to the afterlife so you won’t have to wake up again?"

I shot upright, a few leftover grapes rolling off my lap. Lord Nixon loomed over me, his face shadowed by the tent’s dim light, his expression its usual blend of irritation and duty.

"Enjoying yourself, are we?" He shoved an envelope into my hands. "Deliver this to His Highness before the third lap of the hunt begins. Immediately."

I blinked, still groggy. "What’s thi—"

Before I could finish, another warrior arrived, drawing Nixon’s attention. Without so much as a backward glance, he strode off, leaving me with the envelope.

"Rude." I huffed.

Flicking a grape stem after him. It dropped like a dead fly to the ground, a far cry from the majestic flick His Highness had pulled off in the past.

“Tsk! How did he even do it?” Feeling more annoyed, I turned the envelope over in my hands. My breath hitched when I caught sight of the insignia stamped on the seal—a bold, unmistakable mark.

The Emperor’s seal.

"What?!" I nearly dropped it. "Why do I have to deliver this? Isn’t this the kind of super-important letter they hire couriers for?!"