"No, Your Highness," the Duke answered calmly. "My assistant and I were only taking a walk. Nothing worth noting."
He stepped aside and opened the carriage door wider.
"Alan, come out and say hello."
Alan tumbled out too fast — his soles struck the cobblestones hard, but he managed to straighten his posture before he turned.
"Good day, Your Highness!" His voice rang out in the morning quiet, just a fraction too bright. "Forgive me for not stepping out sooner — a headache, I fell asleep."
Elara dropped to the floor without a sound the moment she heard the first footsteps. Cold wood, dust settled in the cracks between the planks, the hard edge of the bench above her head. Her palms pressed flat against it to hold the trembling back. To make her body still.
Footsteps.
Closer.
/"Don't move."/
Too close. Through the gap between the curtain and the frame, a heavy shadow cut across the green fabric of her dress. The air turned thick, hot, heavier than the dust. Then the smell reached her. Barely there. Familiar to the point of pain. The bitter note of the resin he put on the fire in winter.
Her heart lurched. She pressed her teeth together.
Outside, the Prince laughed softly — brief, almost pleasant.
"Oh, so you're not alone. That explains it." A pause in which something barely shifted. "Count Damd, good to see you."
He did not step back.
Elara stretched along the floor. The green fabric of her dress crumpled beneath her, but she did not breathe and move. Each breath had become its own calculation: too deep and they'd hear her, too shallow and she'd go dizzy
The waiting drew out.
One more step, it seemed, and he would touch the door. One more step and he would look inside...
"Well. I won't keep you."
Almost indifferent. Almost.
"Thank you, Your Highness. May Goddess Teeria brighten your day."
The Duke's voice remained faultlessly even.
The footsteps moved away. Unhurried, measured. Then metal clicked — spurs on stone. Silence settled, and only the wind stirred the curtain.
The carriage lurched as the coachman climbed onto the box. The wheels ground against the cobblestones, and Elara felt every ridge of them through her spine. Then faster. The gates. The road. A rut. Another.
Only then did she let herself breathe. Deeply. All the way down.
She did not get up. She lay with her cheek pressed to the dusty planks and counted breaths. One. Two. Three. The smell of wax and old leather. Not his smell. Not anymore.
✧─────── ⋅❦⋅ ───────✧
Behind the carriage, in front of the palace, the Prince still stood.
The carriage turned onto the alley between the rows of clipped yews, their shadows falling in stripes across the cobblestones. But he watched it go, motionless, a smile tracing his lips. No need to hurry. He knew: she had nowhere to run.
The smile faded slowly once the carriage rounded the corner.
He turned.
"Where is she?" Erebus asked quietly, casual.
The guard behind him went still. Luther stood a step to his right, back straight, eyes fixed ahead. Nothing to add. He shot a brief glance at the man beside him.
"Your Highness..." The second guard's voice wavered, weighing each word before releasing it. "No one came out of the dungeon. No signs of forced entry. The doors are intact, the locks too. She... it's as if she dissolved."
Erebus exhaled slowly. His nostrils did not flare, no shadow of anger in his eyes. He looked right through the guard.
"No."
His gaze rested somewhere between the cobblestones and the horizon.
"She did not disappear."
He closed his eyes for a moment. Darkness. Silence. And something else. A sensation — thin as a thread pulled in the wrong direction. Something alive. Something moving.
His eyes opened sharply.
"The forest."
The knights exchanged a glance.
"Search everything." His voice turned to steel. "Every inch. From the fence to the river. She couldn't have gone far."
He paused and turned to Luther.
"And if she reaches the palace before you do —"
He did not finish. There was no need. Luther gave a short nod.
The knights bowed and dispersed quickly, without unnecessary words. Only Luther lingered a moment — ran a long, assessing look down the road from the palace as if confirming something to himself — then went as well.
The knights bowed and dispersed quickly. Only Luther lingered a moment — swept the road with a long, assessing look as if confirming something to himself. Then went as well.
Erebus remained alone.
He didn't move. The palace square moved around him — servants passed behind the colonnade, voices drifted from the far edge of the courtyard, pigeons scattered near the fountain. He stood motionless at the center of it all, and the air around him growing heavier.
He drew his fingers slowly across his lips.
"I thought you understood by now," he said quietly into the absence she had left behind. "You won't survive out there. Not without me. Ten years. I gave you time. Everything you could need. And you chose to run."
His gaze darkened.
"You'll come back."
Not a promise — a cold fact cast into empty space, like a stone dropped into water. He turned and walked back toward the palace.
Comments (0)
See all