6. Traven
“In novels, they always turn down the first proposal,” Emily said, prompting Olivier to shake her head.
“That’s just two people who like each other playing hard to get before they end up together. I don’t like Lord Traven. When Viscount Traven passes away, he’ll inherit the title as the eldest son, but honestly, he’s not my type at all—looks or age. I can’t even picture myself standing next to him. Let’s think of a polite, dignified way to turn him down.”
“What if we say it’s too great an honor?”
“Him? No way. That kind of rejection would just stroke his princely ego, boost his confidence, and make him push even harder for another proposal. Isn’t there a firm but inoffensive way to say no?”
Emily fell deep into thought. Olivier’s eyes darted this way and that, rummaging through lines from romance novels she’d read in the past. But nothing suitable came to mind, and she pressed her lips tight.
The two stood in silence until distant barking dogs and the clamor of shouting voices reached them from afar.
“What about saying you’re not ready yet?” Emily ventured cautiously. Olivier pursed her lips in a pout.
“Then he’d just say he’ll wait. There’s only two years until I turn seventeen anyway. He might even push to get engaged right away.”
Olivier’s face twisted as if she could already see the scene. The barking grew louder, closer, and the air around them buzzed with noise. The soldiers lined up beside them gripped their long spears tightly, tension rippling through them.
Emily watched them for a moment before tilting her head skeptically and speaking up. “What if we leave it to the madam to decide? We could say you’re still young and will follow your parents’ wishes. Of course, you’d have to tell the madam your refusal first, miss.”
Olivier’s face lit up with delight. “That’s a great idea! Mom would definitely agree. She wouldn’t want to marry off her daughter, who just debuted in society, to just anyone.”
“Then, miss, we should head under the tent now. That herd’s about to come right this way.”
Emily pointed toward the far end beyond the carriages. Olivier turned to look and spotted a cloud of dust rising at the end of the passage lined with soldiers. It was the Elsk herd being driven toward them.
Olivier narrowed her eyes in that direction. The ochre dust cloud drew nearer, soon accompanied by the dull thud of the earth shaking. The dogs’ barks erupted in a cacophony.
“The tent’s probably safest, right? We’ll end up covered in dust if we stay here.”
Emily tilted her parasol toward Olivier.
—Thud thud thud thud thud
The ground trembled as the Elsk herd closed in. The soldiers beside them stiffened with tension, the sensation palpable. Olivier and Emily turned and headed toward the tent along the path behind the soldiers.
The rumble of the approaching herd grew louder, the noise swelling around them. Emily angled her parasol to cast a longer shadow, blocking their forward view.
Olivier walked with her gaze down, watching the tufts of grass sprouting from the dirt path, until a strange feeling made her look up.
“Emily, hold the parasol straight.”
As Emily straightened it, their clear view revealed a man standing in front of the tent lined with chairs. It was Lord Traven, peering out from behind the viewing stands, staring right at her. Their eyes met, and Olivier froze in place.
—Bark bark bark
—Thud thud thud thud thud thud
Vibrations shook her body from behind, the heavy thud of hooves pounding the earth. Dozens of dogs barked ferociously, herding the Elsk. The impacts of massive, solid bodies colliding sent tremors through the ground, thick dust choking the air and pressing down oppressively. The dry scent of the dust stung her nostrils as the charging herd bore down nearby. Under the scorching sun ahead, Lord Traven’s eyes gleamed with eager anticipation.
The stifling heat, the noise, the quaking earth, and now his gaze—it all choked her breath, squeezing her chest. The surrounding tension made her heart pound wildly, rooting her feet in place.
That was when it happened.
“Watch out there!”
“Move! Hurry! No!”
Ferocious hounds pressed the rear of the herd, and in their terror, two Elsk broke away, veering diagonally straight toward where Olivier and Emily stood instead of charging ahead.
A few dogs pursued them at breakneck speed, and—shing—a rider on horseback behind the dogs drew a massive greatsword and gave chase.
Olivier whipped her head toward the chaos at the center. A black beast, three times the size of a cow, barreled toward her with froth foaming at its jaws. Thick, brutal horns like gnarled tree branches sprouted from its head in thorny vines, glinting sharply in the sunlight as they swayed.
—Thud thud thud thud thud
Even at its ferocious speed, the scene felt agonizingly slow to Olivier, who stood frozen staring at it. Emily’s parasol clattered to the ground, and she yanked at Olivier’s wrist. But her feet wouldn’t budge.
Soldiers hurled their spears. The beast shrugged off the ones piercing its flank and charged straight for Olivier. Nearby, a soldier forming a barrier raised his shield high. The beast lowered its head, and its sharp, sturdy horn punched through the thick shield in an instant, impaling the soldier and skewering his torso.
Blood burst from the soldier’s body in a spray, the surrounding noise muffling to a dull roar. The beast shook its head irritably, flinging the soldier’s body impaled on its horn and spraying white froth from its maw. Its eyes flashed as it barreled unyieldingly toward Olivier.
“Miss! Get out of the way!”
Emily screamed from beside her.
“Miss!”
—Shing
A sharp metallic ring echoed from somewhere, but Olivier’s body wouldn’t move. A buzzing hum filled her ears, her pupils dilated in impending terror, her limbs locked rigid. As the black behemoth closed to mere feet away, she squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch.
In the pitch-black void, her legs gave out. Just as her bottom hit the ground, a sharp “Hyaap!” pierced her ears—followed by the heavy thunk of something massive striking a solid object, then—
—Splatter!
Hot, fetid blood mixed with the scorching whirlwind of air, drenching her body. Warm, sticky liquid splattered across her face. Revolted by the sensation, Olivier opened her eyes.
Through eyelashes clogged with the beast’s hot blood, she glimpsed a blurry silhouette.
“Are you all right, Lady Belpharos?”
A gentle voice roused her. Olivier blinked, revealing a figure haloed in blinding sunlight, outlines hazy. Another blink sharpened the tall, upright form before her.
“Take my hand.”
Bending at the waist with a soft voice, extending a hand—it was Kylie, drenched head to toe in the beast’s gore. Clad in a sleek uniform that hugged her lithe frame, bloodied sword in one hand, Kylie gazed steadily at Olivier.
Olivier sat dazed on the ground, staring blankly up at Kylie’s face. Kylie’s warm brown eyes narrowed reassuringly. Grasping the offered hand and leaning on her support, Olivier rose—and behind Kylie loomed the beast’s carcass, bisected and soaked in blood. Its brutal horn still gruesomely skewered the soldier from before.
Realizing that could have been her, a chill slithered down Olivier’s spine. Her heart thundered—thump, thump.
“Are you all right?”
Kylie gripped her hand firmly, asking again. Olivier slowly turned her head, looking up at the taller Kylie. Her refined, sculpted face was splattered with crimson, viscous beast blood dripping from her uniform.
Olivier glanced down at herself. Her hair on her shoulders and the hem of her dress were just as blood-soaked.
“Miss.”
Emily rushed over, clutching her wrist with a worried face. She too was covered in blood, having been so close.
“That was too close. We should head back to the manor now, wash up, and rest. Come on.”
Olivier took slow steps toward the carriage Kylie indicated. Her legs trembled. Emily held her arm firmly, walking beside her.