Chapter Three – Elaria
The moss beneath me is damp and cold, but I don’t feel it anymore. Not really.
I sit with my knees pulled close, arms limp at my sides, my palms streaked with dried blood. My lips are chapped, parted. My breath stutters in my throat even though I’m not crying. Not anymore. That part of me already broke and scattered across the study floor hours ago.
Evening light filters through the trees in fractured gold, but it feels wrong. Like the sun shouldn't be shining at all.
I watch it flicker through the branches, blinking. My heart. My limbs. The way the world sounds like it’s underwater.
A soft rustle beside me. Then a presence. I don’t flinch. I barely move.
The woman is crouched at my side. She has a metal tin in one hand, gauze in the other. Her sleeves are rolled to her elbows. Her movements are quick, efficient. Like she’s done this a thousand times before.
"Hold still," she says, voice low and cool.
She dabs the corner of my mouth with something that stings. I hiss softly.
"That’s just alcohol. You’re lucky they only bruised you." She glances at my cheekbone, then nods once to herself. "No fracture."
I nod, because it’s the easiest thing to do. Nodding doesn’t ask questions. Nodding doesn’t bleed.
A bird calls somewhere high above, distant and sharp. The trees creak like old bones.
She wraps a strip of cloth around my wrist without asking. I watch her fingers. They’re steady. Calloused. Not cruel, but not gentle either.
“We’ll move by midnight,” she says after a moment. “They’ll be tracking the grounds until then. But night buys us time. And cover.”
“Midnight,” I echo, the word catching in my throat like a stone. I look down at my hands. They’re trembling.
Silence stretches between us. It’s not comforting. It’s not heavy either. It just… is.
“I want to see him,” I whisper.
Allegra doesn’t pause. She finishes the wrap and smooths it once with her thumb before meeting my eyes.
“Your father’s dead.”
“I know that,” I snap. My voice cracks like glass. “I just… I didn’t say goodbye. I never said anything.”
She studies me. There’s no sympathy in her face—just an immovable calm.
“There’s nothing left to say,” she replies flatly. “He was a traitor.”
I stare at her. “What did you say?”
Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t look away. “There was an investigation on him for years. We had proof. Drops. Leaked routes. He gave them information, Elaria. Over and over again.”
“You’re lying.” My voice wavers.
“No.” Her gaze is level. “He made his choices.”
I feel my chest clench and twist, rage and disbelief and loss crashing into each other like waves in a bottle. I want to scream, to strike her, to undo time with my bare hands.
Instead I croak out, “His journal.”
She tilts her head.
“It’s all I had left of him,” I whisper, chest tightening. “I dropped it. In the study. During the—when they—” My breath breaks. “I need to go back. I need to find it.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she says sharply. “You’ll die if you go back there.”
“I have to—”
She grabs my wrist, not hard, but firmly enough to stop me from rising. “No. Listen to me.”
I look at her, eyes burning.
“I’ll ask my men to look for it,” she says, quieter now. “I’ll bring it to you if they find it. I promise.”
Her voice—still cool, still edged with steel—has a thread of something else in it now. Something close to understanding. Not warmth. But something older. Calmer.
I sit back down.
The cold creeps up my spine like it wants to bury itself in me.
We sit in silence for a moment longer. Then I look at her, really look at her. There’s a scar on her jaw, pale and thin like an old whisper. Her eyes are hard, but not empty. Her coat is still splattered with dried blood—not mine. Not hers.
"Who are you?" I ask finally.
She leans back on her heels. She doesn’t answer right away.
“My name is Allegra, for who I am, just know I’m on your side,” she says, gaze flicking to the trees. “That’s enough.”
It isn’t. But I let it be.
"Where are we going?" I ask, my voice small.
“The only place you’ll be safe.”
Safe.
The word feels foreign. Useless.
I wrap my arms tighter around myself.
“How do I know I can trust you?” I murmur.
Allegra’s expression doesn’t change. She stands, brushing moss from her pants.
“You don’t,” she says simply. “You don’t have a choice.”
She looks down at me once more. Her tone softens—but just barely.
“Now, find a comfy position. I’ll wake you up by midnight.”
