CHAPTER FOUR
IRIS
I closed the door behind me, shutting out the sound of the rain. The room smelled faintly of woodsmoke and lavender. The bed looked warm and neatly made, and for the first time in hours, I let myself breathe.
I set the book on the small table beside the candle.
My fingers lingered on its worn leather cover.
The Song of the Willow Bride. It felt strange to find it here, in his home of all places.
Stranger still that he had known the words, finishing the line as if he had read it beside me a hundred times before.
I moved my fingers around the kirtle he had given me.
The fabric was soft, worn thin with age, but clean and warm.
It smelled faintly of pine and dust. I thought of his mother, whoever she had been, and wondered if she could have imagined her son offering her dress to a stranger on a night like this.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the book. The pages were yellowed, the ink faded at the corners, but the words were still clear. I ran my fingers along the lines I knew by heart and felt a quiet ache rise in my chest.
The story had always been my escape. When I was little, I used to read it by candlelight until my eyes grew heavy.
The queen who walked among her people in disguise, the farmer’s son who loved her without knowing her name, the devotion that cost them everything.
I had wanted something like that once, something honest and brave.
Now I was not sure I believed in such things.
I leaned back against the pillows, the candlelight flickering against the walls. My eyes were heavy, my body sore from the ride. Outside, the storm still whispered over the roof.
I only hoped I had not sounded too nervous when I told him my name. Elara.
It was the first that came to mind, the name of the queen from this very tale, a woman who hid her crown beneath a cloak and wandered the world alone.
Fitting, perhaps. Yet the word had caught in my throat the moment I spoke it.
I had felt the pause hang there, fragile and sharp, like glass waiting to break.
Even now, I could hear my voice echoing back in the silence, and my stomach tightened. If he noticed the hesitation, he had been kind enough not to ask. Still, I could not stop thinking of it, the way the lie had slipped so easily from my tongue.
I closed the book gently and rested my hand on the cover. The warmth from the fire reached faintly through the wall.
“Thank you,” I whispered into the quiet, though I did not know if I meant it for the storm, or for the man who had opened his door to me when he did not have to.
My eyes grew heavier with every blink. The sound of rain
softened, fading into the distance. I pulled the blanket close, feeling its weight settle around me.
Within moments, the night pressed down like a gentle tide, and I drifted into sleep.
—
Morning light pulled me from sleep. For a moment I did not remember where I was. The air was still, touched with the faint scent of smoke and pine. A single candle had burned low beside the bed, its wax pooled at the base.
Then I turned toward the window, and my breath caught.
Mist hung over the fields, silver in the light. Through it, dark shapes moved slowly, their outlines shifting with the fog. At first I thought they were farmers or hunters heading for the woods. Then the sun broke through the clouds, and the light caught on metal.
Armor.
My chest tightened. The gleam of polished steel, the steady formation, the banners moving with the wind.
Guards. My father’s men.
Panic rose sharp and cold, chasing the last traces of sleep from my body. He must have found out. He must have sent them. If they saw me here, if they saw me with William—
I pressed a hand against the wall to steady myself. My pulse beat too fast, every breath shallow.
He could not know where I was. He could not know who I was.
I pushed the blanket aside and stood quickly, my bare feet cold against the floorboards. My hands trembled as I looked back toward the door. I did not even know why I was still lying. It had begun as fear, but now it felt like something I could not stop.
I hurried out of the room.
William was already seated on a chair by the hearth, his brown hair still damp, a cup of tea in his hand. He looked up as I entered, his expression softening.
“You’re awake.” he said.
“I have to go.” The words left me faster than I meant them to. My voice sounded tight in my own ears.
He blinked, surprised. “So soon? Don’t you want something to eat first?”
I shook my head, already glancing toward the door. “No. I will eat when I am home.”
He frowned slightly. “The village is far. Let me take you back. The roads are still wet, and—”
“No,” I said quickly, cutting him off. “My horse is tied near one
of the trees. I’ll be fine.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than before. I could feel his eyes on me as I crossed the room, searching for my cloak. My hands moved too quickly, tugging at folds of fabric, trying to keep them from trembling.
When I found the cloak, I gathered it up and clutched it to my
chest. “I will just change out of this kirtle,” I said, already stepping back toward the hallway.
He rose to his feet, setting the cup aside. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. “Keep it.”
I paused, meeting his eyes for a moment. There was warmth there, steady and kind, the sort that made my heart ache. I wanted to thank him, to say something that would explain the lie I was still living, but the words never came.
So I just nodded, and pulled the cloak tight around my shoulders. “Thank you,” I said instead.
Before he could answer, I turned toward the door, praying the guards would not see me before I reached the woods. My hand was already on the handle when his voice stopped me.
“When will I see you again?”
I froze. My fingers tightened around the cloak, and for a long moment I could not bring myself to turn around.
When I did, he was standing near the hearth. The morning light caught his dark hair and his expression was uncertain, hopeful in a
way that made my chest tighten painfully.
“I do not know,” I said, my voice quiet.
His brow furrowed slightly. “Maybe soon?”
I hesitated, then shook my head. “Maybe never.”
The words felt colder once they were spoken, but they were the truth. Once I returned, my father would make sure I never left the castle again. He would lock me in my chamber or set guards at every door. This had been foolish, all of it, and I would pay for it soon enough.
William’s gaze lingered on me. “I see,” he said quietly.
I met his eyes, trying to offer something that might pass for a smile. It felt weak, more like an apology than a farewell. “Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”
He nodded once. “Safe travels, Elara.”
His voice was calm, but there was something in it that caught in my chest. I turned toward the door before it could settle too deeply.
The handle was cool beneath my fingers. I pulled the cloak tighter and stepped outside.
The grass was wet beneath my boots, the wind sharp against my face. I kept my head low, walking quickly toward the tree line.
The guards were still there, their silver armor catching the pale light. They were close enough that I could hear the creak of leather, the soft thud of their horses shifting in the mud.
I swallowed hard and kept walking. Every step felt heavier than
the last.
Then a sharp voice broke through the morning air. “Your Highness!”
I froze.
The sound of hooves followed, quick and purposeful. The
guards turned their mounts toward me at once, the polished silver of their armor flashing as they closed the distance. I let out a quiet sigh. So they had found me.
A few moments later, the captain reined in his horse beside me. His armor bore the royal crest, its edges damp with rain. He dismounted swiftly and bowed his head.
“Princess Iris,” he said, his tone measured but firm. “The king has been worried sick. We have searched all night.”
“I imagine he has,” I murmured, though I couldn’t keep the weariness from my voice.
The captain’s eyes flicked to the road behind me, to the faint outline of the house across the field. I straightened my posture, hoping he wouldn’t ask questions.
“His Majesty will want to see you at once,” the captain said. He extended a gloved hand toward me. “Please, allow me to assist you.”
I hesitated only a moment before placing my hand in his. His
grip was steady, firm but respectful. He guided me toward his horse and helped me up onto the back of the saddle.
As I settled behind him, I cast one last glance over my shoulder. The small house stood quiet in the distance, the smoke from its chimney rising faintly into the morning air.
For a brief moment, I thought I saw movement at the window. A shadow, maybe. Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking.
Then the captain urged the horse forward, and the fields began to blur around us.
I sighed again, quieter this time. I knew what waited for me at the castle. My father’s fury would be worse than any storm.