Ryan had been hunting since he was twelve.
He knew the rhythm of it well enough by now. The first hour was always noise. Horses crashing through undergrowth, nobles shouting too loudly, servants trailing behind with spare quivers and water. Everyone wanted to be seen. Everyone wanted the early kill.
It usually settled after that.
Today it did not.
Because His First Highness had decided to ride beside him.
The Crown Prince was, in most respects, a decent enough man. Good rider. Decent shot. Generous with his praise when he won and gracious when he lost, which was rarer among princes than most people assumed.
There was, however, one thing about him that had always irritated Ryan.
He talked. Constantly.
"It's a good year for it," the Crown Prince said, steering his horse closer. "Warm enough that the game will be moving, cool enough that we won't sweat through our robes before noon."
"Mm."
"Zhao's already taken two deer, I hear. He always starts fast."
"Mm."