Then she turns and walks away, fading into the trees like she belongs to them.
I stay curled beneath the skeletal arms of the pines, head bowed, fists clenched in the folds of my clothes.
The wind shifts, carrying with it the scent of earth and ash and something new. The end of one life. The beginning of another.
And I’m not ready for either.
When I fall asleep. I dream of sunlight.
Of open halls echoing with laughter and the rustle of bare feet over marble. Giovanna’s fingers wrap around mine, tugging me faster through the corridor. We’re running—chasing each other through the east wing where the mirrors hang like forgotten portraits. She’s older, stronger. Her hair is braided and ribboned, her smile brighter than I remember in waking life.
I’m laughing. Out of breath. Joy bursting in my chest like something alive.
We round a corner—
She turns to me—
And just before I fall into her arms—
The world shifts.
My throat tightens. My chest aches. In real life, my face is wet with tears.
“Elaria.”
A tap on my shoulder, firm but not harsh.
My eyes fly open. I blink into darkness. The dream dissipates like fog at dawn, but the ache it leaves behind stays lodged in my ribs.
Allegra crouches over me, her silhouette framed by the faintest silver gleam of moonlight filtering through the canopy. She doesn’t speak again.
I wipe at my cheeks hastily. My hands come away damp and shaking.
She offers me hers.
I take it without thinking.
Her grip is dry.
She helps me to my feet in a single, practiced pull. That’s when I notice it—just behind her, a black backpack resting against the roots of an old pine. It hadn’t been there before.
Allegra kneels, unzips the bag, and pulls out a folded bundle of black fabric. “You need to change. Bright colors will get us caught.”
She hands me the clothes one by one—a soft black t-shirt, a flowing ankle-length skirt, and a scarf that smells faintly of smoke and lavender.
“Here,” she mutters, reaching into the side pocket. “Shoes too. Your current pair makes too much noise.”
I hesitate, clutching the fabric against my chest.
Allegra watches me for a beat, then sighs. “I’ve seen so many women and men naked, Elaria. Don’t be shy.”
Still, she turns away, giving me her back.
Her arms fold neatly behind her. She looks outward, to the woods, as if guarding me from more than just eyes.
I change quickly, fingers fumbling over buttons, knots, and seams. The new clothes are loose, comforting in their anonymity. I cinch the scarf around my shoulders just as Allegra glances over again.
She nods once in approval, then holds out her hand. “Come.”
I place mine in hers.
Her grip tightens briefly. Then we move.
The darkness in the woods is complete now—no moonlight strong enough to cut through the canopy. I stumble more than once, my toes catching on roots and uneven earth. But Allegra never falters. Her hand never slips.
I can’t see her face, only feel the pull of her arm as she guides me.
Each step feels heavier than the last.
The forest feels like a closing throat. The cold settles deeper into my bones.
My heart is pounding. Not from fear—but from the terrible knowledge that there’s no going back. Not to the house. Not to the study. Not to my father.
Not to who I was this morning.
The trees begin to thin.
Ahead, a narrow road snakes through the hills, barely wide enough for a single car. And parked just off the shoulder, tucked behind the cover of low shrubs, is a black sedan.
It’s empty. She reaches into her coat and pulls out keys.
I freeze when I realize where she’s heading.
“What—where—?” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
She tosses the passenger door open. Then pops the trunk.
“Get in,” she says.
I stare at her.
The metal compartment gapes like an open mouth.
“What?” I whisper.
Allegra sighs and leans against the edge of the car. “Princess, don’t you understand?”
She points at the dark hills. Her voice drops.
“Every nobody has their eyes out for you right now. Syndicate spotters, street mercs, cops on payroll. Half the country wants to bag the Fontanesi girl who survived. And traffic cameras?” Her brows lift. “They don’t sleep.”
“I—can’t—I can’t ride in the—”
“You can,” she cuts in, tone hardening. “And you will.”
The cold air stings my eyes. I feel the scream building behind my ribs, but it doesn’t come out.
Allegra moves to help me. Her hand rests at my back as I climb into the trunk. The lining is padded, strangely warm.
She meets my eyes as she grips the lid.
“I’ll get us there fast,” she says, quieter now. “I promise.”
