Her heart sunk at those three words, her passion faltering. Anya looked up slightly at her mother, shorter by no more than two inches. Silence fell upon the pair again, the Empress’s expression calm, while Anya’s shifted. “I’ll still go,” she said eventually, feeling the fire building in her again. Maria’s eyes narrowed, but the Empress remained quiet.

Anya straightened up, before she turned on her heel and went to leave the room. She paused for a moment at the door, waiting for her mother’s anger-streaked voice to order her to sit back down.

It didn’t come.

The Princess Imperial opened the door, strode through, and let them shut behind her. She kept walking, paying the guards standing either side no attention, and continuing back into the entrance hall.

Anya lay on her bed, staring up at the canopy. Intricate patterns had been carved into the wood, swirls and shapes that melded into one another, each ridge catching the orange glow that seeped in through the lace curtains, each dip trapping dark shadows. She needed to leave the palace, and she needed to do it soon. Anya turned onto her side, looking toward the large window that took up a big portion of one of her walls. The city was a smudge through the glass, colours blending together in the light of the lamps that lined the streets.

She’d been laying there for only a few minutes, her mind racing as she tried to figure out what she was going to do. Her insides squirmed at the thought of leaving. She’d never been out of the palace alone. There had always been a maid or a guard following her, watching out for her safety. Anya hadn’t ever needed to fend for herself, and she’d been forbidden from entering some of the darker reaches of London, where monsters were said to lurk. She pushed the feeling of unease down, finally sitting up. Her mother would be ordering the guards to watch her, to make sure she didn’t leave the palace. There wasn’t much time.

The Princess stood up, springing from the bed and heading toward the dresser that stood in the corner of the room. It was pale against the dark wood panelling, its own timber painted in white. She took ahold of one of the brass handles, quietly sliding the drawer open. It was in this dresser that she kept some of her simpler, more comfortable clothing. The plain shirts and skirts that she wore when she did not have any public appearances. Unlike her mother, Anya could get away without wearing a dress. Being the Princess Imperial came with some perks at least, she thought with a smile.

The smile quickly faded as she reminded herself she wasn’t going to keep her status for long. No, it would be a title she would have to earn back. Provided she survive the ordeal.

Anya shook her head to clear the thoughts away, returning her attention to the clothes before her. She needed to pack light- too much and she wouldn’t be able to carry it all from the palace without anyone noticing. She just needed a spare change or two, enough to get by with until she could find some more suitable clothes. Clothes that would help her blend in.

She pulled out a white shirt, the plainest she had, and threw it onto the bed. Most of her shirts, despite being considerably more casual than her formal wear, still showed obvious signs of opulence and wealth.

In the end she only found a couple that she deemed suitable. She changed quickly, discarding the bronze garment she had previously wearing, leaving it on the red armchair. She paused to look at herself in the mirror, adjusting bits of cloth until she was satisfied. She would still stick out like a sore thumb amongst the crowds of London, but at least now she might not be instantly recognisable.

Anya turned back to the centre of the room, and took a deep breath. She would need money. That much was obvious. If she was going to be travelling- which she undoubtedly would- she needed something with which to pay for a ride or vehicle. She would need a considerable amount, something that would last her-

There was a soft knock at the door, followed by the quiet creak of its hinges. Anya’s thoughts stopped in their tracks, and she turned towards it.

Eliza stood in the doorway, holding a silver tray laden with a plate of food and cutlery in her hands. She smiled softly at the sight of Anya, and hurried into a curtsy.

“My lady,” she said as she straightened, “The Empress instructed me to bring your dinner to you here, and to inform you that…” The girl trailed off as her eyes fell on the pile of clothes piled on Anya’s bed. A frown creased her brow, and she looked back at Anya.

Anya could feel her cheeks reddening, and hurriedly turned away, drawing herself to her full height. “You are not to tell my mother anything you see here,” she said quickly, taking a few steps toward the bed and starting to gather the clothes into more even piles, smoothing out creases and folding them. “Not a word, Eliza.”

