(Amaryllis's POV)
Theday of the Midsummer Hunt had arrived, Royal Hunting Grounds were a sprawling expanse of ancient forest and manicured meadows, located a half-day's ride from the Academy. The air was crisp, smelling of pine and privilege.
Amaryllis von Weissberg stepped out of her carriage, her boots sinking slightly into the soft grass. She wore a tailored hunting habit of midnight blue and silver, a Weissberg rose embroidered on the collar. It was practical, severe, and perfectly regal.
She was ready for war. Not against the monsters in the forest, but against the narrative of her own life.
Around her, the Academy was transforming the meadow into a chaotic festival of tents, horses, and weapons. Students were laughing, squires were running, and the nobility were posturing.
Amaryllis stood alone by her carriage, her back straight, her ruby eyes scanning the crowd. She was looking for one person: her fiancé.
