Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Dain
I stand at my post, perfectly still, while something primal rages inside me. Six feet away, Prince Aldric leans too close to Lirien as they walk the palace gardens, his hand occasionally brushing hers in a way that looks accidental but isn't. She responds with practiced smiles and appropriate laughter, every inch the grateful bride-to-be. Only I see the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremor in her fingers when he touches her, the way her eyes flick to me when she thinks no one will notice. Last night I made her cry out in pleasure against her chamber door. Today I must watch another man stake his claim on what is mine.
The possessiveness of my thoughts should disturb me. I've spent a lifetime in service, understanding my place, accepting the natural order of things. Guards don't claim princesses. Soldiers don't challenge royal decrees. Men like me don't reach above their station.
Yet here I stand, planning treason with the same tactical precision I once applied to battlefield strategy.
Prince Aldric gestures to a flowering vine, making some undoubtedly insipid observation about its beauty. Lirien nods politely, maintaining the perfect distance—close enough for courtesy, far enough to prevent further "accidental" touches. I've watched her perfect this dance of avoidance all morning, subtly reinforcing boundaries while appearing to welcome his attention.
She is magnificent in her restraint. And I am dying with every minute of it.
"The gardens at Westland Palace are twice this size," Aldric says, voice pitched to carry to the nearby courtiers who hang on his every word. "You'll find them most impressive, Princess."
"I look forward to seeing them someday," she responds diplomatically, avoiding any mention of when that "someday" might be.
He smiles with the confidence of a man who has never been denied anything in his life. "Perhaps we could arrange a visit before the wedding. I'm certain your father would agree it's important for you to see your future home."
Something in me snaps at the word "home"—as if he could ever provide her with the sense of belonging she craves, as if his palace of strangers could ever be where she's meant to be.
She belongs with me. Not in his kingdom, not in his palace, not in his bed.
The thought crystallizes with such clarity that I nearly stagger under its weight. I have spent seven years protecting her for others—for her father, for the kingdom, for the abstract concept of duty. Now I will protect her for myself, for her, for us.
The garden tour continues. I follow at the prescribed distance, cataloging information with each step. Guard rotations. Servant schedules. The phases of the moon and how they affect visibility on the palace grounds. The identity of every guard who can be bribed or distracted or, if necessary, disabled.
By the time they return to the palace proper, my decision is made. I will not allow this betrothal to proceed. I will not watch her marry a man she doesn't love, doesn't want. I will not spend the rest of my life guarding the prison of her political marriage.
I will burn the world for her.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of planning. Every skill I've acquired in fifteen years of military service, every secret passage and security weakness I've discovered in seven years of guarding the palace, every contact and resource I've cultivated—all of it now serves one purpose. Getting her out.
I'm scheduled for night duty outside her chambers, which gives me the opportunity I need. As darkness falls, I make my final preparations. A pack hidden near the eastern postern gate contains essentials—food, clothing, money, forged papers. Horses, arranged through contacts who owe me favors, wait at a stable two miles from the palace. A diversion set to draw guards away from our escape route at precisely the right moment.
When I take up my post outside her door, the other guard nods in greeting.
"Quiet night," he observes.
"So far." I position myself so I can see down both ends of the corridor. "The princess retire early?"
"Just after dinner. Seemed tired from all the festivities."
I nod, careful to keep my expression neutral despite the anticipation coursing through my veins. "You should check the eastern corridor. Thought I heard something on my way here."
He frowns. "Probably just servants."
"Probably." I shrug. "But with foreign dignitaries in residence, better to be thorough."
This appeal to his sense of duty works as I knew it would. He nods and moves down the corridor, leaving me momentarily alone outside her door.
I don't knock—too risky with servants possibly within earshot. Instead, I use the signal we developed years ago for security concerns—three soft taps, a pause, then two more. After a moment, the door opens just enough for me to slip inside.
Lirien stands in a simple nightgown, her hair loose around her shoulders, face free of the cosmetics she wore for court. She looks younger, more vulnerable, and infinitely more beautiful than the poised princess who walked the gardens today.
"Dain?" Her voice is hushed, concerned. "What's wrong?"
I close the distance between us, taking her hands in mine. "We need to talk."
She searches my face, sensing the gravity of the moment. "Tell me."
"I'm taking you away from here." The words fall between us like stones. "Tonight."
Her eyes widen. "What? That's—that's impossible."
"It's already arranged. Horses, supplies, a route that will take us beyond the kingdom's borders before they realize you're gone." I squeeze her fingers gently. "But we need to leave now, while the palace is settled for the night."
She pulls her hands from mine, turning away to pace the room. "You can't be serious. Leave the palace? Leave the kingdom? Dain, that's?—"
"The only way." I remain where I am, giving her space to process. "Unless you prefer to marry Prince Aldric."
"Of course I don't want to marry him!" She keeps her voice low despite her agitation. "But I have responsibilities, duties?—"
"To whom?" I challenge. "To a father who trades you for political advantage? To subjects who've never met you? To traditions that treat you as property to be bartered?"
She flinches at the harshness of my words, but doesn't deny them. "What about your duties? Your oath to the crown?"
"My oath means nothing if it forces me to deliver you into a life you don't want." I step closer, not touching her but near enough that she has to look up to meet my eyes. "I have been loyal to the crown for fifteen years. Now I choose to be loyal to you."
Conflict plays across her face—the duty she's been raised to honor warring with the freedom she desperately wants. "Where would we go?"
