The morning broke over the forest base like a sheet of cracked porcelain, pale and shivering.
As the hunting party stirred, the air was filled with the rhythmic crunch of boots on permafrost and the low, disgruntled nickers of horses being roused from their slumber.
Soren, resplendent in his silver-accented hunting leathers, practically radiated a desperate, golden-retriever energy that clashing spectacularly with the grim, frozen landscape.
He pulled his stallion alongside Eris as they began the slow trek into the first zone, his chest puffed out just enough to be noticeable but not so much as to look like he was trying, which, of course, meant he was trying very hard.
"Did you sleep well, my Empress?" he asked, his voice dropping into that smooth, velvet register he usually reserved for state dinners and seduction.
