Chap­ter 11 — Hunt­ing a Very Big Boar presents a piv­otal shift in Rudolf Rassendyll’s moral and emo­tion­al jour­ney, as the weight of his decep­tion grows heav­ier. Though out­ward­ly com­posed, he inter­nal­ly wres­tles with the temp­ta­tion to let the King remain impris­oned, which would allow him to retain both the throne and Princess Flavia’s affec­tion. The idea creeps in unin­vit­ed, spark­ing a moral cri­sis that he can­not ful­ly ignore. With the peo­ple of Ruri­ta­nia grow­ing more affec­tion­ate toward their “King,” and Flavia more deeply drawn to him each day, the stakes are no longer just political—they are deeply per­son­al. Yet, Rassendyll remains anchored by an inner com­pass, refus­ing to let con­ve­nience or emo­tion under­mine his sense of duty. He rec­og­nizes that to act on such thoughts would betray both the man he imper­son­ates and the woman he loves.

One morn­ing, Rassendyll’s vis­it to Flavia, osten­si­bly to deliv­er flow­ers, con­ceals a deep­er need to be near her before the storm breaks. His care­ful­ly cho­sen words, respect­ful and ten­der, show his long­ing to stay in her pres­ence with­out com­pro­mis­ing her virtue or the truth he hides. The con­ver­sa­tion is light, yet every glance and ges­ture is heavy with mean­ing. Count­ess Hel­ga watch­es atten­tive­ly, and her pres­ence reminds him that eyes are always observ­ing, wait­ing to inter­pret every action. Mean­while, beneath the warmth of affec­tion lies a grow­ing web of intrigue—letters from Duke Michael and a cryp­tic mes­sage from Antoinette de Mauban warn of dan­ger clos­ing in. The court may be bathed in sun­light, but shad­ows are thick­en­ing quick­ly, and Rassendyll sens­es that Flavia is at the heart of a dan­ger­ous scheme.

In response to the veiled threats, Rassendyll begins plac­ing safe­guards around Flavia, enlist­ing Colonel Sapt and Fritz to ensure her move­ments are watched and guard­ed. Though it is Flavia’s safe­ty that dri­ves him, there is also a hint of dread—what if she dis­cov­ers the truth too soon? What if, when the res­cue is com­plete and the real King restored, he is forced to let her go for­ev­er? These fears linger in the back­ground as he nav­i­gates the line between affec­tion and deceit. When Flavia gives him her trust so freely, it cuts deep­er. Her every look reflects admi­ra­tion for a man she believes to be her sov­er­eign, not a sub­sti­tute. Rassendyll knows that their grow­ing inti­ma­cy, if left unchecked, will only lead to heart­break for them both.

The mount­ing ten­sion finds release in a final exchange before he departs for what could be his most dan­ger­ous mis­sion. Though few words are spo­ken, their farewell brims with emo­tion, each one painful­ly aware that time is run­ning out. Flavia’s part­ing glance clings to him like a promise and a bur­den, giv­ing him strength while also deep­en­ing his sor­row. Rassendyll rides away not just to hunt the “big boar” of Michael’s treach­ery, but to reclaim the life of the man who holds the throne by right. Still, the knowl­edge that he will lose every­thing he holds dear—Flavia’s love, the admi­ra­tion of the peo­ple, and the noble façade he’s worn—chafes with every step of his jour­ney. His inter­nal strug­gle is no longer about courage; it is about doing the hon­or­able thing when the heart begs oth­er­wise.

This chap­ter deep­ens the novel’s core con­flict between per­son­al hap­pi­ness and moral oblig­a­tion. Rassendyll is a man ensnared in a lie he didn’t choose but now must uphold until the end. The emo­tion­al stakes soar as the dan­ger around Flavia esca­lates, and the roman­tic ten­sion builds toward inevitable heart­break. Every move Rassendyll makes now car­ries immense weight—not just for the fate of the King, but for the future of Ruri­ta­nia and his own con­science. The “big boar” isn’t just Duke Michael—it is the con­sum­ing bat­tle with­in Rassendyll him­self, as he fights to hold onto hon­or while los­ing every­thing else. Through love, loy­al­ty, and sac­ri­fice, Chap­ter 11 marks the turn­ing point where nobil­i­ty is test­ed not by blood­lines, but by the strength of a man’s resolve to do what is right, even when it tears him apart.