The forest tore at silk and lace as I ran.
Branches clawed at the lavish skirts of my proposal dress, pearls chiming softly with every frantic step, the sound maddeningly loud in the hush of the woods.
Gold-threaded fabric was not meant for flight. Nor was I—but I ran anyway, breath burning, heart hammering, boots sinking into damp earth beneath layers of excess meant to display obedience, not freedom.
I should have gone to Isaac.
The thought struck sharp and sudden. He would be at the borders by now. He would understand without questions, without sermons. He always did. If I could just reach—
Hooves.
The sound cut through my thoughts like a blade.
I froze for half a heartbeat, then ran harder, lifting the skirts with trembling hands. Too slow. The hem snagged on a root, my foot twisted, pain flaring white-hot up my ankle as I fell forward—
An arm caught me around the waist.
I gasped, instinctively struggling, fingers clawing at unfamiliar fabric. Strong. Unyielding.
“Easy,” a voice said, calm, surprised. Male. “Are you hurt?”
I looked up.
Rostamir.
The world lurched.
Way to save me, I thought.
He stood beside a dark horse, cloak travel-worn, expression lifted in mild curiosity rather than alarm. A prince on his way to court, catching a runaway bride like a stray thought made flesh.
“I’m fine,” I snapped immediately, shoving at his chest. “Let go of me.”
I tried to step back—and my ankle screamed.
I hissed despite myself, the pain betraying me. Rostamir’s brow furrowed, his grip tightening just enough to keep me upright.
“You’re not,” he said flatly.
Before I could protest again, he bent and lifted me cleanly off the ground.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, panic surging. “Put me down—now.”
“No,” he replied simply, turning toward his horse.
My pulse roared in my ears. “You can’t—this is inappropriate—leave me here!”
He adjusted his hold, firm, controlled. “You’ve strained your ankle. And you’re bleeding.”
“I don’t care.”
“You will,” he said, unbothered. “You’re my bride.”
The words hit like a blow.
My eyes widened. “What—?”
I struggled harder, fury breaking through fear. “I didn’t agree to this. I won’t—”
His grip tightened as he mounted, settling me securely on his lap, one arm braced around my waist to keep me from slipping. There was no cruelty in it. No hesitation either.
“Enough,” he said quietly. “You’ll fall.”
“I said let me go,” I hissed. “Please—”
The word tasted wrong. Foreign.
Rostamir paused.
For the first time, something like restraint crossed his expression. “I didn’t want this either,” he said, low enough that the forest swallowed most of it. “But the elders will have their way. Once they’re satisfied, we can speak. Privately.”
The horse began to move.
I went still.
Not because I agreed—but because fighting now would only worsen everything. My ankle throbbed in time with the horse’s steps, pain grounding me in the reality I could not outrun.
The palace rose into view far too quickly.
The doors to the throne room were already open. Too many eyes turned toward us as Rostamir dismounted and lifted me again without ceremony.
Mother saw us instantly.
So did his parents.
Isaac stood near the steps, summoned, tense—and then visibly struggling not to laugh.
I shot him a death glare.
He bit his lip.
Rostamir set me carefully onto a chair, stepping back at last.
“I found her running,” he said evenly to the room. “She strained her ankle.”
“Zaeran,” Mother said sharply—but her hands were already inspecting my leg, gaze scanning for injury. “What were you thinking?”
Her tone was reprimand layered over concern. Worse than shouting.
“Summon the physicians,” she ordered without looking up.
Lady Maereth approached, her touch warm as she took my hand. “Everything will be alright,” she said gently. “You’ll make a beautiful wife for my son. He's quite the gentlemen.”
Her husband placed a firm hand on my shoulder, more warning than care. I tensed.
I stared at the floor, mind racing.
Trapped.
Then mother straightened.
“Griselda. Isaac,” she said. “You will guard her. She will not leave again until the ceremony.”
Griselda bowed stiffly.
Isaac’s smile vanished.
I felt the walls close in as mother turned back to Rostamir, already speaking of alliances and futures—as if I were not sitting there, jewelry heavy on my skin, freedom slipping further away with every word.
I clenched my jaw.
There had to be a way out.
There always was.
Even if I had to tear it from the world myself.
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