Cordelia's day dress was becoming stained at the bottom, the dirt not taking kindly to the satin fabrics of her skirt. Then again, what could she expect from seven long days of travel?

Word of her capture had spread throughout the kingdom—which she would have found amusing if it wasn’t true. She had convinced the thief that because she looked like the princess, they had to avoid capture at all costs—meaning going to ramshackle inns and taverns so they wouldn’t be caught . She had thoughts to cut her hair—almost asking the thief to lend her his dagger to do so, but she was too attached to her golden locks to dare to go that far. Her hair was a symbol of beauty; she wasn’t ready to part with it. As for the thief, she was thankful he believed her without question—then again, she decided it'd be best to keep him docile. Kissing him kept his suspicions at bay.

Cordelia leans away from the thief. She tries to stand up, but his bare arm stops her. <You know, spending time with you in close quarters like this isn’t helping. You say you have a fiancé, but it’s clear you have no intentions to stay faithful  … not that I mind . > His hands encourage the blonde to stay put, as one hand plays with the fabric of her dress.

<I thought you wanted me off because I wasn’t giving in ? > She pulls a face—what an indecisive man.

<Maybe I was being hasty.> He hums, smiling as he caresses her neck. <Allow me to ease you into it—>

<I told you, stupid thief—I am not sharing my bed with you.> Any peace between the two vanishes at an instant. She pushes him off of her as she stands up, brushing the wrinkles out of her dress as an attempt to relieve her own stirred feelings. She couldn’t allow him to catch on that she would be more than willing to lie with him for the night. <You’re arguably presumptuous.>

<And you a misleading—> He pauses intentionally, correcting his words. It didn't take too much imagination to wonder where he was going with that remark. <What I mean is, you can’t string me along like this.>

<Are my kisses sloppy? I thought they did you fine.. . > She humphs, her arms crossing tightly against his chest.

<You don’t understand—when you kiss me—> He rubs his fingers through his hair. <You’re driving me nuts.>

<Am I now?> She raises a curious brow, unsure how she’s driving him anywhere. <My question still stands.>

<Of course I enjoy them—how else would I put up with your inherent tone otherwise?> His voice becomes serious. <Which is why no more kissing, unless you want to offer yourself completely.>

<What?!> No more kissing? That was absurd! Curse him for being so heartless. If she were to agree with the thief on one thing—it was that thing he did with his tongue. His kisses sent addicting shivers throughout her entire being. With a drawn-out sigh, she climbs into her own bed. She can feel his heated stare when she pulls the covers over her shoulder. She wouldn’t undress for the night, the freeness from her corset would only stir her carnal feelings further, which wasn’t helping her in the slightest.

<By the by… you told me we were almost to The Sands days ago . >

<It wouldn’t have taken us seven days to get here if you weren’t so edgy around the guards.> He frowns heavily. <You’re acting like you’re the one they’re looking for.>

<Heavens, don’t be ridiculous. They're looking for any blonde women—which if you didn't know—describes the princess perfectly.

<How do I know you're not the princess ? > He mutters under his breath.

She tenses, <And why do you think a princess would hang around a tavern at night ? >

He sighs. <Well, if we're done here, I'm getting a drink . > He says almost bitterly. He leans from the bed, slipping his vest on as he heads toward the door. <Be out of that bed before I come back. If I can barely keep control of myself now, I can't imagine what I'll do when I've had too much ale . >

This is the first time he left her alone—which means it was the perfect time to escape.

She lets five minutes pass. Cordelia hops out of bed and investigates his side of the room—Oh! Her heart flutters when she sees her satchel by the end table. She grabs her necklaces, stuffing them along her bustline, and the shilling pouch. She notices that he’s left both daggers by his bed, but leaves both for now. She hurries back to her bed, taking great care in covering herself in case he came back early. Doing her due diligence, she tucks the necklaces in the pockets of her cloak. They weren’t deep, but it worked for the small golden chains—where she kept her sapphire bracelet. She dumps her shillings in the other free pocket, the pouch doesn't fit. No, if she would go through with this, she would take one of the man’s daggers with her. She didn’t know how to use it, but she could at least use it in case she ran into trouble. Cordelia hurries to his side of the room, grabbing the sheathed dagger and slips it underneath her sleeve—she didn’t know where else to put it. Feeling a rush of adrenaline, she throws the cloak over her shoulders and carefully leaves the room. The light outside showed that she had at least two hours of sunlight left before she’d run into trouble.

Cordelia sneaks down the stairwell, the place busy with jolly men and women praising the gifts of life—which Cordelia wasn't able to decipher. With a quick eye roll, she ignores the singing, scanning the premises for the thief she had kept company with. He’s at the bar, ensconced in chatter with the dark-haired man beside him. They must have been on familiar terms; the thief didn’t seem overly chatty with men until now. Cordelia throws her hood up and uses this opportunity to sneak out of the door.

