If I were still a unicorn, I would be stabbing him right now. No hesitation. Right in the chest.
Those venomous thoughts swirled through her mind as she stood before Lord Eirik Velstadt, his confident smirk making her blood boil. His perfectly tailored attire, the kind that only nobility could afford, seemed to gleam in the sunlight filtering through the trees. His relaxed posture, one hand casually resting on the hilt of his sword, betrayed an air of entitlement. He had been talking for what felt like hours, his words dripping with condescension masquerading as charm.
"You should consider my proposal, my lady. I'm certain you'll find it advantageous. I am, after all, a man of resources and renown. A partnership with me could elevate your standing in our… unkind world."
The woman's name was Elara, though she had long since stopped feeling any connection to the human identity forced upon her. She glared at him, her pale fingers clenching the fabric of her dress. How dare he assume she needed his help? If he knew even a fraction of her past, he would think twice about speaking to her like she was some helpless damsel. Her silver hair, cascading like moonlight down her back, shimmered faintly as she tilted her chin up in defiance. Her violet eyes burned with suppressed fury.
"Lord Eirik," she said through gritted teeth, "if I were still a unicorn, I would be stabbing you right now. Do you realize that?"
For a moment, silence hung in the air. The forest around them seemed to pause, the rustling leaves and chirping birds quieting as if to hear her declaration. Then, to her utter dismay, Eirik burst out laughing.
"Magnificent," he said, his voice rich with amusement. "Absolutely magnificent! My lady, if a creature as rare and wondrous as a unicorn were to impale me, I would consider it an honor. What a story that would make for the poets, don't you think?"
Her face flushed a deep crimson. The audacity of this man! Was he mocking her? Or was he genuinely amused? Either way, she had no intention of standing there any longer, letting him rile her up with his infuriating charm.
"You… you're impossible," she muttered, spinning on her heel. Her silver hair whipped around her, catching the sunlight in a dazzling display. "I have no time for this. I'm busy."
She marched off, her boots crunching against the forest floor. She dared not look back, though she could feel his gaze following her. Her heart pounded in her chest, anger and embarrassment fueling her hasty retreat. How dare he laugh at her? And why did her traitorous heart skip a beat at his ridiculous words?
Eirik watched her go, the corners of his lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. She was unlike anyone he'd ever met—proud, fiery, and utterly fascinating. As her figure disappeared into the trees, he turned toward a nearby bush and addressed it directly.
"You can come out now. She's gone."
The underbrush rustled, and one by one, three figures emerged, covered in twigs, leaves, and varying degrees of sheepishness. Sir Thalion Reikard, the stoic knight, brushed a branch off his polished armor with a faint frown. Casimir Drechsler, the rogue, grinned mischievously as he plucked a leaf from his unruly dark hair. And finally, Lysander Voss, the mysterious mage, adjusted his robe and muttered something about the indignity of hiding in bushes.
Eirik raised an eyebrow at the group. "Enjoying the show, were you?"
"Observing," Thalion said evenly, his deep voice carrying a calm authority. "It's important to understand one's rivals."
Casimir snorted. "Rivals, eh? I'd say we're all in the same boat. None of us have managed to get past that thorny exterior of hers. Did you see how she nearly bit Eirik's head off? Hilarious."
Lysander's violet eyes, eerily similar to hers but tinged with an otherworldly glow, narrowed. "She's no ordinary woman. That much is clear. Her resistance isn't born of spite; it's born of pain. There's more to her story than any of us know."
Eirik clapped a hand on Lysander's shoulder, his grin widening. "A keen observation, as always. But that doesn't mean we're giving up, does it? She may be a thorny rose but worth every scratch."
The three men exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from determination to camaraderie. Despite their differences, they shared a mutual respect and a common goal. Winning her heart would not be easy, but none of them were the type to back down from a challenge.
Eirik gestured toward the path she had taken. "I'll make you all a deal. If any of you manage to get her to like you, truly like you, then I won't stand in your way. But let's be clear: I won't make it easy."
Thalion's frown deepened. "She's not a prize to be won, Eirik. This isn't a competition."
"Of course not," Eirik said with a wink. "But let's be honest—a little friendly rivalry never hurt anyone."
Casimir chuckled, his grin returning. "Well, I'm in. I've always enjoyed a good challenge."
Lysander crossed his arms, his gaze thoughtful. "She's not the type to be swayed by flattery or bravado. If any of us truly wish to gain her trust, we'll need to earn it."
"Agreed," Thalion said, his tone firm. "But if we pursue this, we must also support each other. She's like this with every man in her life, even her own father. If we can't approach her with patience and understanding, we'll only drive her further away."
Eirik nodded, his smirk softening into something more genuine. "Well said, Thalion. Truce, then? For now?"
The four men exchanged nods, their unspoken agreement solidifying their unusual alliance. Each of them had their reasons for pursuing her, their hopes and dreams entwined with her enigmatic presence. But for now, they would tread carefully, their paths converging in pursuing a woman as untamable as the forest itself.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the forest floor, the four suitors parted ways, their determination undimmed. In the distance, the sound of her retreating footsteps faded into the rustling leaves, leaving only the promise of a journey that had only just begun.