Chapter 326 - The huntng grounds

Chapter 326: Chapter 326 - The huntng grounds

The imperial hunting grounds were, Eric had to admit, impressive.

Rolling green fields gave way to dense forest, and beyond that, the terrain rose into wooded hills where the real game supposedly lived. Tents had been raised in neat rows along a riverbank—great silk pavilions in imperial gold, smaller ones in the colors of various noble houses, and a sprawling cluster of servants’ tents off to the side where cooks were already at work over open fires.

Eric stepped down from the carriage, stretched his aching back, and took it all in.

Then he looked at the crowd.

Nobles everywhere. Officials, generals, ministers, and their families, all turned out for the annual competition. The men wore riding gear—sleek tunics and tall boots, bows slung across their backs, quivers at their hips. The women were dressed in softer, lighter robes, their hair pinned up, their hands folded, gathered near the stands that had been built to overlook the hunt.

Eric looked at the men.

Then he looked at the women.

Then he looked at the stands.

Then he realized, with a slow, creeping dread, where he was expected to sit.

"No," he said.

Ryan, beside him, glanced over. "No?"

"I’m not sitting with the wives."

Ryan followed his gaze. "You are my wife."

"Technically." Eric fanned himself with aggressive speed. "But I’m also a man. A grown man. With opinions and legs and—" He gestured vaguely at the women’s stands. "Look at them. They’re all sitting there like decorations."

Ryan looked. "They are decorations."

"That’s worse!"

Around them, the hunt participants were gathering. Eric watched as a group of noblemen rode past on horseback, bows drawn in lazy practice, calling to each other about whose shot was truer last year. There was the Duke of something-or-other, already boasting. There was the young lord who’d apparently won the last two competitions and never let anyone forget it. Even Ryan’s own officers were mounted and ready, speaking in low voices near the tree line.

Eric looked at them.

And he wanted in.

It was ridiculous. It was obviously impossible. But something about the bows and the horses and the clean morning air made his chest tighten with want.

Then he remembered two things.

One: he could not ride a horse.

Two: he could not use a weapon.

Eric’s shoulders slumped.

Ryan’s hand landed briefly on his back, steering him toward the stands. "Come on."

The women’s section was, on the surface, lovely. Cushioned seats, silk canopies, refreshments laid out on lacquered trays. Eric was seated with grace and immediately surrounded by a flutter of polite ladies who had clearly been waiting all year for this.

"General’s wife!" one of them chirped. "We heard you traveled all the way from the residence. How was the road?"

"Long," Eric said.

"Oh, but so romantic. Your husband must be so attentive."

Eric thought of Ryan handing off his horse and climbing into the carriage to sit with him. He felt his ears go slightly warm.

"He’s alright," he muttered.

The ladies tittered.

Then they started talking.

And Eric’s soul began slowly leaving his body.

They talked about embroidery. Then about embroidery patterns. Then about which embroidery patterns were currently fashionable in the capital. Then about a certain lady who had worn the wrong embroidery pattern to a banquet and been whispered about for weeks. Then about someone’s cousin’s marriage prospects. Then about how difficult it was to find good silk these days.

Eric’s eyes glazed over.

He tried to follow along. He genuinely did. But somewhere between "thread" and "brocade," he lost the plot entirely and never found it again.

He slumped in his seat.

Ryan had left him a small bowl of grapes—peeled, of course, and deseeded, and set out in neat little rows because the man was clearly insane—and Eric picked it up off the tray and began eating them one by one, mechanically, watching the field.

In the distance, the horn sounded.

The hunt had begun.

Horses thundered out toward the forest. Bows were drawn. Shouts carried on the wind. Eric watched a young lord take down something at range and pump his fist in triumph, and Eric felt a small, sharp twist in his chest.

He wanted to be out there.

Not here.

Not trapped with the embroidery ladies.

One of them leaned toward him. "General’s wife, what do you think? Brocade or satin for the autumn banquet?"

Eric looked at her.

Then he looked at the field.

Then he popped another grape into his mouth and chewed slowly, saying nothing.

The lady waited.

"Brocade," Eric said at last, because it was the only word he’d actually retained.

She beamed. "Oh, I knew you had taste."

Eric looked back at the hunt and sighed.

His bowl was empty. He tilted it toward himself, hoping a grape had somehow hidden beneath another, then set it down with considerable disappointment. Beside him, the ladies had moved on to sleeve lengths.

"How long does this usually last?" he asked.

"Until noon for the first round."

Eric slowly lowered his fan. "The first round?"

"Oh, yes. Then they bring back their catches."

He glanced toward the forest. Ryan had disappeared among the trees some time ago, and watching strangers ride around was losing its appeal. At least his husband had provided something worth looking at.

"And what do we do until then?"

The lady lifted the cloth spread across her knees. A half-finished flower sat within a wooden embroidery hoop.

Eric stared at it.

"Lovely," he said weakly.

She reached into the basket beside her. "Would you like to try? I brought an extra needle."

"No, thank you. I’d hate to bleed on your flower."

She laughed, apparently taking that as a joke. Eric smiled politely and shifted toward the edge of his seat, looking for somewhere he could escape without being dragged back into a discussion about thread.

A servant approached with a fresh bowl of grapes.

Eric immediately sat back down. ℯ

"The general asked that these be brought to you," the man said, placing them within reach. "And that you stay beneath the canopy. The sun is strong today."

Eric picked up a grape, fighting a smile.

"He’s in the forest and still ordering me around?"

"He left instructions before departing."

Of course he had. Eric glanced at the bowl, then toward the trees, his earlier irritation easing despite himself.

"Tell him I’m suffering terribly."

The servant hesitated.

"From boredom," Eric clarified. "And if he wants forgiveness, he can teach me to ride tomorrow."

That deserved compensation.