Gentle Hunting
Matthias von Herhardt sent the group on ahead, then reined in his horse in the middle of the wide trail winding through the forest. He removed his hat, letting his tousled hair fall over his forehead. The forest, which had been swept through by a bloody frenzy just moments before, now felt even quieter than usual.
The hunt today had been quite enjoyable. Matthias had aimed and hit every target, and the thrill had come as it always did. Yet even so, this feeling of something missing lingered—perhaps because he had been chasing one desperate little bird.
When he turned his gaze toward the direction of the cottage, he slowly twisted the horse’s head. The young girl who lived in his hunting grounds would, after the hunt ended, come out of the forest sobbing and bury the dead birds. It was such an absurd thing that he remembered it clearly.
Then what about the woman who was no longer young?
As he mulled over this strange curiosity, Matthias aimed his rifle at the small bird perched on the end of a branch.
Bang.
With a sharp report, the bird plummeted to the ground.
Matthias left the hit game untouched and slowly guided his horse onward.
One shot. Another.
Aiming and firing, Matthias made his way toward the forest as evening fell. Along the path, one by one, bloodied birds fell from the trees.
He hated her.
As Leila dug the grave and buried the bird, she repeated the fact to herself.
She hated the Duke of Herhardt, who had such a distasteful hobby. Truly, she hated him.
Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Leila swallowed the grief that rose to the back of her throat. Just as she thought it might be over, another bloodied bird lay a few meters away. Breathing deeply, Leila gripped her shovel and approached.
She harbored no desire to condemn all killing. Uncle Bill hunted for food, and Leila herself raised livestock. But this—wantonly killing for mere amusement and carelessly leaving the corpses—how was she supposed to understand it?
When would this summer end?
Leila let out a long sigh as she prayed that her favorite season would pass quickly. She buried another bird. A red-breasted robin with a beautiful pattern.
The thought that something was off had come after she had already entered the deep forest. The Duke of Herhardt enjoyed hunting every year, and Leila buried the birds every year as well. Yet she could not recall creating graves in such a regular pattern. It felt almost as if there was a path made of dead birds.
She should turn back.
Leila, gripped by a bad premonition, stopped walking. The sky above was burning red. And beyond the thicket, following the glow of the sunset, she saw him—sitting on a cut tree stump, staring at her.
As her mind went blank, he greeted her with slow, leisurely politeness.
“Hello, Leila.”
Matthias von Herhardt’s voice was as smooth as the feathers of the birds he had shot.
“By the way, you’re late, Matthias. The rest of the party you went with seems to have already returned.”
The Dowager Duchess, Katarina von Herhardt, narrowed her eyes at the card game. The game had grown boring. It might have been better to start the banquet a bit earlier, but Matthias had yet to return from the hunting grounds.
“He said he would go for a walk in the forest,” Claudine answered with a gentle smile. Her expression was bright, unlike that of someone who had just lost at cards.
The noblewomen at the table, who knew she had deliberately lost, smiled warmly at Claudine. The next Duchess of Herhardt—charming, well-mannered, and full of grace. Claudine understood the thoughts behind those glances better than anyone.
“Anyway, Matthias loves that forest so much.”
When the Dowager Duchess gently rang the bell, the maids approached to clear the table.
The bored noblewomen sat back around the drawing-room table and enjoyed simple refreshments while chatting. Trivial but appropriate conversation, delivered with the utmost elegance.
“Oh, Claudine, how about throwing a party inviting your friends?”
Claudine’s eyes widened at the Dowager Duchess’s suggestion.
“Me? Here at Arvis?”
“You must be bored playing cards with us every day. It’s time for a change, don’t you think?”
“No, not at all. I’m quite all right.”
“It’s a joke, Claudine. Don’t look so shocked.”
Her face, relaxed in laughter, was so young and beautiful that it seemed impossible for a mother with an engaged son. Her features also resembled Matthias’s.
Even the beauty who had once graced the empire with her presence, Duchess Elyse von Herhardt, had not monopolized her husband’s love. Thinking this, Claudine found women who clung to love even more amusing.
The late Duke of Herhardt had mistresses like other noblemen of his rank, yet he never allowed them to disrupt the succession with illegitimate children. Even without love, the Duke and Duchess of Herhardt respected each other and fulfilled their duties. A clean, bright family without meaningless hopes or greed eating at one another. What Claudine wanted from Matthias was not so different.
“You don’t have to worry, Claudine. Think of it as practice. With young people around again, the house will be lively, and we’ll all enjoy it.”
The Dowager Duchess’s smile grew even brighter.
“Don’t you all agree?”
Everyone at the table knew the question was not asking for their opinion.
“Indeed, you are so generous and kind.”
