𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍

The kingdom, if you could even call it that, was overlooking nothing more than a desolate, forgotten village surrounded by miles of thick, unruly forest. No one important ever came here to visit, no travelers passed through, and no news from the outside world ever made its way over the old, eroded, gray stone walls.

For as long as Arabella could remember, her life had been defined by a looming, stoic silence, one she had noticed as a child and tried desperately to fill.

She had been her parents' and the servants' worst nightmare, admittedly a defiant young lady, constantly pushing back against the rules and demanding to know more about what lay beyond the tree line, but a princess of a dying village wasn't supposed to behave that way.

She should have been compliant, polite, bland, obedient, and quiet like the queens before her, so to fix her stubborn "immature mouthiness," her parents had taken her to a traveling gypsy in an old wagon-trailer who practiced old, forbidden arts.

A single session of quiet hypnotic programming that she couldn't even recall had completely erased the alleged defiance, turning a direct order into an unbreakable command she was destined to obey.

Since then, she had lived like a dog with an electric fence, entirely isolated from the very people she was meant to one day lead, not allowed to leave the small castle, condemned to the walls she had been restricted to her entire life. She'd spent many nights lying awake in bed swearing she wouldn't lose the one thing they couldn't take from her: her spirit.

The old, hand-carved wood door to her bedchamber creaked open, snapping her out of her thoughts, and her parents walked in speaking to each other in low, professional voices about something boring and relevant to them alone, not looking directly at her, as they never did. To them, she was just a placeholder, the next in line to keep their family name on a worthless throne once they were six feet under. The proud product of their loveless, arranged marriage.

A sudden ache of frustration bloomed in Arabella's chest, and she couldn't play this game anymore.

"Mother. Father," she said, her voice cutting through their pretentious conversation.

They both paused, turning their heads toward her with matching expressions of mild annoyance.

"I- please," she whispered, stepping forward, her hands trembling against the fabric of her long skirt. "Could either of you please just... look at me. Or talk to me. Really, actually talk to me."

Her father frowned. "We were talking to you. If you had listened, you would have heard us discussing the prince of Vandheim's interest in you..."

"No, you're talking at me," she said, the desperation finally breaking through her usual quiet facade. "I- what? The prince of Vandheim? Ew. I've not even heard of him, let alone met him! What interest could he have in me?" She released a sigh of anger and disgust before continuing. "I feel like I'm disappearing in here. Why am I not allowed to leave? I yearn to live elsewhere." Her eyes pulled from her parents looming over her to the only window in her room.

Her mother let out a small, tired sigh of her own, adjusting the modesty shawl draped around her shoulders, and didn't offer a hug, didn't even step closer. "Those silly desires go away with due time," her mother said in a sweet voice, turning back toward the door as if the conversation were already over. It hadn't provided Arabella with any comfort, answers, or satisfaction. It had only enraged her further.

"You're only thinking of yourself, not our legacy. This is your home, Arabella. Whether you like it or not," her father added, agitation lacing his tone. He looked at her with disappointed eyes. "Only you could find a way to complain about being queen. Go sit on your bed now and think long and hard. How will you lead your people when all you care about is yourself?"

The command hit her like a poison dart to the throat, and every cell in her body screamed at her to stand her ground, to yell, to argue, to force them to see her as a human being, but the curse took over her body instantly. Her autonomy vanished, replaced by the force to obey from her brain, instilled by the hypnosis over a decade ago, and her legs moved on their own, stiff and robotic, carrying her across the stone floor. She watched her own body sit down on the edge of the mattress, her hands folding neatly in her lap.

She was completely trapped inside her own skin.

Her parents didn't even wait to see her sit. They simply walked out, the door thudding shut behind them, leaving her alone in the fading twilight. As she sat there, unable to move until the invisible parameters of the command faded, a single, hot tear spilled over her eyelashes and streamed down her cheek. It hit the back of her hand, warm and mocking. That was it. That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

They had taken her voice, her freedom, and her childhood, and if she stayed here, they would take whatever was left of her soul. She wasn't going to let them, she decided, not without a fight. The pins and needles came first, a dull prickling that started in her toes and crept up her calves as her father's influence finally dissolved. It always took about twenty minutes for the invisible grip to leave her muscles, leaving her feeling hollowed out and tired.

The moment her fingers belonged to her again, Arabella didn't waste time crying. She stood up, her joints popping in the quiet room, and grabbed a small leather satchel from her wardrobe. She packed without thinking, a few changes of clothes, a flask of water, and a handful of silver coins she'd spent years slipping into the lining of her mattress. Finally, she reached for the velvet box under her bed. The silver-hilted dagger inside was weighted, cool, and of course, unauthorized. She hiked up her dress, ignoring the sudden rush of cold air against her skin, and strapped the leather sheath tight to her thigh.

