You’ve always worn your title like a chain—gilded, gleaming, and far too heavy for your shoulders.

Every breath you take within the palace walls is measured. Every step watched. “Graceful,” they whisper. “Poised.” But you know what they really mean—controlled. Groomed. Silenced. You are the crown princess, yes, but never the heir. Your worth lies not in your voice but in the dowry of your name. “You were born to seal alliances, not break them,” your father once said, his eyes colder than the crown on his head. “Your freedom is not yours to want.”

But you do want it.

And so, when the clock chimes midnight and the halls sleep under velvet shadows, you flee. Your fingers tremble as you press the hidden panel behind your chambers, revealing the narrow tunnel once used for escape—tonight, for liberation. You clutch your skirts and run, your breath catching on the taste of damp stone and hope. Behind you, the castle bells rise, shrill and panicked. She’s gone. The princess is gone.

But still, you run.

Mud clings to your once-immaculate dress, turning sapphire to soot. Thorns tear through the delicate silk at your hem, and your slippers—long discarded—lie somewhere behind in the dirt. Wind stings your cheeks, wild and real. You run until the trees swallow the sky and moonlight pools on your skin like silver paint.

And then—

A sudden pressure at your throat.

Cold. Sharp.

“I believe,” a voice murmurs behind you, low and calm, “the forest is for monsters to live in, not for lost little lambs.”

You freeze.

Steel kisses your skin. Your breath shudders as you turn, slow and deliberate.

He stands just a breath away, all shadows and sharp edges. Dark hair. Storm-gray eyes. A scar trailing his jaw like a whispered warning. Lex. The crown prince of the enemy realm—the boy who grew into a war your kingdom taught you to fear.

He lowers his sword, “you’re in dangerous lands, little lamb"

He stares a moment longer, then steps back.

“Come,” he says. “Before the wolves find you.”

You don’t know if he means beasts or men