Aurelia's hand began to glow—a faint, desperate light sputtering at her fingertips. It was now or never. She braced herself, ready to meet the beast with whatever fragile power she could muster.
But before she could move, a scream tore through the green silence.
"Ohhhh myyyyy—!"
It was Isabelle's attendant. The sight of the colossal serpent had ripped the sound from her chest. As she turned and fled, the Ash-veiler's head snapped toward the new, louder prey. In one fluid motion, it abandoned Aurelia and surged after the fleeing woman.
There was no time for a second scream.
Aurelia saw it through a gap in the foliage—a flash of scale, a blur of motion. The snake struck not with a bite, but with a battering-ram impact of its skull.
The attendant was thrown forward, the air bursting from her lungs in a wet, choked gasp.
Before she could hit the ground, the serpent's jaws unfolded. Rows of needle-like teeth sank into her shoulder and chest.
Crask!
Aurelia heard the crunch—a sickening, porous sound of ribs splintering under pressure.
Blood did not just spill; it erupted, a sudden, shocking fountain of crimson that painted the ivy and the gravel in a wide, glistening arc.
The body convulsed once, a final, puppet-like jerk, and then went limp as the serpent shook its head, tearing flesh loose with a sound like wet canvas ripping.
The head came away, a ragged lump of meat and fabric held gently between its fangs. The body slumped to the ground, a ruined, empty thing, blood pooling in the dirt beneath it.
The air thickened with the smell—hot iron, opened viscera, and the faint, sweet odor of bile.
Ohhhh no, Aurelia thought, the observation slipping through her shock like a blade through silk.
Her knees buckled. A wave of nausea, hot and sour, surged up her throat. She barely turned her head before she retched violently into the bush beside her, her body convulsing with empty, shuddering heaves. Tears stung her eyes, blurring the emerald world into a smear of green and red.
Then the world sharpened back into terror. The snake's bloody muzzle turned toward the gap in the hedge, its obsidian eyes locking onto her once more. It wasn't sated. It was curious.
Aurelia ran like she was being unmade. She ran as if her bones could break and her heart could burst and it would be a mercy compared to what she had just witnessed. Her boots slipped in something wet and warm—she dared not look down—but she did not stop.
She did not take a moment to think. She ran until the only sound was the roar of blood in her ears and the ghost of that wet, tearing crunch chasing her through the green, endless maze.
---
Deep in another quadrant of the Hedge of Whispers, Tenebrarum moved like a shadow given purpose.
He was not here for the serpent. He was here for her.
To find Aurelia's scent among the damp earth and rotting leaves was harder than he'd anticipated.
The maze seemed to drink traces of its prey, leaving only echoes. So far, all he had to go on were a few freshly torn leaves—delicate, recent damage at shoulder height—as if someone had brushed past in haste.
He moved deeper, the cold weight of the dagger firm in his grip, his senses straining against the green silence.
Where are you, little Rabbit?
The thought was a whisper in his own mind, equal parts promise and threat.
He would find her before the snake did. Or before the princes did. He would find her, no matter how deep the hedge walls coiled.
I will find you.
---
"Camilla!" Tiberius's voice boomed, a sudden, sharp sound that cut through the tense atmosphere and stopped the masked lady in her tracks. He strode towards her, his movements radiating an authority that brooked no argument. How did he know it was her? Perhaps he had mastered the subtle nuances of her height, the specific tilt of her head, or the unconscious grace in her stride that even a mask couldn't hide.
With a swift, decisive motion, he reached out and removed the mask from her face. Her features were revealed—her ocean-blue eyes, wide with surprise and a flicker of fear, were unmistakable. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Tiberius," Camilla whispered, her voice shaking slightly, "I do not think we should..." She trailed off, her gaze darting nervously, her teacher's instinct to enforce the rules warring with a deeper, more personal apprehension.
"The rule of the game," Tiberius stated, his voice firm, though a new possessiveness had entered it. "I found you and removed your mask. That's the law of the hunt." He stepped closer, his presence suddenly more imposing.
A subtle shift occurred in his demeanor, a softening that was both unexpected and disarming. "I didn't drink so much today," he added, his tone softening further, a low rumble that held an undercurrent of something protective, almost tender.
"So I'll protect you." He offered a small, almost protective smile, his eyes holding hers, a silent promise in the masked chaos that swirled around them.
Camilla's breath hitched, her heart hammering against her ribs. The mention of protection, the genuine concern in his eyes, pricked at her carefully constructed composure. "Is it about what happened yesterday night?" she blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush, laced with a desperate need to clarify, to distance herself.
"I was drunk. It was just a kiss, nothing more." The denial felt weak even to her own ears, a flimsy shield against the truth.
Her gaze flickered away, unable to hold his steady, questioning look.
Tiberius's smile faded, replaced by a sharp, knowing glint in his eyes. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur that cut through her defenses. "Nothing?" he echoed, the single word laden with accusation.
"I had forgotten about that, but you've reminded me. So it's not nothing to you." His gaze was intense, dissecting her every word, every fleeting expression.
"It was a mistake… Tiberius," she whispered, her voice barely audible, the plea evident. She wrung her hands, her knuckles white. "I am the Crown Princess. If Tenebrarum finds out about this…" Her voice cracked, the unspoken consequence hanging heavy in the air.
"I'm dead if he finds out." The words were a desperate whisper, a stark reminder of the perilous game they were all caught in, and the ultimate price of a single, drunken mistake.
------------------------
To be continued...