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He overtakes me with a silent step, heading toward the outdoors. His cloak sways slightly, it seems he is running away.

I exit onto the portico. The servants have already seen to bringing the saddle horses from the stables. I approach Laurence, and at my side stands Zvezda. The pure white of his coat gleams in the uncertain morning light, he scrutinizes me with sensitive eyes and greets me with a soft whinny. I pass a hand over his muzzle to steady him.

A short distance away, the Viscount stands beside his horse, an Arabian black as ebony. Observing closely, I see that a blind eye stands out in the perfection of the horse’s elegant face, and a dull unease courses through me.

That animal is not suited for hunting.

Laurence draws near. “Has some inconvenience arisen, my lord?”

I gesture with a nod toward the dark figure of horse and rider not far off. “That steed is blind in one eye.”

“I noted it.”

I tighten the reins in my hands, the contact with the leather gives me an artificial calm as my annoyance mounts.

“It is dangerous.”

“Does it matter?” my valet asks with a note of hesitation in his voice.

I turn toward him, fixing him with a dry stare. Sensing the tension, he emits a light cough.

“I had noted it, my lord. Mr. Étienne affirms there is no issue. That horse is well-trained.”

“Étienne?” I ask, shifting my gaze toward them.

“Viscount Rochefort’s valet.”

With a fluid, precise motion, I swing into Zvezda’s saddle, feeling the animal’s musculature respond to my weight.

The procession moves in an orderly fashion, each horse careful not to jostle its companion. Marquess Frederick leads the group, vigorous and calm, pointing out the path to reach the first hunting field.

Beside me, Richard pulls level with an elegant pace.

“Who do you believe will capture the greatest number of prey, Lord Dorian?”

I slow my pace slightly, ready to answer, when the Viscount’s voice reaches us from behind.

“If your brother were here, Richard, no one would manage to take more than he.”

A friend of Nathaniel’s as well, then?

“You are right, Evander. Nathaniel is difficult to surpass when it comes to the hunt.”

Tightening the reins, I fix the Viscount—that friend to everyone—with cold eyes.

“Ah, is that so?” I say, my voice clipped but controlled. “You know this well?”

“I am certain of it, Lord Vasiliev Ashford.”

Richard laughs softly. “And yet, Lord Dorian, one must admit that no one rides with such mastery as the Viscount here present.”

He tilts his head slightly, and for an instant, a genuine smile blossoms upon his lips.

The motion is slight, almost imperceptible, yet it irritates me. With a sharp tug of the reins, I command my horse to quicken its pace, seeking to distance myself from his gaze.

I no longer find any amusement in this.

But I do not have time to gain even a few yards before the rapid thud of hooves forces me to turn. A clear, youthful voice rises in the air.