Princess Aquila woke with a start at the heavy thud that rattled the wooden floor. Her head snapped up from the table where she had been resting, silver eyes adjusting quickly to the dim light filtering through the cracks in the wooden house. Instinctively, her gaze darted across the room.
Her breath caught.
One man was already writhing on the floor, clutching his twisted wrist, his groans low and guttural. Just beyond him, the wooden door creaked wider on its hinges, and three more figures slipped inside like shadows made flesh. Their boots hit the ground in staggered rhythm, heavy and deliberate.
Opposite them stood Princess Zuleika.
Her posture was taut, every muscle drawn in sharp readiness. Her gown—once pristine—had been deliberately torn along the side, the fabric ripped to allow freer movement. The soft lines of royalty had been replaced with something feral, her expression sharpened into seriousness that belonged more to a soldier than a princess.
For a fleeting second, Aquila's confusion overwhelmed her nerves. She tried to speak, her lips parting—
Only for Zuleika to glance her way, eyes gleaming with dark humor even in this perilous moment.
"Ah, finally. The sleeping beauty wakes," Zuleika drawled, voice low, mocking.
Aquila's jaw clenched. Her glare hardened as she pushed herself to her feet, the wooden chair scraping lightly against the floor.
The bandits, who had been eyeing Zuleika, now turned their attention to both princesses, their heads swiveling in eerie unison. Their gazes gleamed with malicious amusement, as if savoring the fear they expected to see. Slowly, almost theatrically, each one pulled out a knife. The steel caught what little moonlight seeped into the cabin, gleaming sharp and hungry.
One of them dragged his tongue along the blade's edge, grinning with a twisted sort of delight. Another mirrored the gesture, lips curling into a smirk as though the act alone were meant to unnerve.
Aquila's nose wrinkled in disgust, but her heart gave an involuntary lurch. The grotesque showmanship clawed at the edges of her composure. She forced her shoulders back, masking her unease beneath an imperious frown.
Inside, however, her pulse was quickening. She was not accustomed to danger without guards, without walls, without the security of her station. And here, knives glinting before her, she could feel her body betray her in subtle ways—the cold prickle of sweat against her palms, the slight tightness in her chest.
Zuleika, by contrast, didn't flinch. She shifted her stance, weight balanced, torn dress whispering against her legs as she readied herself. Her eyes, sharp as blades themselves, flicked across the bandits with the calculation of someone raised not only to wear a crown, but to survive without one.
The tension thickened, heavy as a storm about to break.
The first bandit lunged forward with a guttural roar, blade cutting the air in a diagonal slash meant to tear Zuleika from shoulder to hip.
But Zuleika was faster.
She stepped back just enough that the steel missed her dress by a breath, the fabric fluttering from the force of the swing. Her eyes narrowed, focused not on the weapon, but on the man's stance, his balance, his breathing.
The moment his arm overextended from the miss, she snapped forward. Her fist drove into his jaw, the crack of impact sharp against the enclosed wooden walls. His head snapped sideways, spittle flying, and before he could recover, Zuleika pivoted on her heel and drove her elbow into the side of his temple.
The man staggered. One, two steps back—then collapsed with a thud that rattled the floorboards.
But there was no pause.
Another bandit, larger and far more aggressive, charged in, his knife arcing downward in a brutal vertical slash. Unlike the first, his movements were heavier, fueled by raw strength rather than sloppy speed.
Zuleika sidestepped, twisting her body so the blade sliced past her shoulder, close enough to stir the loose strands of her hair. She didn't retreat—she advanced.
Her fist shot toward his gut, but the man twisted at the last second, the blow glancing off his ribs instead of striking clean. He snarled, shoving his arm out to backhand her, but Zuleika ducked low, her body folding like water slipping past stone.
She rose beneath his guard, driving her knuckles into the underside of his chin. The man's teeth clacked together with a sickening snap. He stumbled back but didn't fall, rage burning in his eyes.