She heard the sound of the tray being carefully placed on the small table beside the door, and then the quiet click of the door closing. “Let me help you, my lady.” Eliza said after a few moments of silence. “At least let me pack for you.”

Her words caught Anya by surprise, and the Princess Imperial turned back to face her servant. “I cannot ask that of you, my mother- the Empress- has forbidden my departure. I could not put you-”

Eliza shook her head, smiling softly. Wisps of dark hair fluttered around her face with the movement, freed from the confines of the scarf she wore. “You are not asking, I am insisting.” Without another word, Eliza moved past, retrieving the bronze dress from the floor and draping it over the screen beside the dresser, before she turned back to the bed and continued where Anya had left off. Her folds were much neater than Anya’s, the clothing compressing smaller than she had ever been able to get it.

Anya stood dumbstruck for a minute or so, watching the girl as she gracefully twisted the clothes together, creating a single neat pile half the size of the one Anya had been making. “The Empress will-”

“I serve you, my lady.” Eliza interrupted, looking up from her work and smiling again.

Anya shut her mouth, instead giving a long sigh, and walked toward her window. “I need a way to leave the palace,” she said eventually, placing one hand on the cold glass. Down below the patrol was marching past, the tips of their bayonets glinting gold in the streetlights. “As I said, my mother forbade my departure, she would not let me go on such a ‘dangerous’ or ‘unladylike’ endeavour.”

The serving girl transfered the pile of clothes to the top of the dresser, and turned back to face Anya, her hands clasped behind her back. “We can disguise you as a servant, my lady, take you with us as we leave the palace,” she said, “If you’re alright with that, my lady,” she added hastily, lowering her eyes.

Anya nodded. “I will be Princess Imperial no longer. I must blend in with the rest of the world.” She moved away from the window, drifting toward the silver tray and picking up the piece of bread from the side of the plate. The pair of them stood in silence for a while, watching an airship drift across the city skyline as Anya ate. “Would you help me get out of my room? I need to reach the kitchens.” She asked eventually, finishing off the last bite of the piece of bread. “If my mother had you bring my dinner up here then I can only assume she does not wish for me to leave my room?”

Eliza nodded. “Yes, my lady. There are guards outside- I will think of something to distract them.”

Anya smiled, gently wiping the crumbs from her face with a napkin, before she moved toward her bedside table. She paused as she reached it, her hand resting on the handle. Eliza stood by the door, ready to head out at any moment. “Eliza?”

The girl looked up at her, “Yes, my lady?”

“Thank you.”

The girl’s eyes lit up, and she smiled again. “It is my pleasure, my lady. I will see you in the kitchens.” She opened the door, slipping out into the corridor.

Anya waited a few more moments, listening intently as she heard muffled voices from outside, before she returned her attention to the cabinet, which was now open before her. She drew out a small dagger, encased in a silver sheath engraved with flowers and leaves; a hefty pouch, filled to the brim with gold sovereigns; and a worn leather bag, the leather cracking in some places.

She hurriedly dropped the pouch into the bottom, and looped the dagger onto the waistband of the stockings she wore beneath her skirt, then moved toward the dresser to retrieve the clothes. The voices outside were getting quieter as Eliza led the guards away from her door. With the last shirt, she slung the bag onto her shoulder and made for the door. She twisted the brass handle as slowly as she could, trying to dampen the sound of the mechanisms as she opened the door. Anya peered out of her room, glancing either way before she stepped into the corridor, and shut the door soundlessly behind her.

She was out of her room. That was step one. She turned to the right- the opposite way to the voices, walking fast over the carpeted floor. There was an entrance to the servants passages nearby. Anya had spent many an hour following the winding corridors all around the palace when she was younger, discovering every nook and cranny she could, listening in on many conversations that would have been best left unheard. It took her a moment to find the lever that opened the panelling again- it had been a few years since her last adventure- and slid into the narrow passageway. She tapped the button on the other side as she passed, not waiting for the door to slide shut behind her before she started moving.

