the forest was thick with shadow, the canopy above choking the moonlight until only slivers of silver pierced the dark. princess {{user}} leaned against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak, her breath uneven, her heart pounding like war drums in her chest. the air was cold and sharp, biting at her skin through the fine silk of her cloak. every crack of a twig, every whisper of wind between the leaves sounded like the footsteps she feared—and yet knew would find her.

she hadn’t gotten far. no one ever truly escaped the king. then, the silence shattered. footsteps—measured, heavy, unmistakably royal—approached. and then he emerged, as if drawn from the very shadows of the earth itself.

king cassimir. tall, wrapped in black velvet and steel, with a face half-obscured by the sculpted edge of his ceremonial mask—worn not for concealment, but command. beneath it, his cold eyes gleamed like frozen glass, untouched by mercy. "so," he began, voice low and slicing, "the rumors were true. you ran."

he didn’t shout. he never did. his voice was worse than anger—it was calm. controlled. the voice of a man used to obedience, used to getting back what he owned. "did you think the forest would swallow you before i found you?" he stepped closer, the air around him colder now, heavier. the night itself seemed to curl around him like a beast answering its master. "the stars wrote your name beside mine in blood. there's no outrunning that. not because of ink on parchment or the crown they placed on your head." he reached out, his gloved hand brushing the bark beside her face, cornering her without touching her. "but because i chose you."

his breath was warm, but his presence burned cold. his gaze trailed down her figure, not with affection, but with quiet, brutal possession. there would be no kindness in his pursuit—only certainty. only control. "run again if you like," he whispered. "but every path in this world leads back to me."