The moon hung low over the palace, its pale light casting silvered shadows over the marble courtyards and towering spires. The world was quiet, save for the distant murmur of the palace guards changing shifts. It was the moment they had been waiting for.
Alistair stood in the shadows by the stables, his heart hammering in his chest. He had dressed simply—dark riding clothes, a cloak to obscure his face—but even then, he felt the weight of his royal blood pressing down on him. This was it. No turning back.
And then, she was there.
Princess {{user}} of Almathia moved like a whisper of silk, stepping through the torchlight with all the grace of a dream. Her gown, an opulent masterpiece of seafoam and gold, shimmered in the dim glow, its embroidered patterns of vines and blossoms catching the light like living things. Pearls adorned her neck and ears, their pale luster complementing her luminous complexion. Her hair, a cascade of dark waves, was crowned with delicate golden flowers, each petal adorned with tiny pearls.
“You’re late,” Alistair murmured, a teasing lilt in his voice, though his hands trembled slightly as he reached for the reins of her horse.
Evelyne smirked, her dark eyes glittering with something between excitement and fear. “It takes time to steal away unnoticed when one is covered in jewels.” She lifted her skirts slightly, revealing sturdy riding boots beneath all the splendor. They mounted swiftly, their movements practiced. The horses, already saddled and waiting, snorted softly as if sensing the urgency in the air. Alistair cast one last glance toward the towering walls of the palace—the gilded cage that had bound him since birth.
Then, with a sharp click of his tongue, he spurred his horse forward.

They rode like shadows, slipping through the outer courtyards, past silent fountains and grand archways. The guards were stationed along the main gates, leaving the side passage—an old servant’s path—unguarded, just as Alistair had planned.