Chapter 4: The Unwilling Hunter
1923 Words
CYPRIEN'S POV
A sudden, hard kick to my knee snapped me awake.
“What the—?”
For a moment, I had no idea where I was. The carriage was dimly lit, the shadows too thick to make sense of anything at first. Then the gentle sway beneath me registered, followed by the muffled rhythm of hooves striking packed earth.
Right.
We were traveling. Headed to Crimson Ridge. And I was trapped in a carriage with my father, King Marius.
“At least pretend you want to be there,” he bellowed, his face flushed with irritation. “Don’t embarrass me tonight.”
I rubbed the spot on my trousers where he'd kicked me. “I’m already joining the Rite,” I muttered. “What more do you want?”
He scoffed. “What’s riding on this evening is bigger than your mood. The kingdom expects a united front as we honor the fallen royals.”
He glared at me and jabbed a finger in my direction. “Alpha Beron’s son has worked tirelessly to prepare this Rite. As prince, you will match that dedication. You will show enthusiasm. You will show commitment. And you will not undermine the purpose of this ceremony.”
I let out a quiet breath, making no effort to hide my disdain.
“The purpose,” I echoed. “Right.”
He stiffened, but I held his gaze. I wasn’t buying any of it.
If I had to guess, Father was pushing so hard because the people had started whispering. Whispering about what this Rite was really for. About what had truly happened the night the queen and princess died. About whether rogues were actually responsible. About how conveniently the throne had passed to Marius after the king succumbed to grief.
Father’s voice cut through my thoughts. “I don’t understand you,” he spat. “You’ve never had a problem sleeping around when I forbade it. Yet now that you’re free to do it without consequence, suddenly you want no part of it.”
He was right about one thing. I had never exactly lived the life of a monk.
There had been women. Quite a few of them. None of it had ever been serious. They were barely relationships.
I enjoyed their company. But if I was being honest, I enjoyed something else, too. There was a certain satisfaction in knowing that many of those women would never have spared me a second glance if I hadn't suddenly become a prince. Yet now they were the ones seeking me out.
But I had never once forced anyone. Never once taken what wasn't freely given.
That was the line I refused to cross—the one thing that separated me from the monsters people whispered about in the dark.
These tributes, though… no matter what the king or the Alphas told them, it was never truly their choice.
They were offered. Handed over like bargaining chips.
And the fact that my father dared to invoke Queen Seraphina's and Princess Celestine's names to justify it left a sour taste in my mouth that no amount of wine could wash away.
The carriage swayed as the road curved through the forest. I turned toward the window, watching the trees blur past beneath the fading light.
The princess's name alone was enough to twist something deep in my chest. I had only met her a handful of times, yet those moments had carved themselves into me more deeply than almost anything else from my childhood.
Back then, I was nothing. A bastard born to a kitchen maid, hidden away like a stain no one wanted to acknowledge. I spent my days scrubbing pots, hauling water, and keeping my head down so the nobles wouldn't notice the prince's eyes staring back at them from my face.
I was nine years old—small for my age and angry in the way only invisible children can be.
Then Princess Celestine appeared.
She was four years old, an escape artist with sticky fingers and a remarkable talent for slipping away from her attendants.
One afternoon, she snuck into the kitchens, silver curls bouncing wildly around her face as she reached for a tray of custard tarts cooling on the counter. Her honey-gold eyes sparkled with mischief.
It was her favorite. Everyone in the palace knew that.
I remembered the exact moment she realized I'd caught her. She froze with a tart clutched in her hand. Those warm eyes widened. Then she pressed a tiny finger to her lips.
"Shh."
I could have called for her attendants. I could have done what I was supposed to do.
Instead, I nodded. And her entire face lit up.
The smile that followed could probably have convinced armies to surrender.
From that day on, I always made sure there was a tart waiting for her. I'd steal one before the cooks noticed, hide it behind the flour sacks, and somehow she would always find me. Every single time.
And whenever she saw me, her face would brighten as she called out the nickname she'd given me because she couldn't quite pronounce my name.
"Chippy!"
A quiet laugh escaped me.
Father glanced over with a frown, but I ignored him.
The memory of her softened my irritation, dulling the edge of my drunkenness.
She had been the first person to truly see me—not the bastard, not the mistake, not the kingdom's inconvenient secret. Just me.
And now her name was being used to justify a Rite that had nothing to do with honoring her. Nothing to do with justice. Nothing to do with truth.
I let the memories of the princess wash over me, drowning out my father's voice, the rattle of the carriage wheels, and everything else beyond them.
I found myself wondering what she would have become if she had lived—what kind of queen she might have grown into, what kind of woman those honey-gold eyes would have become.
