8 - Escape
Mariana stopped pacing mid-step.
Avoid him. That was the objective.
Avoid confrontation. Avoid emotional outbursts. Avoid triggering whatever mysterious chain of events led to her fictional execution.
She froze. Then, her eyes slowly widened.
"Oh."
A dangerous idea bloomed.
"If I'm not here... I can't greet him."
Silence. Then she snapped her fingers.
"Yes. Genius. Absolute genius."
Five minutes later, she was crouched near the servants' wing, wrapped in a dark cloak stolen-borrowed-from her own wardrobe. The maids' quarters were far less extravagant than her chambers. Simple beds. Wooden chests. Modest wardrobes. Mariana swallowed.
I'm sorry, random hardworking maid.
She opened a chest and retrieved a plain servant uniform-dark gray dress, white apron, modest sleeves. It felt almost surreal slipping into it. No silk. No embroidery. No gold trim. Just... cloth.
She quickly braided her golden hair tightly and wrapped strips of linen around her head like a makeshift kerchief, tucking every shining strand out of sight. She glanced at a small mirror. A nervous but passable maid stared back.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "I look employed." She adjusted the apron.
Okay. Phase two.
Avoid knights.
Forebros' castle corridors were heavily guarded, especially today. Because the Crown Prince was coming.
Mariana peeked around the corner. Two armored knights marched past in synchronized steps. She sucked in a breath and pressed herself against the wall, lowering her gaze the way she'd seen maids do countless times. They passed without a second glance. Her heart hammered wildly.
This is illegal. I'm escaping my own house.
She hurried down a side corridor, nearly colliding with a servant carrying linens.
"S-Sorry!" she squeaked instinctively.
The servant blinked at her but rushed off. Mariana exhaled.
So far, so good.
She slipped into the lower courtyard where supply wagons were being loaded-vegetables, grain sacks, crates of wine. Servants bustled about too busily to scrutinize every face. One wagon stood nearly full, its canvas tarp loosely tied.
Destination: town market.
Perfect.
She waited until the driver turned his back.
Then, in one swift, highly un-princess-like maneuver, she grabbed the wagon's side and hoisted herself up, scrambling gracelessly over sacks of potatoes before ducking under the canvas cover. She lay flat among produce, heart racing.
Please move. Please move. Please move.
Moments later, the wagon jolted forward. The wheels creaked. The castle gates slowly opened. Mariana bit back a squeal of triumph.
I DID IT.
I, Mariana Cherustine Kylin la Vernon, have escaped my own engagement arc.
She clutched a sack of onions like a trophy.
Take that, fate.
-
At that very same moment-
The main gates of the Grand Ducal Castle were being prepared for a far more dignified arrival. Trumpets were not sounding-but the guards stood straighter. Hooves echoed steadily against stone.
Crown Prince Zafiel Abaddon Morrigan von Clematis approached atop a black stallion that seemed almost sculpted from shadow. Beside him rode Sir Leonhard on a silver-gray steed, posture disciplined and silent. The castle rose before them-imposing, elegant, undeniably powerful.
Forebros.
Zafiel's amethyst eyes swept over the battlements, the banners bearing the Vernon crest fluttering proudly in the wind.
"Security is tight," Leonhard murmured quietly.
"As expected," Zafiel replied, noticing the smallest things. Knight rotations. Archer placements. Blind spots. He also noticed a supply wagon exiting through the side gate.
Ordinary. Unremarkable.
Yet, for the briefest fraction of a second, his gaze lingered. The wagon driver avoided eye contact, focused ahead. The canvas covering shifted slightly as the wheels hit uneven stone. Zafiel's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
Then-
He looked away. If there was something amiss, it was too subtle to justify action. The gates opened fully. Grand Duke Maximus himself stood at the entrance steps, regal and welcoming.
"Your Imperial Highness!" Maximus called out warmly. "Forebros greets you!"
Zafiel dismounted smoothly, boots landing against stone with controlled precision.
"Grand Duke," he replied evenly, offering a formal nod. "Your hospitality is appreciated."
Behind Maximus stood Darelene, elegant and composed. Eirwen at his father's right. Aguerico to the left. Alistair slightly behind, eyes scanning. Always scanning. Alistair's gaze flicked briefly toward the departing wagon in the distance. Then back to the Crown Prince.
Something felt... off.
Zafiel's eyes moved subtly across the gathered family. Counting. Assessing. He paused. One absence. His fiancée was not present. Amethyst eyes sharpened slightly. "Is the Grand Princess unwell?" he asked calmly.
Maximus chuckled. "She claimed illness this morning."
Eirwen's expression remained unreadable. Alistair's gaze darkened a fraction. Zafiel was silent for a beat too long.
"I see," he said finally.
Illness? Interesting.
Meanwhile-
Inside a bouncing wagon halfway down the road to town, Mariana lay among cabbages and flour sacks, grinning in victorious relief.
He can't confront me if I'm not there.
The wagon turned sharply, jostling her sideways.
She winced.
Okay, minor discomfort. Still worth it.
She peeked through a tiny tear in the canvas as the castle grew smaller behind her. Freedom. Temporary, questionably thought-out freedom. She had no plan beyond this point. But at least she had avoided the initial meeting.
Back at the castle gates, Zafiel stepped inside the grand estate, his expression composed but unreadable. A faint crack had appeared in his expectations. His instincts rarely misfired.
And something-somewhere had shifted.
Far down the road-
The wagon rolled on, carrying a runaway villainess who believed she had outsmarted destiny. Unaware that destiny had just noticed her back.