Tuk watched the troop of warriors cheer like maniacs, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony of triumph. The prince’s successful hunt had transformed the scene into an open-air festival of blood, feathers, and back-slapping that bordered on absurd. I’m so glad I chose to be on their side, she thought, her insides sinking into the abyss of sarcasm.

The weapons the prince had used earlier—a fluid, shifting extension of his will—reminded her too much of the designs she’d once eagerly shown the weaponsmith. Back when she was excited about creating weapons inspired by RPGs and MMORPGs, dreaming up all sorts of imaginative ideas. I didn’t know his swords could shift into different shapes. That’s so cool. I want one, Tuk mumbled to herself, a fleeting sense of awe creeping through her exhaustion.

The enormous bird that warriors called Onyxariel lay lifeless nearby, its once-proud wings sprawled in the dirt like the corpse of some ancient, monstrous creature. Tuk couldn’t help but think it looked as if it had swallowed every terror in existence before meeting its end. She absently pulled twigs and leaves from her disheveled hair, her clothes now stained with dirt and grass. The scent of earth and blood hung thick in the air, the metallic tang clinging to her skin. As she took a deep breath, a small moment of peace settled in, and she remembered why she’d come here in the first place.

"I almost forgot about this," she muttered, fumbling through her vest until she found a crumpled letter. The once-pristine parchment now looked like it had survived a battlefield. Well, at least it will be delivered. Effort counts, right?

Tuk took a deep breath, preparing herself for the task ahead. She approached the prince, standing amidst the warriors like a god of war, his dark armor gleaming with streaks of blood—his or the beast's, it was hard to tell. They were both monsters, after all.

I can't believe I was so rude earlier, she thought, the weight of her earlier behavior suddenly pressing down on her. Thank god he’s not petty enough to kill me over it. Or is it because I have a role to play that he’s tolerating me? Maybe he’s just in a good mood. I can never figure him out. She clenched her jaw. The prince was the hardest person to read, and it made every interaction feel like a guessing game.

Her eyes flickered to his armor again. The gleam of it was almost... too perfect. The battle might be over, but his appearance still screamed effortless dominance. Annoyingly, he still looks... good. Too good. It’s so annoying!

Tuk stopped in front of him, her nerves tightening as she offered the battered letter, feeling the weight of it in her hand. “Letters. For you,” she muttered, unable to keep the exasperation out of her voice. She couldn’t believe what she’d had to endure just to get those damn things to him. In her world, emails were the most convenient thing imaginable.

The prince’s gaze locked onto the letter. His eyes gleamed as he inspected the royal seal before he tossed it carelessly into a pool of blood at their feet. Tuk’s brain short-circuited. Did he just throw that?

Her polite smile barely masked the storm brewing inside her. “Your... Highness. Lord Nixon said it was IMPORTANT,” she said through gritted teeth, a silent prayer for divine intervention crossing her mind. Please spare me from this man and my diminishing patience.

The prince shrugged, casually wiping his hands with a towel handed to him by a nearby warrior. “I received it, didn’t I?”

Read it, you buffoon! Her internal monologue screamed, but she kept her mask of calm in place, taking a deep breath. If I keep stressing over this man, I’ll have gray hair before I turn thirty.

“Right. Well, I should head back, then,” she muttered, turning away, her mind still swirling.

Stressing over the prince, she knew, was a one-way ticket to premature aging—only to remember with a sinking feeling that her treacherous horse had abandoned her.

That stupid horse. When I find it, I’ll paint its hooves neon pink! Her annoyance flared again, but she forced herself to focus. She hesitated, her pride briefly checking her request. Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll ask anyway.

She glanced around, hoping for an out. “Ah... I seem to have lost my horse. Perhaps someone could... offer me a ride?”

A knowing smile curled the prince’s lips as he glanced over at her. His golden-brown eyes gleamed with amusement, as if he’d heard every unspoken thought. “We’re done here. Prepare for the return,” he commanded his men.

Relief flooded her as a warrior, his face weathered by the sun, waved her over. He grinned, and his smile was warm despite the ruggedness of his features. “Need a ride, Lord Advisor?”

“Desperately,” she sighed, her exhaustion bleeding into the word.

Climbing onto the horse, Tuk immediately felt her gracelessness. She felt like a frog landing on a lily pad—awkward, shaky, and completely uncomfortable. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, but she ignored it, settling as best as she could. The heat of the sun, the cloying dust in the air, and the sore ache in her body left her feeling utterly drained, her whole body protesting each jarring movement of the horse.

But she was alive, and for now, that would have to be enough.