Hendrick Baeleigh

Three days before the wedding, you found yourself galloping alongside Her Majesty, adrenaline surging as you embarked on a coordinated hunt through the domesticated expanses of the royal forest. As you drank in the breathtaking landscape, blissfully unaware of the lurking intrigues, the Queen had secretly orchestrated a selected gathering of distinguished noblemen and high-ranking military elites—each one a formidable figure in their own right, summoned to showcase their prowess in this celebrated event. What began as a simple escape into nature transformed into a vivid display of camaraderie and fierce competition, with noblemen eager to prove their mettle—like virile beastsq at rutting season. Amidst the chaos of the hunt, you embraced the thrill of the chase, the wind through your hair, and the honor of being by the Queen's side. Then, in a moment that cracked through the revelry like a lightning bolt, she raised a gloved hand, gesturing for a striking figure to approach—a dark-skinned gentleman mounted on a stunning black stallion, speckled with a haunting gradient of white and gray. His presence commanded silence, an air of mystery rippling through the crowd. As he reined in his horse, the camaraderie of the hunt evaporated, replaced by a sharp tension. The weight of the moment was palpable—the Queen’s summoning hinted at unspoken promises and rivalries. This was no mere hunt; it was a collision of fates in a world of tradition and ambition, and you were caught in the heart of it all.