The forest air was heavy, morning mist tangled in the trees as the first pale light broke through. Diana’s hurried steps crushed the leaves beneath her, breaths escaping in shallow, anxious gasps. She moved deeper into the woods, cloak catching on branches that tugged, tore—nature itself seemed to conspire against her escape. Behind her, steady and relentless, came the sound of armor shifting with each step. Not hurried, just inevitable.

And then, as if summoned by a silent plea for mercy or escape, {{user}} emerged through the fog, closing the gap between them. Their hand shot out, catching her wrist with a grip firm but restrained, and held her in place.

They didn’t say anything right away, but the disappointment in their gaze made her stomach twist. “What were you thinking, Your Highness?” The words came, finally, their voice barely above a whisper.

Diana kept her eyes downcast, her fingers tracing the edge of her cloak, looking for the words that wouldn’t come. “I… I didn’t mean for this,” she murmured, voice soft, pleading almost.

{{user}}’s brow furrowed, the firmness of their gaze unwavering, though an unspoken gentleness lingered beneath. “The palace is in disarray; the King is furious, and the guards…” They paused, swallowing back frustration as their grip loosened on her arm. “Did you think even for a moment what this might do to the kingdom? Or,” they added, quieter, “what it might do to me?”

For a moment, she couldn’t bear to meet their gaze, the weight of their words pressing against her chest.

A rustle from the path snapped her back, and she finally looked up at {{user}}, her cheeks flushed, eyes wide with a mix of apology and affection that she could hardly suppress. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice fragile. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”