They stepped out of the café into the warm sunlight spilling across the busy street. Dust caught the light, turning the air into flecks of gold. The noise of merchants, clinking cups, and distant temple bells wrapped around them.
Verry gave her a sideways glance, then, without even looking at Lerima, told her to leave. Lerima gave a short nod and melted into the crowd.
"Let's go," Verry said.
Metheea kept her head bowed, her voice even. "I'd rather follow etiquette and let you lead me as my fiancé," she replied. The word felt sour on her tongue. She tried to smile, but it was more for show than anything else.
He smirked smirked at her, clearly pleased with himself as if her words had given him some kind of private victory.
"You are turning out to be quite good wife… just as I had hoped." The way he said it, lingering on the word "wife," made her stomach turn. It took every bit of control not to let her disgust show.
She could not dwell on her revulsion, not when she was so close to leaving this life behind.
But there are two guards shadowing them from behind.
She scanned every corner. There are alleys, side streets and carts and she only needed a few seconds of chaos to slip away.
The street widened into a busy plaza in front of a massive temple. Worshippers moved up the steps, incense curling around them. Merchants shouted over each other, selling trinkets, cloth, bread, and pastries. The smell of spice and hot dough hung in the air.
But the thing that caught her eyes are the children darting through the crowd, weaving between market stalls and laughing.
In that instant, she realized she could use them — twist the image of the stray dog nearby into something rabid, send people screaming, and create the chaos she needed to slip away.
Her fingers twitched, heat curling in her palms as the image of the rabid dog began to sharpen in her mind—
"Metheea."
The voice cut through the noise like a sharp bell. She turned, her heart giving a startled jolt and her breath catching in her throat.
Azrayel stood nearby, the faint blue glow of the temple light catching in his hair, his presence radiating a quiet power that drew eyes even in the bustling plaza.
Her plan fell apart in an instant.
Two men.
Two different cages.
"Come with me to the palace," he said striding towards her, leaving no room for argument.
Metheea looked at Verry and caught a sharp flicker on his face, his eyes widened for a heartbeat, startled, like he had just realized the game was over and Azrayel knew exactly who she was.
Without a word, he stepped closer and took her arm in a firm grip. His other hand clenched around the head of his cane, knuckles pale.
Verry's voice slid in, deceptively casual. "Why is the Crown Prince speaking to my fiancée?" he asked, his smirk faint but loaded with challenge.
Azrayel's gaze snapped to him with open disdain. "Shut your mouth and let her go," he said, each word measured and cold.
Verry's brows lifted slightly, feigning innocence as he replied,
"I am merely holding the arm of my fiancée, Your Highness. Even if you are the Crown Prince, she should obey me as her betrothed… isn't that right, Velista?" His voice was smooth, almost taunting, as his gaze slid back to her with a faint, knowing smile.
Azrayel's eyes hardened, his voice carrying a sharp edge. "She is not Velista. I will take the princess." His stance was firm, his tone almost a challenge, as though daring Verry to defy him.
Azrayel took a step forward, his gaze locked on Verry. His voice was calm but carried a dangerous undercurrent. "Be careful with your words, Count. Foreigners do not always fare well here." The warning hung in the air, sharp and deliberate.
Verry's lips curled into a smirk, his eyes narrowing just slightly.
"And would you risk a war for her?"
"I will even graze down your kingdom for my sister, Metheea," Azrayel said, his voice cutting through the air.
Verry smirked and tilted his head slightly, as if savoring the moment. "Metheea?" he asked with a sly edge. "There is no Metheea here."
Verry looked at her directly, his gaze heavy and unblinking, as if weighing every breath she took.
"Well? What is your name?" She felt the weight of it sink into her, forcing her to take a moment before she could even think of answering.
Her eyes darted between them, each holding one of her arms. It felt as if the world was closing in around her, the noise of the plaza dimming until all she could hear was the thud of her own heartbeat.
If she said Metheea, Azrayel would take her to the palace.
If she said Velista Alwyn, she'd be dragged to Makuteya or worse Dythrid.
But no matter which choice she made, her life here in the academy would end and she would be forced into another cage, just a different set of bars waiting to close around her.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, each beat a countdown. Two names. Two fates.
She opened her mouth.