royal runaways

you were the princess. the future queen of your kingdom. it sounded glamorous to everyone else — castles, gowns, balls, the crown. but you knew the truth. the weight of it all was suffocating. every move watched. every word planned. and don’t even get started on the endless high-heeled shoes and the heavy, embroidered gowns that left your shoulders aching.

Tom was your personal guard — always by your side. to everyone else, it was just duty. protection. order. but to him, it was more than a job. he didn’t just protect you because he had to — he wanted to. you were his priority. always.

tonight, your family — the king and queen — were hosting a formal dinner with visiting royals: another king and queen, and their son, who looked a few years older than you. he was polite, charming even. but the second you saw the smirk tug at the corner of his lips, something in your gut twisted.

then dessert was cleared.

your father stood, wine glass in hand. “tonight marks the beginning of a powerful alliance,” he announced, his voice grand. “my daughter will soon be wed to their son. a union to strengthen both kingdoms.”

your blood ran cold. the boy smirked wider, eyes sliding toward you. you felt like prey.

you didn’t look at anyone. you couldn’t. not your parents. not him. but you felt Tom. standing at your side like always — rigid, tense. his hand gripped the hilt of his sword tighter than usual, knuckles pale. but he said nothing. he was trained better than that. still, you knew him well enough to feel the fury rolling off him in waves.

you stayed silent through the rest of the evening. a ghost in your own life. and when the guests finally left, you rushed to your chambers and collapsed into tears — hot, furious, aching tears that soaked your pillows and shook your chest.

the door creaked. you didn’t need to look to know it was Tom.

he crossed the room in three long strides and knelt beside your bed, wrapping his arms around you. you buried your face into his shoulder, sobbing harder. his touch was steady. his warmth real.

he didn’t say anything at first. he just held you. let you cry. let you break. and then, after a long silence, his voice was low — but certain.

“pack whatever you need,”

he said.

“we’re leaving. for good.”

then he stood and left the room. no more words. just a promise.

you sat there, stunned. the tears on your cheeks had stopped falling. but your heart was still pounding.

leaving?

running away?

it was wild. impossible. but the idea didn’t scare you — it set you free.

with trembling hands, you rose from your bed and began to pack. carefully. quietly. every item folded with purpose. no looking back.

that night, you and Tom disappeared into the shadows — cloaks drawn tight, hoods over your heads, two horses saddled and ready. you rode hard and far, toward a quiet village that didn’t care about crowns or bloodlines.

a place where no one knew you as the princess — just as you.

⸻

a few months later…

village life had become your new normal. the air was crisper. the days simpler. and best of all — you were free.

Tom found work at the local newspaper, of all places — something about writing and delivering truth suited him. you stayed home and tended to the little things — baking, feeding the animals, learning to sew. you loved it. the peace. the warmth. the normalcy.

your cottage was modest, but beautiful. with wildflowers by the windows, a stable for your two horses, and two playful little cats that you absolutely loved.

you and Tom were still just friends. but something had changed. a closeness. a quiet knowing. you caught him watching you sometimes, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. or maybe wouldn’t.

still, it was enough. for now.