The hunting trip is a pain in the ass to prepare for. In the first place, women aren't known to be welcome in the sort of activities noblemen indulge in—hunting, gathering in gentleman clubs, frolicking about. But when the princess of all people wants to go somewhere, some strings can be pulled.
My intentions were initially to get closer to Valerius, seduce him, take advantage of the love potion by asking for a few favors as Alloy suggested. I didn't think it through, in all honesty, but there was a concept of an idea.
This, however, isn't what I expected when I planned for us to get closer.
"Steady yourself, focus on the target," Valerius instructs, the warmth of his breath tickling the back of my ear. His hand completely wraps around mine, as if my existence next to his is puny, minuscule—it might as well be.
"And release."
The arrow flies through an array of branches, eventually landing on the middle of an old tree. Not exactly where I envisioned it, but close enough to elicit a proud grin.
"You're ready," He says.
The effect is immediate—I'm frozen on the spot.
"Ready for what?"
"For the game we're going to play." Valerius answers with an excited smile, imaginary tail wagging in glee.
That doesn't sound too promising. Although he looks like an enthused canine, I fail to associate him with innocence, knowing all the dirty deeds he's committed. The more he acts this way, the crueler I expect his actions to be.
Stupidly, I ask, "What game?"
"It'll be fun. Come."
He drags me deeper into the woods. Maybe it's knowing he's in love with me, but there's something about the way he's gripping my hand, firm and certain. It makes me want to trust him, even when my better senses know not to—in this scenario, that's definitely the most idiotic thing anyone can do.
Trust him.
When a known sadist is guiding you into the middle of a forest, where no one can hear you scream, your first instinct ought to be to run. That's not mine, however. I keep quiet, curiosity trumping my instinct.
Maybe Valerius isn't the only one who's being manipulated by a potion because the Penelope from a few days ago would've never agreed to this.
"Take this," He instructs. The bow and a bundle of arrows return to my hands, heavier now that I know Valerius has something in mind—nothing good, I'm sure. This is going to freak me out beyond belief, most probably, and I'll lock myself up inside our bedroom for days on end again.
That is if I make it out alive.
I watch with a weakening spirit as Valerius toys with a dagger, weighing it in his hands, swinging it around the air. For a moment, the light in his eyes dim into a nothingness. They become empty, chilling.
My guess? The love potion's effects have worn off. He's probably already pieced the puzzle together and now he's brought me here to enact his revenge.
He turns to me with a smile, still empty.
Here it comes. He's about to slit my throat open.
Oh, that's too bad, it just so happens that I like my throat a lot.
Can't do anything about it now.
"Here are the rules," Valerius starts. "I'm going to hide around the environment, in the trees, in the bushes, and you're allowed to guess where I am and shoot. If an arrow even so much as grazes my skin, you're allowed to finish me off."
"Finish you off?"
"Kill me. You know," He makes a show with the dagger, pretending to make a clean cut on his neck. No skin breaks, no blood spills, he's only demonstrating, but the implications make me breathless anyway.
To make matters worse, he adds, "I won't struggle."
The thought of an untouchable prince willingly surrendering his neck—it stirs feelings, primal and unsettling, within me, ones I can't explain.
I almost drop the bow from surprise. This is my ticket to freedom. With a chance like this, there should be no room to hesitate.
"I only learned how to wield one today. Isn't that a disadvantage?"
"You're a natural. You'll figure it out." He answers with a bright grin. There's something sickening about the way he's proposing his own murder, totally unbothered by the consequences. "Plus, I'll make it easy for you."
His definition of easy might not match mine.
"Fine," I huff. This psychopath probably looks down on me, doesn't think I'm competent enough to land an arrow. That mistake is going to cost him his life, unfortunately.
I watch as he takes slow steps backwards, cloaked by the shadows.
"Wait. Why are you taking the dagger? Shouldn't it be with me?" I ask.
He raises a brow. "How else am I going to win?"
"Win? You aren't going to stab me, are you?"
His lips straighten into a line. The childish display of glee, the morbid way in which he grins as if the thought of his death excites him, immediately drops. There's nothing but straightforward seriousness when he says, "I would never hurt you."
There's a split second where I almost back out, stunned by his sincerity, but then I'm reminded that he's only kind because he's under the control of a potion. Even his sincerity is inauthentic.
"Alright, then explain to me how you're going to win."
"I'll get you to yield," He answers, back to being his chipper self. It's dizzying how fast he transitions from one act to another—all fragments of his true self but never true enough to call authentic.
An important question haunts my conscience, "And what happens when you win?"
Valerius' smirk widens. "I have a few wishes in mind."
Wishes. Whatever those are will probably stun me with their severity. I weigh the pros and cons, visualize the possibilities—will he ask to slice off a finger or gauge out an eyeball? There's no way to read him.
But at the same time, this all might be worth it.
"Hide as well you can," I tell him honestly, no longer keeping up a facade. The bow looks lethal under the moonlight. "I'm going to hunt you down."