The question sends hope surging through me. She's considering it.
"South, across the border to Valenia. I have contacts there, people who owe me favors. We can disappear, build new lives." I reach for her hand again, relieved when she doesn't pull away. "You wouldn't be a princess. We would have to work, to struggle like ordinary people. But we would be together."
"And if we're caught?" Her voice trembles slightly. "They would execute you for abducting the crown princess. You know that."
"Then I die having tried to give you the life you deserve, rather than standing guard at a marriage that will destroy you." I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."
She stares at me for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. "You would really do this? Abandon everything you've built, risk your life, just to free me from this betrothal?"
"I would do far worse to keep you from a man you don't love." The truth of it burns in my chest. "Say yes, Lirien. Come with me."
She closes her eyes, and for one terrible moment I think she'll refuse. Then she opens them, determination replacing doubt. "What do I need to bring?"
Relief crashes over me. "Nothing that would be missed immediately. A change of clothes, if you have something plain. We have supplies waiting."
She moves to her wardrobe, pulling out the simple clothes she wore for her night in the city. "How will we get past the guards?"
"Leave that to me." I move to the door, listening for the return of the other guard. "Change quickly. We leave as soon as the east wing diversion begins."
She disappears behind her dressing screen, emerging moments later in the plain trousers and shirt, a cloak over her arm. Her hair is tied back simply, all traces of the princess hidden beneath common garb.
"How long until the diversion?" she asks, fastening the cloak around her shoulders.
"Any moment now." I check the corridor again—still clear. "When it happens, stay close to me. Move only when I move, stop when I stop. If we're separated, make for the eastern postern gate and wait in the shadows. Can you remember that?"
She nods, her expression solemn but determined. "Eastern postern gate. Shadows."
"Good." I reach out to touch her face, allowing myself this brief moment of tenderness. "No matter what happens, know that I?—"
A distant commotion interrupts me—shouts, the sound of running feet. The diversion has begun.
"It's time." I drop my hand, switching instantly to the focused alertness of a soldier in combat. "Stay behind me."
I open the door carefully, scanning the corridor. As expected, the guard hasn't returned—drawn away by the commotion in the east wing where my contacts have staged what appears to be an attempted break-in. I gesture for Lirien to follow, moving swiftly but silently down the servant's passage that will take us to the lower levels.
We encounter no one as we descend—the night servants occupied with their duties, the day staff long asleep. The few guards stationed along our route have been carefully selected—men who owe me favors, who will conveniently be looking elsewhere as we pass.
At the ground level, we pause in the shadow of a column as a patrol crosses the courtyard. Lirien's breath is warm against my neck as she presses close, her hand gripping mine tightly. When the guards pass, we slip into the kitchen gardens, using the herb beds for cover as we make our way toward the eastern wall.
The postern gate is small, meant for servants bringing supplies from the nearby market. During the day, it's guarded and busy. At night, it's secured with a heavy lock—a lock to which I acquired a key months ago, though at the time I hadn't known why I felt compelled to do so.
Now I understand. Some part of me has been planning this escape since the first time I saw the trapped look in her eyes.
I retrieve the hidden pack from behind a stack of empty barrels, slinging it over my shoulder before approaching the gate. The lock opens with a soft click, and I ease the gate open just enough for us to slip through.
"Almost there," I whisper, guiding her through the narrow opening. "Stay close."
Outside the palace walls, the city sprawls dark and quiet. Most citizens are asleep at this hour, though taverns still spill light and noise onto the cobbled streets. We keep to the shadows, moving quickly but not running—running attracts attention, makes people remember faces and directions.
Lirien matches my pace effortlessly, her hand in mine, her breath coming quick but controlled. In the dim light of occasional street lamps, I catch glimpses of her face—determined, alert, alive with a fierce joy despite the danger.
"Where now?" she asks as we reach a crossroads.
"The River Road." I lead her down a narrow alley that will take us toward the eastern edge of the city. "Two miles to the stables, then south through the forest. We'll reach the border by dawn if we push hard."
She nods, trusting me completely. The weight of that trust settles on my shoulders—not a burden but a precious responsibility. I will get her safely away from here or die in the attempt.
We continue through the sleeping city, every step taking us further from the palace, from duty, from the lives we were assigned. My training keeps me vigilant—watching for patrols, listening for pursuers, constantly scanning for threats—but beneath that professional awareness runs a current of exhilaration I haven't felt since my first battle.
This is right. This is necessary. This is the only possible path.
As the city thins into scattered buildings and the forest looms ahead, Lirien suddenly stops, tugging at my hand. I turn, instantly alert for danger.
"What is it?" I scan the darkness behind us, one hand moving to the dagger at my belt.
"Nothing." She steps closer, eyes shining in the moonlight. "I just—I needed to do this."
She rises on tiptoe, pressing her lips to mine in a swift, fierce kiss. "Thank you," she whispers against my mouth. "For choosing me over everything else."
My free hand comes up to cradle the back of her head, deepening the kiss for just a moment before reluctantly pulling away. "We're not safe yet."
"I know." She smiles, and in that smile I see a glimpse of the woman she might become, free from the constraints of court and crown. "But for the first time in my life, I believe I could be."
I take her hand again, leading her toward the forest, toward freedom, toward whatever future we can carve for ourselves beyond the reach of kings and duties.
My hands are numb from the night chill, but I feel a warmth in my chest, an uncomfortable heat that I recognize as hope—fragile, dangerous, but undeniably real.