The bells of Elvaria tolled like a dirge, though no one had died—yet. In the marbled halls of the Royal Court, Princess Seraphina Elowen stood at the foot of the throne, her hands hidden behind her silk gown, her heart pounding against her ribs. The chandelier burned bright above the ballroom, its candles dripping wax like falling time. The air smelled of perfume and false smiles. At the far end of the hall, her crown pressed against her temples, her smile thin and fragile.
Across the marble floor, Prince Kaelen of Viremont watched her. His smile was sure, as if he had already won. He was her betrothed. Her future. Her trap. The music swelled, but Seraphina only felt the weight of her gloves and the cold eyes around her. Tonight was no celebration. Tonight was a sentence.
"You look like you're about to throw up in the punch bowl," whispered a voice behind her.
Lady Thalia—her lady-in-waiting, best friend, and constant troublemaker—slipped to her side with a goblet of wine. She raised a brow. "Don't worry. I added lemon. You'll only gag a little."
Seraphina took the cup without looking, her eyes fixed on the man she was meant to marry. Kaelen stood tall, dressed in gold, speaking to her father with the smooth smile of a snake.
"I heard him," Seraphina whispered, her throat tight. "In the garden."
Thalia frowned. "He said something awful again, didn't he? What was it this time—your dog, your archery, your hairline?"
"He said," Seraphina drew a shaky breath, "that he'd marry me to break Elvaria from the inside. He called me a pawn."
There was a beat of silence. Then—
"Well," Thalia said at last, "at least now you know he's a villain and not just boring."
But Seraphina couldn't laugh. She could barely breathe. Her whole life had been written for her: the lessons, the dances, the perfect smile, the alliances signed before she even knew what they meant. And now she was being handed to a man she hated, a snake dressed in gold. No one would stop it. Not even her parents.
Especially not her parents. Across the room, her mother's eyes caught hers—cold, sharp. A silent command: Smile. Obey. Endure. So Seraphina smiled.
"I present to you," declared Lord Carrick, the Prime Councilor, "His Highness Prince Kaelen of Viremont—heir to the Eastern Crown, and soon, by royal decree, husband to our beloved Princess Seraphina, jewel of Elvaria."
Applause rippled through the hall. Kaelen's lips curved, but his smile was colder than steel. He stood tall in his silver-stitched cloak, polished and perfect, yet his eyes were shards of ice. Handsome, yes—but cold. Too cold.
He bowed with practiced grace, every movement precise, like a puppet carved from pride.
Seraphina's jaw tightened. Her mother, Queen Elanora, beamed with pride. Her father, King Anthony, watched with cold calculation. She was a pawn in a game she had never agreed to play.
"I trust you find our daughter suitable," the King said, voice smooth as oil.
Kaelen's gaze slid over her like she was an object in the market. "She will do. Beauty is common. Obedience is priceless."
Laughter rippled through the court. Seraphina's stomach turned. He hadn't spoken to her—only about her.
And then, when the moment came to curtsey, she did the unthinkable. She turned on her heel, lifted her skirts, and stormed out. Not graceful. Not royal. She fled. The music faltered. The courtiers gasped. Whispers filled the hall like fire catching dry grass.
Kaelen's smile vanished. His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with cold fury. Then he gave a short, sharp laugh. "The little dove has claws," he said, voice carrying through the silence. "Good. I'll break them."
Seraphina ran. Through halls lined with portraits that glared down at her, past guards who froze in shock, out into the gardens where the night air hit like truth. She tore the tiara from her head and hurled it into the roses.
"Seraphina!" Lady Thalia, her lady-in-waiting and only friend, came panting after her, skirts bunched in her fists. "Do you ever think these plans through?"
"No plan," Seraphina gasped. "Just freedom."
"Wonderful," Thalia muttered. "My favorite way to die."
At the stables, a guard stepped from the shadows, spear raised. "Halt—"
Thalia moved first, pressing a pouch of coins into his hand. "You saw nothing."
The guard hesitated, eyes flicking between duty and gold. Seraphina held her breath. Then his grip loosened. "Go. Before I change my mind."
They mounted fast. Hooves thundered into the night, carrying a princess and her accomplice away from the palace of gold and chains.
By dawn, they were filthy and half-starved, their gowns were ruined, they abandoned the horses, and the girls hidden in a cart of onions bound for Elden Valley—the wild land nobles sneered at, and exactly where Seraphina needed to be.
By midday, they smelled like regret and garlic. Seraphina had traded her gown for a faded tunic and trousers Thalia had stuffed into her satchel. Her red hair was tucked under a worn cap. By every measure, she looked utterly unremarkable. Exactly the goal.
"We're in the Valley of Elden," Thalia said, peering through a crack in the cart.
Seraphina blinked. "The valley? The valley?"
Thalia grinned. "With sheep, freedom, and scandalously hot commoners. Elvaria's rebellious little sibling."
"I don't need hot. I need invisible."
"Unfortunately for you," Thalia said, "you glow even in onion-scented shadows."
The cart jolted to a stop. Crates shifted.
And then came a voice.
"Alright. Out of the cart. Both of you."
Seraphina froze.
Thalia whispered, "Not a guard. Voice is too… rugged."
They climbed out. And there he was. Finn Callan. Broad-shouldered, shirt rolled to the elbows, dark curls tousled by sun and work. A smudge of dirt on his jaw. Mischief in his eyes. He leaned against the wheel, chewing on a piece of straw like a man in a ballad who didn't know he was in one.
"Didn't know I was offering luxury transport to royalty," he said, eyeing them. "Or do noble ladies always travel in crates?"
Thalia opened her mouth. Seraphina elbowed her first.
"We're not royal," Seraphina said quickly. "We're just… escaping terrible marriages."
Finn raised a brow. "Ah. That old tale."
"It's true," Thalia added. "Mine was going to marry me to a banker. A banker."
"Shocking," Finn deadpanned.
Thalia gasped. "Exactly!"
Seraphina pressed her hand to her face. "We'll be on our way, thank you."
But Finn didn't move. His eyes lingered on her cap, her hair peeking beneath, the proud tilt of her chin. "Runaways," he said slowly. "And you're headed into the Valley. Brave. Or stupid."
"Both," Thalia said cheerfully.
Seraphina glared at her.
Finn's smirk deepened. "Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous today." He tipped his head toward the dirt road winding down into the valley. "Come on. I'll take you where you need to go. Unless, of course, you prefer onions."
Seraphina hesitated. He was a stranger. Dangerous, maybe. But the truth was simple: she had nowhere else to go.
So she nodded. "Fine. Lead the way."
Finn's grin widened. "Princess' orders."
Her stomach flipped. Did he know?
Thalia muttered under her breath, "Oh, this will end so well."