She can hear her heartbeat rush through her ears as her palm presses the door handle.

Fresh air hits her nose when she leaves the premises, her chest bursting with relief—she had escaped! Cordelia wants to squeal in joy but she had to wait—eying one of the wooded paths nearby. She hated forests, but it was her best bet. She’d likely die at the thief’s hand if she were to delay. If she took the path ahead, it would likely crawl with knights looking for her. Her mother would cart her to St. Antilla immediately to marry that foreign king. She shudders; she’d rather die at that rate. She had to enter the forest.

With her fists clenching her cloak, she doesn’t waste more time. Cordelia makes quick steps into the wooded path, accepting all dangers she would meet.

The path is dimly lit; Cordelia’s eyes had to adjust to the darkness before she proceeded. She knew branches would stick up from the ground without warning, so she had to watch her step to avoid wayward branches. She laughs to herself—the silly fears she had about the paths was nonsensical. As long as there was light outside, she should be fine to continue. Maybe if she met a traveller in the forest, she could ask to travel alongside them—if they didn't recognize her to be the princess.

The path gets visibly darker. Despite her fears, Cordelia continues down the makeshift path. Freedom was worth the  … shadowy figures in the distance, and  … rustling leaves—they’re leaves, dammit. She stops, pressing her hand against her chest. She’s fine. There was no sense in having a panic attack—especially when freedom was mere moments away. If she didn't hurry  up , the thief might catch up to her—if that happened, he might kill her for escaping. She had to get moving. It wouldn’t be long until she saw a light at the end of the path—would it? Cordelia continues until she reaches a dead end—no! She stomps her foot in place, digging her heel into the ground. She would have to stray off, hoping that no beasts—or giant spiders heaven forbid—would pray on her bones. Arming herself with the thief’s dagger, she picks up her skirt and gulps, holds her breath.

God, she wishes she had listened to her instructors on the geography of her lands. Cordelia does her best to ignore the bristling of the leaves, jumping every time a twig pulls at her cloak. She was skitterish , and it showed. Her bravery was dwindling by the second.

The skies were darkening with each passing minute. as Cordelia sighs helplessly, she's lost. She couldn’t see anywhere around her. Tears of frustration build up in her eyes—she was horribly useless out on her own. But, this was her decision. She could shed as many tears as she wanted to, but she had no choice but to proceed.

She soon learns that the bristling was not from the leaves, but skittering—coming from a giant, furry creature with—eight legs and — glowing red eyes.

Cordelia slams herself against a tree trunk as the creature investigates her. Her arms shake violently in fear as she tries to unsheathe the dagger. She whimpers softy, closing her eyes, praying it leaves her alone. She’s not sure she’s ready to take on the spider alone, never mind what she had told herself moments ago—but if it attempts to attack her, she’s more than screwed. She bolsters the courage, accidentally missing, stabbing it right in the eye—it squeals in pain, giving Cordelia ample time to run—with a hitch. Her cloak snags on a branch; she has to pull it free before that thing wants more of her. She can’t bear the thought if it called for backup. Cordelia rips herself free from the branch, accidentally tripping forward. She hears metal spill from her pockets but she doesn’t have the time to grab it. She had to scurry for her life before she'd be eaten alive! She maneuvers out of the way before it sprays a sticky-like substance from the trees, attempting to trap her in its web. It clearly  had better visibility in the darkness than she did. There was no time to be scared ! She was alone—she had to fight her own battles. Cordelia grabs a branch off a nearby tree, barely seeing how long it was—only feeling the flimsiness between her fingers. With a small snap, she’s able to break it off the tree, now using it as a weapon to defend herself. She’s glad she did, she’s able to keep her distance, batting away the aggravated insect. She could barely see how big it was, but through the sliver of light she had access to—it was a baby. But the one she attacked wasn't a baby at all—it was huge! Her blood curdles—that meant the spider she stabbed in the eye—was its mother.

Hot on her feet, Cordelia weaves through the trees, deciding that hurting the spider wasn’t worth it. If it was a baby, it wouldn’t stray far from its nest, would it? If she waited around any longer, it's mother would return. She could only pray that the spider wouldn't leave her baby. But, now she was straying farther into the forest, losing sight of her path. Despite the path looking terrible ahead, she had to proceed. She couldn’t stay in this godforsaken forest any longer. Picking up her skirts, she hurries through the forest.

Cordelia panics when the skittering sounds from before multiply—they were above, and it was too dark to see above her. The urge to scream is overwhelming, but if she surrendered to that whim—it would draw more spiders to her. No matter how scared she was, she had to use whatever wits she had left. She still had the stick in her hand—and desperately regretted to pull the dagger from that spider's eye.

No, Cordelia had this. She gulps .. . again. She wasn’t sure what path led out of the nest—and was it safe to turn back? That’s where the maimed spider was—and would spell death for her if she tried. She has to remember that.