Chapter 261: Lottery
Lord Edmund’s eyes swept across the room slowly, taking in every face, lingering on some longer than others. When his gaze passed over Henrik, it remained there for an extra second before moving on without expression.
"Gentlemen," Lord Edmund began, his voice deep and unhurried. "I thank you for answering the call. What we do here over the next days will determine the future of my family and, by extension, the future of the one person in this world whose happiness matters to me above all else."
He paused deliberately.
"My daughter, Evelyn."
A quiet murmur rippled through the hall. Lord Edmund let it settle before continuing.
"I will not waste your time with lengthy speeches. You are all here because you believe yourselves worthy. The challenge will determine whether that belief is justified."
He gestured to a servant standing beside the platform, who unrolled a large cloth banner displaying a detailed map of the hunting grounds.
"The Suitor’s Challenge will take place over two days. The rules are as follows."
Lord Edmund stepped to the side of the podium, pointing to the map.
"Day One. The Hunt."
"The McCoy family hunting grounds extend twelve miles north of this estate, encompassing dense forest, hill terrain, and river valleys. This is where the hunt will take place."
"Each of you will enter the hunting grounds individually. The order of entry will be determined by a lottery, which will be drawn at the conclusion of this briefing. There will be a thirty-minute interval between each entry."
"Your objective is simple hunt. All game killed within the hunting grounds during your time inside will be counted toward your score. However, not all kills are equal."
He nodded to the servant, who unrolled a second banner showing a detailed scoring chart.
"Scoring is weighted by difficulty and rarity. Small game the likes of rabbits, pheasants, foxes carry lower value. Medium game the likes of deer, wild boar carry moderate value. Large or rare game the likes of bears, mountain cats, or anything of similar danger carry significantly higher value."
A few murmurs broke out among the suitors. Some looked confident. Others less so.
"Each participant will be assigned a unique identification mark. This mark must be applied to every kill you make ....
whether by arrow colour, blade marking, or any other verifiable method. This is how your kills will be distinguished from those of others."
"You may use any weapon, tool, or method at your disposal. There are no restrictions on equipment."
Alex kept his expression neutral, but he couldn’t quite stop his lips from turning up slightly at that.
"Your kills will be collected by assigned servants throughout the day and brought to your designated tent at the southern base camp. At the end of Day One, scores will be tallied and announced publicly."
Lord Edmund paused and let the information settle before continuing.
"Day Two. Flags and Raids."
The atmosphere in the hall shifted. Several suitors leaned forward.
"On the morning of Day Two, your accumulated game from Day One will be placed at your assigned tent. Somewhere within the hunting grounds, a flag bearing your assigned colour will be hidden."
"Your task is twofold. First find your flag and return it to your tent. Second once you have secured your own flag, you may enter any unguarded tent and claim the game stored inside as your own. This stolen game will be added to your score."
A wave of sharp murmurs broke out. In the gallery, Nathan let out a low whistle. "That’s nasty. You could hunt all day, score well, and then lose everything on Day Two because someone faster found their flag first and raided your tent."
Below, Lord Edmund raised his hand. "However, there are conditions."
"You may only steal game. You may not take another participant’s flag. You may not engage in physical combat with another participant. Any violence will result in immediate disqualification."
"If you choose to remain at your tent to guard your game rather than seeking your flag, you are free to do so. No one may take game from a tent whose owner is present. But your final score will remain at your Day One total, with no opportunity to increase it."
He let the weight of that sink in.
"Finally you may use any means, tools, or strategies you wish to protect your tent, locate your flag, or raid other tents. As with Day One, there are no restrictions on equipment or methods. Creativity is encouraged."
Several suitors exchanged glances. The implications were sinking in fast this was not just a test of hunting skill. It was a test of strategy, risk assessment, and decision-making under pressure.
Lord Edmund returned to the centre of the podium.
"At the end of Day Two, final scores will be calculated. The participant with the highest combined score will be declared the winner."
He looked across the hall one final time.
"The winner will be granted the formal right to court my daughter."
Silence.
Then, after a long beat, Lord Edmund spoke again.
"Now... the lottery."
------
The process was different from what most had expected.
There was no box of tiles. No drawing of lots by hand.
Instead, a senior McCoy household steward a thin, grey-haired man named Graves who had served the family for over thirty years stepped forward carrying a wooden tray. On the tray sat a single sealed nameplate made of polished wood, the suitor’s name engraved on one side and the entry number on the other.
He presented the first nameplate to Lord Edmund, who read it aloud.
"Entry number one. Marcus Fell."
A young man near the back of the hall straightened in his chair, looking both proud and nervous.
Graves returned to the side chamber and brought out the second plate.
"Entry number two. Thomas Greaves."
And so it continued, one plate at a time, brought out in sequence by the steward. The order had been predetermined sealed and arranged in the side chamber before the briefing began. The suitors had no hand in the draw at all.
It was efficient. It was orderly. It was entirely controlled by whoever had arranged those plates in that room.
"Entry number three. Henrik Bjornson."
Henrik stood briefly, gave a short, composed bow, and sat back down. His expression was calm, almost practiced.
Lord Bjornson, seated in the gallery above, allowed himself a barely perceptible smile.
In the gallery, Riya noticed it. She leaned toward Lucy.
"Did you see his father’s face just now?"
Lucy looked up at Lord Bjornson. "What about it?"
"He smiled before the steward even came out with the plate. As if he already knew which number his son would get."
Lucy’s brows drew together slightly. "You think...?"
"I think," Riya said slowly, "that if someone had access to the steward, or to the room where those plates were arranged, they could put any name at any number they wanted."
Nathan, who had been listening from her other side, turned sharply. "That’s a serious accusation, Miss Riya."
"I’m not accusing anyone. I’m just observing." Riya’s eyes lingered on Lord Bjornson’s composed face. "And what I observed is that this man’s smile is so creepy."
The lottery continued. Name after name, number after number.
Aldric Voss received number seven. He nodded, satisfied.
Dorian Ashford received number twelve. His expression didn’t change at all, as if expected.
When Graves emerged with the eighteenth plate, Lord Edmund read it without any emotion.
"Entry number eighteen. Alex Carter."
A murmur ran through the hall ....louder than any of the previous entries. Below, in the suitors’ seats, heads turned.
"Eighteen? The water merchant got eighteen?"
"That’s almost last. By the time he enters, there won’t be anything left to hunt."
"Maybe Lord Edmund doesn’t favour him as much as people thought."
Alex remained seated, his expression entirely unchanged. He gave no reaction at all.
In the gallery above, Riya was watching Lord Bjornson again.
The old man’s expression was perfectly composed now, but there had been something there a flicker of satisfaction when Alex’s number was called, gone as quickly as it appeared.
Riya turned her gaze to the other end of the gallery, where Lord Edmund sat.
Lord Edmund was looking directly at Lord Bjornson.
Their eyes met for the briefest moment.
Then Lord Edmund looked away, his expression revealing absolutely nothing, and the lottery continued.
Riya leaned back in her seat, her arms crossed. She didn’t say anything to Lucy. She didn’t need to.
She had confidence in her boyfriend.