[hr][hr][center][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ce/bb/41/cebb411bf93b2e528377777a0042530b.jpg[/img]
[i]Art by [url=https://www.chrishull.co.uk/]Chris Hull[/url][/i][/center][hr][hr]
There was still a thin line of mist hanging above the opposite shore of the lake when Ozragad arrived at the camp. The low hillock it was situated upon gave a good view of the dark blue waters, the distant forests, and the hills and mountains that rose above them all. The chill  was dissipating from the late morning air, as more and more sun broke threw the patches of cloud to bathe the land beneath in their rays. [i][color=f7941d]Perhaps the Princess right after all,[/color][/i] he mused to himself as he surveyed the horizon, [color=f7941d][i]it is good weather for a hunt.[/i][/color]

The top of the hillock was taken up by a pair of large canvas pavilions, between them there had been erected a wooden platform covered by an awning. The rest of the camp of lesser pavilions and common tents had been arranged around these, leaving a clear central avenue the dais looked down onto. They would be hunting all day, or gods forbid, multiple days, and therefore there was a good chance they would be spending the night here. Ozragad did not mind particularly, he was more than used to living on the march, it was the theatre of it all that grated at him. He did not appreciate an audience to his leisure time.

For some reason the King found himself thinking about her again, did she hate the artifice of all this as much he did? Or was she inured to such things from her time in Eozia? Had she ever slept beneath the open sky? Had she ever hunted into mountains and forests such as these? 

She was a strange creature to him. In some small ways Ozragad supposed they were similar, their royal upbringing, their fiery tempers and fierce wills, their own share of traumas. Though at the same time, they were profoundly different, their race, their gender, their age, the very lives they had led. How was it then she had been able to pierce him so with a simple question? And somehow dredge her up from the depths of his soul. [i][color=f7941d]Livueta.[/color][/i]

[b]"You're staring."[/b] The voice made him jump. It was Manawyndan, he could tell just from the dry rasp of the old Formori's throat, but he had not heard him approach. [i][color=f7941d]Never forget, he is a spymaster, he knows those subtle arts better than you.[/color][/i]

[b][color=f7941d]"I was thinking actually."[/color][/b] 

[b]"About what exactly, sire?"[/b] The councillor raised an eyebrow he query. 

[color=f7941d][b]"Nothing, nothing that matters at least. Shall we get on with this?"[/b][/color] There might have been a time he would have devulged his thoughts to Manawyndan, but that time seemed to have passed. After all, someone was trying to kill him. Manawyndan certainly had means... but did he have motive? Either way he should trust no one. [color=f7941d][i]And yet you are busy taking the Eorzian child into your confidences.[/i][/color]

He turned his back on the lake and strode to the wooden dais erected between the two royal tents. The majority of the courtiers were milling around in the camp, the servants hard at work preparing the tents for their masters, the guards either at their stations or patrolling the outer edge of the camp. On the wooden stage were a number of Ozragad's inner circle, his two other present councillors, Lords Iria and Urathon, Lady Cheldarine and her family. 

[b]"Lord Iria will make the announcement, if it pleases Your Majesty."[/b] Manawyndan again, slipping in beside him, whispering to him what would happen. How had he once been comforted by this man's ever-present presence? Now he thought about, was there not something sinister about a councillor who was too useful, too indispensable? 

[b][color=f7941d]"Very well. Get on with it."[/color][/b] Ozragad spoke brusquely with a dismissive wave of his hand. Iria turned to a herald standing at the edge of the platform, at his signal the long call of the hunting horn sounded once more.