He slashed again, horizontal this time, forcing Zuleika to hop backward, bare feet finding balance on the rough wooden floor. The blade grazed her torn skirt, slicing another line through the fabric.
Zuleika exhaled slowly through her nose, steady. Her hands came up again, loose yet precise, ready to strike. The bandit snarled, spit flying, then rushed with a flurry of wild swings meant to overwhelm.
Zuleika wove through them like a dancer. Each step a dodge, each lean a calculated retreat. Steel whistled past her arms, her waist, her legs, never finding flesh.
Then she saw her opening.
The moment his arm came wide with a slash, she drove forward, her fist burying itself into the hollow of his throat. The man gagged, choking, his knife clattering to the floor.
Zuleika didn't give him the chance to recover—her knee came up hard into his stomach, folding him forward, then she slammed her elbow across the back of his neck.
He crashed down onto the floor beside the first bandit, wheezing, unmoving.
Zuleika's chest rose and fell, sweat glistening at her temples as her gaze snapped to the last bandit still standing. His hands shook around the knife, his confidence shattered by the sight of his fallen comrades. But desperation made him reckless.
His eyes darted—then locked on Aquila.
Princess Aquila's silver gaze widened for just a heartbeat before narrowing. She instinctively stepped back, the hem of her dress snagging against the leg of the wooden chair.
The bandit snarled, teeth bared, and charged.
Zuleika's breath caught, her body moving before thought. Her bare feet slapped the wooden floor as she dashed forward. Just as the bandit's blade arced toward Aquila's side, Zuleika seized his collar and yanked him backward with all her strength.
"You coward" she hissed through clenched teeth.
But the man was a cornered beast. With a guttural growl, he slammed the back of his head into Zuleika's face.
The crack reverberated.
White pain exploded across her nose. Her grip faltered. She staggered, blood spilling hot and fast down her lips and chin, painting her teeth in copper. She fell back two steps, catching herself on the wall with one hand, the other pressed desperately to her bleeding nose.
The bandit, however, hadn't come out unscathed. The force of his headbutt left him disoriented, his body lurching forward as he dropped to one knee, clutching the back of his skull. His vision swam. He blinked up—only to see a blur of silk and steel resolve.
Aquila's foot.
Her heel slammed across his jaw with merciless precision. The sound of impact was sickening—bone and flesh colliding with the cold, sharp finality of defeat. His body twisted midair before collapsing sideways in a heap, unmoving.
Silence returned, heavy, oppressive.
Aquila's chest heaved as she steadied herself, silver eyes flicking across the unconscious bodies littering the wooden floor. Three men down, each one sprawled in defeat. She exhaled sharply, trying to mask the adrenaline that still lingered in her veins.
Then her gaze turned.
Zuleika stood a few steps away, one hand clamped firmly over her nose, the other trembling faintly at her side. Blood seeped between her fingers, bright against her skin, dripping down her wrist and staining the fabric of her torn dress.
Her eyes lowered, fixed not on Aquila, not even on the fallen men—but on her own bloodied hand.
Her expression was unreadable. Anger? Pain? Or something else entirely?
For the first time since the fight began, Aquila found herself at a loss for words.
Aquila exhaled slowly, brushing dust from her dress as though that might steady her racing pulse. Her eyes flicked to Zuleika, lingering on the crimson staining her hand.
A smirk tugged at her lips.
"Well, well. The Princess of Nexus bleeds red after all. For a moment, I wondered if you were some… unknown creature hiding beneath that skin."
Zuleika's eyes narrowed. Without a word, she dragged the back of her bloodied hand across the torn fabric at her thigh, smearing scarlet into the dress. Then she looked up, her tone sharp as a blade.
"Better a creature than porcelain that shatters at the first crack."
The two locked eyes, tension biting as sharply as the night air creeping in from the door.
Aquila's smirk faded, her expression hardening. "Enough games. Who were these men?" Her voice was clipped, the silver in her gaze demanding answers.
