6. Traven
“In this banquet hall, that young lady over there is the only one not gazing at you with admiration.”
Kylie N. Traven said it half-jokingly to Gophrid, who was tilting his wine glass beside her.
Gophrid glanced toward the woman Kylie indicated. She was a budding young lady with a youthful face and a voluptuous figure that belied her age, surrounded by matrons well past their middle years. As he took in her honey-brown hair and delicate features, an unpleasant twinge stirred in a corner of his mind.
Gophrid averted his eyes and looked down at the wine glass in his hand.
“She's quite the beauty, but not as stunning as your fiancée, Lady Loren. And she's rather short.”
Kylie appraised the lady in question while eyeing her. At her words, Gophrid pinpointed the source of his unease. The brown-haired man whose gaze had met his fiancée's at the back of the Templton Empire's Founding Festival Imperial Ball a few months prior. This young woman bore a striking resemblance to him—one that sparked instant revulsion.
“I've never seen her before. Do you know who she is?”
She wasn't from Ashton's central nobility, at least. If she were, her details would already be filed away in the mind of Gophrid, heir to the Kingston Dukedom.
“They say she's the daughter of the Belpharos barony from Templton. The Belpharos baron attended in place of Count Loren on this invitation. Word is, he's some mine overseer down south.”
Gophrid furrowed his brow slightly. Only now did the pieces fall into place, explaining Evril's behavior at the Founding Festival Ball—a puzzle that had long nagged at him. After retiring from his post as head of the imperial palace's magic department, Count Loren had settled in the old mining regions of the western continent's south, so it stood to reason he'd be on friendly terms with a local overseer, novice as he was in mine operations.
“I see.”
Gophrid muttered in a notably displeased tone, prompting Kylie to shrug.
“Lady Pratt mentioned Lady Belpharos when she visited the palace last time.”
Kylie recalled her encounter with Shaylin. A few weeks earlier, Shaylin had suddenly appeared at the training grounds in the Ashton palace's Imperial Guard parade field. It was a spot where Kylie, attached to the ceremonial guard under the Imperial Guard, would cross swords with Gophrid whenever he visited the palace.
The reason for their spars was simple: the crown prince, captivated by the sight of the tall, swordmaster-level Kylie from Academia Eximia—her feminine curves accentuated by her sharp uniform—fiercely clashing blades with the handsome, upright Lord Kingston, had ordered it.
That day, the crown prince was absent, but Gophrid sought out Kylie as usual during his palace visits, and the two were lightly warming up with their swords.
“Oh, here you both are.”
The Imperial Guard training grounds forbade outsiders, so Kylie was more than a little surprised when Shaylin—hailed as the queen of high society but merely a countess's lady without any palace position—showed up. As Kylie sheathed her sword and glanced at Gophrid, he said curtly with a displeased expression,
“I tipped off the guards at the Guard entrance to let her in, as payment for a personal debt.”
“I asked him to. I wanted to see Lord Kingston's swordsmanship up close. Please continue. I'll just sit here and enjoy the show.”
Shaylin smiled brightly and settled into an ornate chair by one of the parade field's pillars. Gophrid jerked his chin toward Kylie.
“Let's start again.”
Kylie drew her sword with a slightly stiff expression. Sparring before an audience besides the crown prince felt awkward. But before she could dwell on it, Gophrid's blade traced a fluid, razor-sharp arc straight for her chest.
Ching! With the sharp clash of steel, Kylie parried his attack. Noticing the unusually aggressive edge to her movements compared to their norm, Gophrid stole a glance at her face. She seemed in poor spirits. His follow-up strikes mirrored his mood—merciless, as if in real combat.
Kylie dodged nimbly by the barest margins. His blade left no openings for counterattacks. Gophrid pressed on with a rigid face, his body moving mechanically as if lost in private thoughts, barely focused on the spar. Kylie felt like little more than a wooden training dummy, which irked her inwardly.
In that instant, her eyes sharpened.
Vmmm.
Her sword hummed, emanating a blue aura. Gophrid halted his assault immediately.
He was recalling the chain of events since Shaylin's arrival: the incident in the palace lounge, followed by her seduction in Radubal. He'd bolted from his seat at her sensual whispers, only for her to smirk with glossy red lips and suggest appraising his sword skills instead when he sharply admonished her unladylike, unnoble conduct.
That night had been a parade of displeasures, so his strikes had sharpened unconsciously today, goading Kylie in turn.
“That's enough.”
He sheathed his sword with those curt words, and Kylie nodded. If he unleashed his own aura in response, the luxurious marble floor and stone pillars of the training grounds would be shattered beyond repair in seconds.
Clap, clap, clap.
Shaylin rose from her chair, applauding.
“A splendid match. That settles our debt, Lord Kingston.”
Gophrid nodded curtly as she smiled at him. She approached Kylie, who was wiping sweat from her brow. Having joined the Imperial Guard straight out of Academia, Kylie skipped noble balls except palace-hosted ones, so she had no real acquaintance with Shaylin despite her socialite fame.
Shaylin regarded her with a subtle, enigmatic smile.
“This winter, I found someone in the western continent who might interest you.”
As Kylie arched a brow in question, Shaylin tilted her chin into an alluring smile.
“She's at the Belpharos barony.”
Ignoring Kylie's puzzled look, Shaylin bowed politely to Gophrid and departed the grounds.
Kylie lifted her gaze again to Olivier, chatting with the noblewomen in the distance. Objectively pretty, sure. But...?
“When is the jump scheduled?”
Gophrid asked, swirling his wine.
Kylie withdrew her stare from Olivier and replied,
“I informed the overseer for tomorrow afternoon. Most here will sleep till noon after tonight's banquet, as always. A late lunch, then the jump as the midday heat fades—that wraps the day.”
“I've heard Elsk hunts are quite ferocious and dangerous.”
Gophrid murmured lowly, and Kylie dismissed it casually.
“We've stationed 150 soldiers along the path from the start of the drive to the overlook spot. No incidents so far, of course. The well-trained hybrid hounds handle the herding expertly.”
“Hybrids?”
“Crossbreeds of feral wolves and large hounds for Elsk hunting. We call them Ellis. A mashup of 'Eli' from Eliyum and 'sk' from Elsk. Naming them something feminine was supposed to make them easier to handle, or so the thinking went. Anyway, Ellis have the wolves' sharp fangs and powerful jaws, plus the hounds' stamina and loyalty. Soldiers line the path with long spears; fifty mounted Ellis are loosed from behind to press the Elsk. The lead female bolts forward, and the herd follows at full speed. Even facing a sheer cliff ahead, it's too late to stop.”
Kylie pursed her lips into an pew sound effect.
“They plummet off the edge. Like lumpy meat sacks.”
As a first-time participant, Gophrid listened with keen interest.
“Once it's all over from above, riders and waiting soldiers below approach the corpse pile, stabbing the survivors to finish the hunt.”
Kylie shrugged.
“That's why it's called a hunt—the final stab. My grandfather, who first settled here in the west, named it. True noble sport, he said.”
Gophrid drained the last of his red wine, summoned a servant for a refill, and raised his glass to her.
“Tomorrow, I'll be staring at this color till I'm sick of it.”
The blood-red wine sloshed in his glass.