I nod again, unable to speak.
Then the lid closes with a heavy click and the world goes dark.
The engine hums to life. The tires crunch gravel. The car begins to move.
And in the silence, boxed in by metal and grief, I finally break.
The tears come hot—wracking, silent sobs that shudder through my limbs. I bite down on my knuckle to muffle the sound, but it’s too much.
I curl into myself, fists clenched against my ribs, the scarf wrapped tight around my shoulders like a shield.
*****
The darkness sways around me like water. My body aches in places I didn’t know could hurt. My knees are tucked to my chest, and the metal shell of the trunk is warm now, wrapped around me like a coffin lined in silence.
Sleep comes in fits. Not rest, not peace—just flashes of half-dreams. The scent of lilies. Blood on marble. A shadow reaching for me and vanishing when I blink.
My eyes snap open at the sound of gravel shifting.
The car has stopped.
My breath clutches.
For a long second, I don’t move. My ears strain for sound—voices, footsteps, gunfire. Anything. I think of Allegra. I think—Did they find her? Did they find me?
Footsteps crunch outside. Then a pause.
A key turns.
The trunk lifts with a soft groan of hinges and the morning light—soft, grey-blue—slips over my face.
Allegra’s face appears above me, backlit by a sky still shaking off the stars.
“Come,” she murmurs, reaching down.
I let her pull me up. My limbs protest, stiff from being folded too long. The cold air kisses my skin, and I blink against the ache behind my eyes. She hands me a bottle of water.
“Drink. Slowly.”
I twist the cap and gulp. The first sip burns. The second feels like salvation. My throat moves greedily and only when the bottle’s half empty do I stop, breathless.
I glance around.
We’re standing on a quiet road, flanked by high hedges and iron gates tall enough to block the sky. Behind them, a mansion sprawls out—massive, old, and unnervingly silent. Its pale stone walls gleam softly in the dawn. Ivy curls around the fencing. Birds call in the distance, as if unaware the world has ended.
The gate creaks. Opens inward. I swallow the last mouthful of water and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
Allegra steps forward.
“Let’s go.”
I follow.
We pass beneath the arch of the gates. On either side, men dressed in black—armed, watchful, composed—stand like statues. Their eyes track me, but they don’t speak.
Their presence makes my skin prickle. I feel like prey. Like I’ve just been delivered to a cage with gold trim and blood in the seams.
Inside the grounds, everything is manicured, controlled. Gravel paths cut through the grass. Trees line the lane in symmetrical rows. The estate is a place of wealth, yes—but also order. Precision. Power that does not explain itself.
My steps fall slightly behind Allegra’s. I keep my eyes forward, but my hands twitch.
We near the main building. The double doors are already open.
Two men step out to meet us.
The first one is broad—a wall of muscle dressed in charcoal-gray. He moves like a man trained to hurt and restrain. His eyes are sharp, scanning, and his hands never leave his belt. His jaw twitches once as he looks at me, then flicks his gaze to Allegra.
Beside him stands another man.
Taller.
Leaner.
He’s dressed casually—black pants, loose at the waist, a half-open shirt revealing a sinewed chest marked by old shadows and deeper secrets. His hair is black, streaked with silver at the temples like smoke curling through ink. Gray eyes meet mine—not cold, no. Worse. Penetrating. Ancient. Like he’s not just seeing me—but remembering me.
And I—
My heartbeat stumbles, then slams into rhythm again. Painfully loud.
Something inside me coils and recoils in the space of a second. A tether pulled taut across the void. I don't know him. I’ve never met him. But some part of my soul—the part that dreams when I’m not sleeping—recognizes him.
There’s no other word for it.
Recognition.
Not of the face, but of the feeling he carries.
His eyes drift over me with a stillness that makes me want to flinch. He doesn’t speak. But he doesn’t have to. That silence is alive. Heavy. Intimate. Like a secret between us neither of us understands yet.
He has a scar beneath his left eye, a slash that cuts his face into something cruel and beautiful at once. One hand—tattooed, pale—rests casually at his side, but his stance radiates control.
I try to look away.
I can’t.
And deep in my chest, beneath the ache and the fear, something stirs.