Zuleika sighed through her nose, shifting the weight of her body against the wall. "Bandits. Nothing more." She glanced at the unconscious heap on the floor, then back at Aquila. "Judging by their moves, we're not inside the Feltogora Empire anymore. Likely an unclaimed territory."
Aquila's brows furrowed, her grip tightening on the coat draped across her arm. "…Unclaimed?"
Zuleika nodded, her voice steady but low. "Which means tribes, or worse, wanderers who answer to no kingdom. If we want to leave in one piece, we start now. Otherwise—" she tilted her head toward the fallen bandits, "—this will only be the first of many."
Aquila inhaled sharply, silver eyes narrowing at her words. Yet beneath her pride, she recognized the truth in them.
Still, her chin lifted as she retorted softly, "You give commands far too easily for someone dripping blood down her front."
Zuleika's lips curved in a humorless smile. "And you ignore survival far too easily for someone who nearly had a knife at her throat."
For a moment, silence stretched again—two princesses, battered but unbroken, glaring at each other like cats bristling before the next strike.
...…
The wooden door creaked as they stepped out, the sting of morning light chasing away the shadows of the night. The forest stretched wide before them—trees rising like ancient sentinels, their crowns woven thick, sunlight spilling through in fractured beams. Dew clung to the leaves, dampening the earth beneath their feet, and the air carried the crisp bite of pine and soil.
Zuleika squinted up at the slope beyond the treeline. "High ground's that way." She adjusted the coat tighter around her frame, her steps confident, as if the wilderness bent to her rhythm.
Behind her, Aquila followed, heels crunching over fallen twigs, her chin tilted in stubborn grace despite the dirt smudging the hem of her torn gown. Her gaze lingered briefly on Zuleika's stride—the ease in her movements, the readiness in her stance. Finally, she spoke, voice cool but edged with curiosity.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?"
Zuleika smirked, not even glancing back. "What, surprised I don't faint at the sight of a knife?"
Aquila scoffed softly, stepping over a gnarled root. "Surprised is one word. Undignified is another."
"Undignified?" Zuleika's laugh was short, sharp. "Says the woman who almost tripped over her own gown while glaring at me."
Aquila's eyes narrowed, silver flashing in the daylight. "I was assessing the enemy."
"You were assessing the floor."
The trees thickened as they pressed onward, shafts of light flickering against their faces. Birds stirred above, their cries breaking the quiet, and somewhere distant, the rush of water whispered through the woods.
Aquila's arms folded across her chest, her pace never faltering. "Still, for a princess, your fists are… crude."
Zuleika's tone dripped sarcasm. "Forgive me, Your Imperial Highness, that I was not trained to duel with polished rapiers and etiquette." She shoved aside a branch, holding it long enough so it wouldn't smack Aquila in the face. "Some of us learned to survive with what we had."
For once, Aquila was silent. But her silence was not concession—it was thought. She lifted her gaze to the slope ahead, where the trees thinned and the earth rose.
The climb began, the ground damp with moss, roots jutting out like the bones of the forest. Zuleika moved with instinctive balance, her torn skirt tied off at the side, while Aquila's progress was slower, deliberate, as though refusing to let the wilderness claim her poise.
"Careful," Zuleika called back dryly, glancing over her shoulder. "The ground is uneven. Wouldn't want Her Highness to bruise."
Aquila's glare could have cut stone. "I am not made of glass."
"Good," Zuleika muttered under her breath. "You'd already be shattered."
Finally, the trees parted as they reached the ridge. The wind met them first, cool and sharp, carrying the scent of pine and distant earth. From the rise, the forest unfurled beneath them in endless waves of green, broken only by the faint line of a river glinting in the distance.
Zuleika planted her hands on her hips, scanning the horizon. "Well… looks like we'll have to keep moving. The best way is to head over that river and see where it leads us. "
Beside her, Aquila stood tall despite the climb, her silver eyes narrowing as though daring the wilderness itself to bend.
"You sound almost competent," she murmured.
Zuleika tilted her head with a mocking grin. "Careful, princess. That almost sounded like a compliment."