The memories came flooding back to her as she moved through the dark space, her mental map of the tunnels returning to her as she picked turn after turn, moving through the spaces hidden behind the walls of the palace. Under normal circumstances, she would have taken a source of light with her- a candle, a lamp, anything to stave away the darkness. However in the situation she was right now, she couldn’t risk slowing herself to watch after a flame. There was only a small window during the evening meal when all of the servants gathered around the dining rooms of the palace. It was only at this time that Anya could be sure that most of these corridors would be empty, devoid of life, clear for her to dart through. She wasn’t sure if many of the other servants would be willing to aid her if it meant going against the Empress. She didn’t blame them- this was their livelihood. They needed these jobs.

It was a while before she reached the final stone staircase that wound into the kitchen. Unlike the entrance in her room, she didn’t need to open the door. Guests weren’t expected to venture into the kitchens, and so the unsightly corridor didn’t need to be hidden. She stepped down onto the cold slabs of the kitchen, landing with a slight thump. The final step was almost twice the height of the others in the staircase, and she often forgot it was. She stumbled a little, and steadied herself on the table just outside the entrance. Her bag swung slightly on her shoulder.

Anya glanced around the room quickly, double checking that none of the rest of the palace staff were present. She’d managed to come at the later time when the final part of the evening meal was being served- when all of the cooks had finished their work of the day, and the servants were busy serving the meals. She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, and readjusted the strap on her shoulder. It wouldn’t be too long until the servants would return with the dishes and cutlery to clean them.

There was movement from the other side of the kitchen, the sound of footsteps from the corridor beyond the normal entrance to the room. Anya immediately ducked down, crawling beneath the nearest table as whoever it was drew closer. She kept going until she reached the wall, and twisted around just in time to see the door swinging open from her new vantage point. A pair of feet appeared, the boots scuffed and worn. Anya swallowed, pressing herself closer to the bags of flour piled underneath the table, trying to blend in as much as possible. Thankfully much of the kitchen was dominated by tables or counters, with the occasional crate or trolley. One could only see underneath the tables if they made a particular effort to do so, bending down and looking.

The man- for Anya knew it to be one of the servants from the bottom of his trousers and soft suede he wore- paused before one of the tables, and she heard the chink of the china plates as they were set down on the tables. She held her breath as the man did a quick once-over of the room, walking between some of the tables to make sure everything was as he had left it- Anya realised this must be Konnor Spurling- Head chef. He oversaw the palace’s meal preparation, and was never fond of Anya’s roaming as a child. She would often find herself in the kitchen, crawling beneath tables or running past the other chefs as they worked. He’d warmed to her ever so slightly over the years, but the man was still one of Anya’s least favourite staff.

After a few minutes he evidently decided everything was satisfactory, and turned to leave. He opened the door, and a second set of legs became visible- these ones mostly hidden by a thick crimson underskirt. Eliza had just entered the room, ready to meet her. Konnor stopped where he was standing, and Anya could see Eliza taking a step back in surprise.

A moment later, and the Chef spoke. “Ms. Tanase,” he said, his voice gruff, tone informal. Anya realised she’d never heard him speaking without his usual verbal flourishes. The Chef made a point to enunciate every word perfectly in front of any member of the Imperial family. Anya realised this did not carry over to the other servants. “You’ve already retrieved the young Princess’ dinner.”

She could hear Eliza hesitate, and the girl shifted her weight on her feet. “Lady Anya asked for some water, I just came down here to fetch some for her.”

Spurling sounded sceptical. “The Princess never asks for a drink with her meal, she usually-”

“-Refuses,” Eliza finished, interrupting the chef, “That is correct, but she asked me to retrieve some for her tonight.” Spurling didn’t speak, and they stood there for a moment longer.

Eventually he stepped to the side. “So be it,” he grumbled, as Eliza swept past him. “I must return to the dining room- please don’t move anything else while you’re here.”

Eliza’s dress brushed the floor as she curtsied. “But of course not, Chef Spurling.”

He hesitated for another moment, before he turned and left the room, letting the door shut on its own. Anya heard Eliza sighing with relief as his footsteps faded down the corridor.