The Countess of Brandt was the first to voice her praise. Soon the other noblewomen chimed in with slightly exaggerated compliments.
Claudine lowered her head slightly, hiding a shy smile. As she thought of the names of the friends she wanted to invite, her gaze was drawn outside the window. Seeing the forest beyond the garden as the sun set, she thought of the girl.
Leila, the pitiful orphan living in that forest.
So proper, yet she knew her place well. But somehow, that girl had an audacity that felt almost offensive.
“Would it be all right to invite Leila?”
The noblewomen’s eyebrows furrowed at Claudine’s cheerful question.
“Surely you mean that orphan raised by the gardener?”
“Yes. The girl named Leila Lewellin.”
“Leila, Claudine!”
The Countess of Brandt gave a warning glance, but Claudine remained unfazed.
“That poor girl has never attended a formal party before. I want to give Leila one good memory.”
Even as she spoke boldly, Claudine kept the manners and dignity of a lady.
“Now that I hear it, there is something to that.”
A pleased smile curved the Dowager Duchess Katarina von Herhardt’s lips as she watched Claudine.
“Do as you wish, Claudine.”
Leila looked back at the path she had taken while burying the birds. When she turned her head again and saw him, the conclusion she could reach was only one.
He was insane.
There were no other words to describe the situation.
Sweat mixed with fear soaked Leila’s hands inside her bloodied gloves. Her heart raced as if it might burst.
She should run. Just as she decided and turned to leave, his voice called out again.
“Leila.”
His expression, slowly calling her name, was calm.
“Leila Lewellin.”
Once more, the name he murmured quietly sounded like a song.
Leila gripped her shovel like a cane and straightened her posture. She clenched her lips and braced her legs.
Running would do no good. If he decided, the Duke could catch Leila at any moment. Realizing this, her mind grew clearer and calmer.
She bowed her head in greeting, then raised her trembling eyes to meet his gaze. While his quiet stare continued, the sounds of the forest stirred by the wind grew louder.
“Continue.”
Matthias was the first to break the silence.
“You have work to do.”
He gestured toward the thicket, where a bird lay as if it were the last game.
Leila walked steadily toward it. A red thread was tied around the foot of the bloodied bird— the same thread Leila had tied to the chicks of the water pipit that hatched by the Schulter River last year.
The bird that had wintered in the distant south and returned was destined to lose its life in the place of its birth. Merely for the Duke’s trivial amusement.
Leila buried the bird in silence. It was a familiar task, made all too easy by the butcher of beautiful birds.
“That thread, you tied it?”
He asked as if merely observing.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to see if the migratory birds that left would return.”
Leila answered while covering the soil.
“I didn’t expect a reunion like this.”
As she breathed more heavily and lifted her head, she saw the Duke of Herhardt with his usual calm expression.
“Would you like to condemn me?”
He asked, legs crossed as he sat. At that moment, the smirk that touched the corner of Matthias’s lips shattered Leila’s patience.
“I cannot say that is not the case.”
“What is the problem?”
He frowned lightly.
“I only hunted the birds on my own land, in my own hunting grounds.”
“But, Your Grace, the birds do not know.”
She thought of Uncle Bill.
Despite the constant command ringing in her head, Leila finally spoke.
“To the birds, it is just the forest. The place they were born, raised, and lived. A place they longed to return to even after traveling far away.”
“Do I have to understand a bird’s heart?”
“That is not what I meant…”
Leila pulled off her bloodied gardening gloves and took a breath.
“Yet you must hunt them so cruelly, mustn’t you?”
To speak those words aloud, Leila had to summon a courage greater than when she had first boarded a train with a single address in hand during her childhood. Late regret came, but the Duke showed no anger or disgust. That strange calm only tightened the chokehold on Leila.
“Leila Lewellin, who knows the birds’ hearts so well.”
It had been a long time since Matthias opened his mouth.
“What do you think hunting is?”
“Excuse me?”
“Would you like me to give you a gentle hunt?”
His laughter scratched at her. Leila twisted the hem of her skirt to endure the humiliation.
“…I am sorry. I spoke out of turn. Please forgive my rudeness.”
“Why do you love birds so much?”
“It would not be a story very interesting to Your Grace.”
Leila no longer wanted to look at him and lowered her eyes. The Duke said nothing.
“I have finished my work. I will be going now.”
Leila bowed deeply. He remained silent once more.
Relieved, Leila turned to leave. The moment she took one step, a cold gunshot rang out.
Leila whirled around with a face drained of all color. The Duke stood holding the rifle he had pointed toward the treetops, staring at her. Between them lay another bloodied bird.
“What now, Leila.”
The Duke sat casually on the stump as if nothing had happened.
“Your work is not finished yet.”