The gentle sway of the carriage, coupled with thoughts of her, gradually pulled me under. My eyelids grew heavy, and before I knew it, sleep claimed me once more.
This time, she followed me into my dreams.
Then, the carriage lurched to a stop. It startled me awake.
"We've arrived," Father said.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked out the window.
Crimson Ridge.
Torches illuminated the path ahead. Wolves lined the entrance, while attendants hurried forward to greet us with stiff bows and overly polished smiles. The moment the carriage stopped, we were ushered toward the clearing where the kingdom's participating Alphas had already gathered.
The ceremony was beginning, as though the entire pack had been holding its breath for the king's arrival.
I looked ahead.
Five women stood at the edge of the woods, dressed in white robes and veils that fluttered in the night breeze.
The tributes.
Their silhouettes looked small against the dark wall of trees behind them. A familiar knot twisted in my stomach—disgust, pity, anger, all tangled together.
I flipped open the booklet they'd handed me earlier and skimmed the program once more. My jaw tightened.
Alpha Beron's son had changed the rules.
Apparently, organizing the Rite wasn't enough. He needed to leave his mark on it, too. Nothing screamed ambition quite like rewriting a decade-old ritual just to show everyone how important you were.
A firework exploded overhead, scattering silver sparks across the night sky.
That was the signal.
The tributes ran into the forest, their white robes flashing between the trees before vanishing into the darkness. They had twenty minutes to hide, though most wouldn't bother going far. Most wanted to be found. They'd been raised to believe being chosen was an honor.
Another lie fed to them.
I glanced toward the raised platform where Alpha Beron and Theo stood. After a moment, Alpha Beron stepped forward.
"Tonight's Offering Rite is especially significant."
The crowd immediately quieted.
"For the first time in our history, the future Alpha of Crimson Ridge will personally participate in the hunt."
The reaction was instant. Women cheered. Several actually squealed.
Theo offered a modest nod that somehow looked thoroughly rehearsed. A groan slipped past my lips before I could stop it, earning me a sharp elbow from Father.
Then Alpha Beron raised a hand for silence once more. "And that is not our only surprise," he announced.
The crowd leaned forward. Alpha Beron's smile widened.
"Joining the hunt tonight as well..." He paused, milking the suspense. "...is Prince Cyprien of Aurelia."
The clearing erupted in screams, gasps, and shrill excitement loud enough to make my ears ring.
Somewhere behind me, a woman whispered far louder than necessary, Somewhere behind me, a woman whispered far louder than necessary, "That lucky runt. A future Alpha and a prince could both claim her tonight."
I was tempted to turn around and tell that she-wolf exactly how wrong she was, but the hunters were already being called forward.
A line of Alphas moved toward the forest's edge, and Father gave me a sharp shove between the shoulders. So I went.
Shoulders squared and expression blank, I took my place among men who looked far too eager for what was about to happen.
When the signal was finally given, they surged into the trees like hounds released from a leash. Growls, laughter, and the thunder of pounding feet filled the night as they disappeared into the darkness.
I didn't move right away. I waited until the noise faded, until the last of them vanished into the undergrowth. Only then did I step into the forest.
I headed straight for the densest part of it—the place no willing tribute would dare venture.
The ones who wanted to be found stayed close to the open paths, close to the moonlight, close to the hunters who would claim them quickly.
But I wasn't here to claim anyone.
Eventually, I came upon a massive tree overlooking a waterfall. The relentless roar of the water swallowed every other sound—the distant howls, the growls, the moans that would no doubt echo through the forest before the night was over.
Perfect.
I climbed the tree with ease and settled onto a thick branch high above the ground.
I might have been participating in the Rite by technicality, but I had no intention of touching a tribute tonight. I would wait out the hours until dawn right here—above the chaos, above the pretense, above the lies.
That was the plan.
Until something moved in the darkness below.
A small robed figure slipped between the trees.
A tribute? Out here?
I leaned forward slightly.
No willing tribute would come this deep into the forest. The others stayed near the open paths, where they could be found quickly. They lingered where the moonlight reached, where the hunters would have an easier time spotting them.
But this one was actually trying to hide.
She moved cautiously, scanning the shadows and deliberately scattering false trails behind her. There was no panic in her movements. No blind desperation.
In fact, it looked as though she intended to do exactly what I was doing—find a place to disappear and wait for dawn.
It would have been a solid plan.
If Theo hadn't changed the rules.
Suddenly, something—some instinct, some force I couldn't name—surged within me, urging me to move. To intervene. To save her.
But saving her meant breaking my own rules.
- Writer
