Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
They ran.
From the castle, away from the guards, through the twisting veins of her city. His strides were long, relentless, and the shadows curled close around them, hiding them from eyes that should have seen.
They passed people—her people.
Twice, three times, she saw soldiers only paces away, armor gleaming faintly in the torchlight.
One leaned against a wall, smoking, the ember flaring briefly.
Another murmured to his companion, their conversation muted, casual, unaware.
So close she could hear their voices, smell the acrid tang of the smoke.
And yet she could do nothing.
She couldn’t cry out, couldn’t thrash free, couldn’t even lift her head for more than a fleeting glance. The gag silenced her, the ropes bit into her flesh, and the shadows seemed to smother her very presence.
It was maddening.
She was the Queen, the sovereign of this realm, and she was helpless in her own kingdom.
They crossed the market square, the place where her people bargained and bartered by day.
Now the stalls stood silent and shuttered, their wares locked away behind creaking wood.
Lamps guttered in the cold air, torches flickered uncertainly, and the cobbled streets lay empty beneath the ghostly glow of the moon.
He didn’t pause.
Through the square, through the narrow alleys that opened onto wider streets, past sleeping homes with shutters drawn tight. A child whimpered somewhere in the night, a dog barked once, then let loose a long, mournful howl toward the moon.
The sound sent a shiver down Eliza’s spine. It sounded like a farewell.
And still he ran, carrying her farther from everything she knew, each step taking her deeper into the unknown.
The bridge fell away beneath them, each pounding step carrying her farther from the safety of her walls, from the city whose stones had been her cradle and crown.
Eliza twisted, craning for one last look. Istrial’s towers rose in the distance, silvered by moonlight, proud and unyielding against the night. Her city. Her home. And she was being carried from it like spoils of war, unseen, unheard, powerless to stop it.
The shadows whispered, the wind howled, and the road stretched endlessly ahead.
And with every stride, Istrial slipped farther away.