Rain still clung to Cael’s cloak when the palace gates groaned open. Even the guards didn’t meet his eyes—whether out of disgust or fear, he couldn’t tell. The king’s letter had granted him entrance, but not welcome.
Inside, marble replaced mud, gold replaced rust, and silence replaced life. Every step echoed. Every statue seemed to judge him. He’d stolen from the rich plenty of times, but standing in their world felt like trespassing in a temple.
He was escorted through three sets of doors, each heavier than the last, until finally he reached the throne room. The king sat alone—no court, no advisors—just a man in a crown that looked too heavy for his age.
King Alistair didn’t waste time.
“You are Cael Varin,” he said, not asked. “The thief who breaks into vaults guarded by armies and leaves without a sound.”
Cael didn’t bow. “If you called me here to arrest me, you should have brought shackles, not silk carpets.”
The king’s lips twitched. Not a smile—annoyance restrained. “I called you here because you are the only man in this kingdom who escapes what others cannot. And I have something—someone—who must escape.”
He leaned forward, voice dropping like a blade.
“My daughter. The crown princess. There are threats against her life—internal and foreign. I will not risk an escort of soldiers. I need someone the enemy cannot predict. Someone who is used to running. Someone who does not fail.”
Cael’s jaw tensed. “And if I say no?”
“Then you walk out of this hall and never make it past the gates.”
“And if I say yes?”
“You receive more coin than most kingdoms use in a year. A fortune enough to buy not freedom, but your own land, titles included.” The king paused. “If you succeed.”
“And if I fail?” Cael asked, already knowing.
The king didn’t blink. “You die.”
Silence settled between them like dust on old stone.
Cael hated nobles. Hated crowns. Hated being owned. But the offer was bigger than gold—it was escape from a lifetime of running. He didn’t nod, didn’t bow, just said, “Fine. I’ll protect her. But she does what I say, when I say.”
“That,” the king said, “depends on whether she agrees.”
A side door opened.
And the princess entered.
She moved like a painting come alive—graceful, composed, untouched by dirt or desperation. Auburn hair cascaded in loose waves down her shoulders, catching the light like burnished copper. Her skin was pale, smooth as marble, and her lips painted a deep red that made her look like she’d stepped out of a portrait rather than a world where people bled.
Her gown was deep blue, heavy with gold embroidery—floral patterns twisting like vines, red gemstones glinting with each breath she took. A matching shawl of gold-thread lace draped delicately over her head and shoulders, and the crown she wore was small but unmistakably royal—gold set with rubies that mirrored her earrings and necklace.
She held her hands lightly in front of her, posture perfect, chin slightly raised—not arrogance, but training. Her eyes, however, were alive: sharp, observant, the kind that didn’t miss a single movement in the room.
A poised smile touched her lips, but didn’t quite reach her gaze.
Cael was used to judging people in seconds.
This one was not fragile porcelain.
This one knew something was wrong.
The king gestured toward her. “Cael Varin, this is Crown Princess Seraphine Alistair. She leaves the kingdom tonight. You will take her somewhere safe—location of your choosing. You will keep her alive until I send word. And no one—not even she—may know who hunts her.”
Seraphine’s eyes didn’t leave Cael’s. She studied him the same way he did her—measuring threat, intent, capability.
He expected fear.
Instead, she said softly, “So… the king’s ghost thief.” Then, with the smallest hint of a smirk: “You don’t look like much.”
Cael pulled his hood slightly lower.
“Good,” he muttered. “Makes me harder to notice.”
The king ignored the exchange. “You both leave under cover of night. Prep is already underway. If either of you tries to flee, betray, or mislead..."