Alita's fingers gently caressing the sleek mane of her beloved mare, Maya. The mare neighed softly.
Alita's attention was suddenly drawn away from Maya by an unsettling feeling, a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the guards lined in position. At the far end, she saw them—a pair of glowing red eyes staring intently at her.
Her heart skipped a beat. The eyes belonged to a male fairy, his presence both captivating and eerie. His eyes were unlike any she had seen before, a deep, burning crimson that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of her soul. She took a step back, her hand instinctively tightening around Maya's reins.
Bowen knew the exact moment she spotted him. With a mischievous grin, he winked at her. Alita felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks, and she quickly looked away, her face burning with embarrassment.
"So this was why Nadir was not able to find him," she mused silently. "The chief guard must have mistaken him for one of his own."
Alita forced herself to focus on Maya, but her curiosity got the better of her. She turned her head slightly, stealing a glance back at Bowen. He was still there, still watching her with that knowing smile. His gaze was unwavering, and it made her feel as if he could see right through her, as if he knew every secret she harbored.
Quickly, she turned back around, her face now a deep shade of crimson. She closed her eyes in a futile attempt to steady her racing heart. "Why did I lie to him in the first place? This is so embarrassing."
Alita was still stealing glances at the male fairy. Philippe, sitting tall on his horse beside her, leaned in slightly and asked, "Are you okay, princess?"
Alita turned to him, offering a polite smile. "Yes, I am fine, thank you."
Alita was not aware of Philippe's disdain. His piercing eyes betrayed his true feelings. To him, she was still the same wingless fairy he had bullied ages ago. He relished the idea of teaching her a lesson, reliving the childhood torment he once inflicted. While other fairies adhered to strict diets to maintain their ethereal forms, Alita lived her life with pleasure. The sight of her made Philippe's skin crawl in disgust, her very presence an insult to his ideals of fairy nobility.
As she gently urged Maya forward, the horse jerked into motion. Alita took a deep breath, the cool evening air filling her lungs, and tried to shake off the awkwardness Bowen's presence stirred in her.
The hunting grounds were located at the farthest end of the palace estate, a lush area teeming with wildlife and dense with trees. It was a place where the royals go for hunting.
While the nobles rode their majestic horses, the guards moved on foot, their wings flapping with their steps. It was as if they were gliding just above the ground, so they were like walking and flying at the same time.
Alita's thoughts kept drifting back to the mysterious male fairy she had seen earlier. Could he be the same stranger who had helped her in the square? It seemed impossible. The stranger was the tallest person she had ever encountered, and she was certain he had no wings. Yet, there was something about this fairy that felt familiar, an aura that matched the attracting presence of her savior. Perhaps they were brothers, she mused. One could take after their mother, appearing more like a fairy, while the other had a more human-like appearance. But the stranger wasn't human either, she reminded herself. The puzzle gnawed at her mind as they approached the woods.
The party reached a clearing where they would set up camp. The guards moved swiftly, preparing the area. One of them extended a hand to help Alita dismount.
Before she could take it, Philippe intervened. "Don't worry, my friend. I will assist the princess. You should go and help the king."
The guard hesitated, then nodded, stepping back. The king, overhearing Philippe's words, smiled in approval. He saw in Philippe a reliable protector for his daughter, someone who could ensure her safety and well-being.
Philippe stretched forth his hand to Alita, who graciously accepted his assistance. With a firm yet gentle grip, he supported her until she was steady on the ground.
"Thank you," Alita said, her voice polite but distant.
Philippe smiled, leaning in close. His lips brushed against her ear as he whispered, "What will happen if I refuse to marry you? Half-blood and all of that human garbage."
Alita jerked her head back, her eyes wide with shock. "What?"
Philippe chuckled, his smile widening. "I was just joking. You lack humor, my love." With a dismissive wave, he walked away, leaving Alita fuming.
She clenched her fists, trying to calm the storm of anger and humiliation inside her. Unable to contain herself, she marched toward her father, King Aric, who was meticulously cleaning his bow near the campfire.
"Father," she began, her voice tight with frustration. "He doesn't like me."
The king furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Who doesn't like you?"
"Philippe," Alita said, her tone more insistent. "He doesn't like me, Father."
King Aric paused, his gaze steady and probing. "How so?"
Before Alita could elaborate, Philippe reappeared, holding a delicate pink flower with a blue stem. "I was looking for you, my princess," he said, his voice dripping with feigned affection. "I found this flower. It stood alone like a shining halo, and it made me think of your hair and your sparkling eyes. I had no choice but to give it to the woman who inspires such feelings in me."
He handed the flower to Alita, his eyes fixed on hers with a look of pure adoration. Alita stood stunned, her mind racing. She saw through his act, recognizing the two-faced cruelty behind his charming facade.
King Aric glanced at the flower and then back at Alita. "I am here to hunt, Alita," he said, his tone gentle yet firm.
Philippe, still wearing his mask of adoration, knelt on one knee and extended the flower toward her. "Will you accept my heart, Princess Alita?"
Alita was beyond stunned, 'What a two faced bastard, why was he pretending in front of the king?'
Alita huffed in exasperation and turned away, her steps brisk and resolute as she walked off into the woods.
King Aric frowned, watching his daughter's retreating figure. He turned to Philippe and said, "She will come around. She has to."
Philippe stood, a cunning smile creeping across his lips—one the king did not see. "It really reminded me of her," he said, his voice laced with false sincerity.
King Aric looked at Philippe with pity, unaware of the young male's devious intentions for his only daughter.
"Alita," Philippe whispered to himself, "you haven't seen anything yet." Philippe was already thinking of his next plan.