She didn't look back at the room as she unlatched the antique glass window, causing a spider and his web to drift away in the wind, and she gulped as the harsh night wind whistled through the air. It was now or never. She draped a leg over the ledge, trying not to look down at the thousand-foot drop.

The stone outside was rough, biting into her palms and scraping the skin beneath her clothes as she held on for dear life. It wasn't a graceful descent, her dress kept bunching around her knees, and the plummet below looked like a bottomless pit of black leaves, surely resulting in her untimely death.

But she kept moving, using the harsh surface of the castle wall as her exit until her feet finally hit the damp, soft earth, and she heaved in disbelief that she was actually able to execute her plan, and that it wasn't even as hard as she thought it was going to be. But she knew she couldn't wait long, since it only took one person seeing her and shouting 'stop' or 'wait' to ruin everything.

An immediate feeling of excitement and adrenaline surged through her body as she did a silent happy dance of relief. She was finally, officially free.

She swallowed audibly before looking around and then springing into the tree line she was always forbidden to enter, and the forest swallowed her instantly. For someone who had spent her entire life within the polished walls of a castle, the wild was scary, chaotic, and disorienting, the air thick with rot and wet pine, the brush so dense that the vines and thorns tore at her dress mercilessly.

She hadn't even cleared the first mile when the rustling, rhythmic thud of boots cut through the trees, and Arabella dropped into the nearest patch of briars, pulling her satchel against her chest and holding her breath until her throat ached.

Through the tangled greenery, she saw them, four royal scouts, but not from her kingdom, their uniform cloaks stained with mud as they shoved what appeared to be a prisoner down the narrowly cleared foot path.

Even with his hands pinned in front of him in iron cuffs, the captive wasn't walking like a man who was defeated, though. He was tall, with dark mischievous hair falling into his eyes and a layer of trail dirt across a strong jawline, and there was an annoying, effortless sort of confidence in the way he carried himself, deliberately lagging behind and dragging his feet just enough to make the guards stumble.

"Look, fellas, I'm just saying a little hospitality goes a long way, aye?" the man said, his voice a dry, smooth drawl that sounded entirely too relaxed for someone in chains. "I know you guys are scared of me, but if we're going to be walking all night, the least you could do is loosen the left cuff."

"Shut your filthy mouth, miscreant," the lead guard grunted, delivering a harsh shove to his shoulder blade.

The scouts paused for a second at a fork in the path, the leader pulling a brass compass from his belt to check their heading, and in that single beat of distraction, their prisoner acted before anyone could stop him, dropping his weight low and sweeping his leg out in a hard, fluid kick that sent the nearest guard crashing into the dirt, then bolting straight into the forest.

Shouts erupted behind him, and the remaining three guards didn't even bother checking on their fallen companion. They just tore into the brush, their boots disrupting the quiet as they gave chase. Arabella waited until the crashing sounds faded into the distance, then scrambled out of the thorns, her heart racing but her mind clear, and she got into the trail and started off in the opposite direction, pushing deeper into the trees and using their noise to mask her own clumsy footsteps.

But as the hours wore on, the sky bled from blue-gray to an ominous, consuming black void, and the canopy was too dense to let the moonlight through, so Arabella quickly realized she had no idea how to navigate this world alone, let alone without a candle. She kept tripping over exposed roots, her silk skirt catching on low branches and dragging her back, every shadow looking like a person waiting for her, every rustle in the darkness sounding like a predator ready to pounce.

A distinct crack cut through the dark right behind her, and Arabella froze, her breath catching in her teeth, her heart slamming against her chest faster than lightning. She was pretty certain something was about to lunge out at her, but she didn't let herself panic.

She backed up slowly until her spine hit the solid trunk of an ancient oak, her fingers frantically clawing at the hem of her dress, and she hitched the fabric up, gripped the silver hilt, and pulled the dagger free. Her hand was shaking violently, but she locked her elbow, holding the blade out in front of her as she peeked around the bark.

A tall silhouette emerged from between two pines, illuminated by a lone patch of moonlight.

It wasn't a wild animal, it was the man from earlier, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling beneath his torn shirt, the iron cuffs still dangling from his wrists. He had managed to lose the guards, but he was still restricted by the cuffs, and the moment his eyes caught the silver reflection of her knife, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Don't come any closer," Arabella warned in a hushed but stern voice. She tried to imitate the same cold authority her father used with her, burying her heels into the dirt so he wouldn't see her knees trembling. "Stay where you are."

The prisoner didn't look frightened. Instead, a slow, amused smile touched the corner of his mouth, and he raised his bound hands in a slow, non-threatening gesture of surrender, taking one more short, deliberate step forward.

"Easy there, princess. Or, well, whatever you are," he murmured, his tone light and entirely unbothered by the weapon. He gave his wrists a subtle shake, making the iron chains jingle in the quiet air between them. "I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart. I just need a little help, if you don't mind."