(RUBY'S POV)
Never in my life did I think I would be a runaway bride. I've read about it in books and seen it in movies, but I never thought I would be one.
Not until last week, when Ryan, my best friend , presented me with the long-awaited plan—an escape route from my miserable life and the avoidance of an even more miserable future.
It sounded risky, scary even, but would I not betray myself if I didn't try to be free? Free from marrying a ninety-six-year-old Lycan King who looked like he was a hundred and twenty yet conquered ten human territories to form a Western Alliance where Werewolves had the upper hand.
The silk of my wedding dress snagged on a thorny rose bush pulling me back and honestly? It felt like a sign. A big, sparkly, "DO NOT GO THROUGH WITH THIS, YOU IDIOT! YOU KNOW THE CONSEQUENCES!!" kind of sign. But I can't! I won't stop! Not now! I pulled the dress hard, causing a tear, and gathering the folds in my hand, I continued running through the large, quiet flower garden.
My lungs burned, an addition to the icy dread that had been my constant companion for weeks. But it all went numb when I looked ahead and saw the junction. It had honeysuckles on it, just like Ryan had described. It led to the gate which, in turn, led to my freedom.
My heart swelled with unbelievable hope, and it encouraged me to run even faster.
I soon got there, took the left before taking another left turn, and then my emotions started to overwhelm me!
There was the gate! A burgundy gate with climbing rose thorns.
My heart was drumming frantically and my vision was getting blurry with foreseen tears of current disbelief and foretold joy.
My trembling hands clutched the handle the moment I got there, and I pulled. It didn't move. I pulled at it again, using both hands to give it a violent shake, but the gate did not budge.
Then I saw it: a giant, powerful padlock that looked like it was meant to cage a demon. My heart sank first, and then it started beating rapidly in anxiety.
I reached for the large padlock and gave it another shake. This is not supposed to be here.
Ryan's instructions had been clear. Gusto, his friend in the palace kitchen, had sworn on his life that the gates will be open for passage of the workers .
My eyes raked around and lit up as they fell on a big stone. I rushed to grab it and hurried back to the padlock, slamming the stone against the metal. The stone slammed against my finger, but I felt nothing as I continued to hit it, not stopping until the big stone gave way and pieces of it fell to the ground.
I broke down then, holding the gate as I cried helplessly. This could not be the end. No. This cannot be it!
"Excuse me."
I froze as a cool, deep voice cut through my hysterical moment. I straightened myself and turned around immediately.
My breath hitched in my throat, and in that instant, the air seemed to stand still while me and this beautiful stranger watched each other.
His eyes were dark, sharp, and intense. An elegant nose and a squared jaw completed a face that looked like it belonged on a brooding statue.
He wore dirt-brown, tailored clothes that somehow managed to still look effortlessly cool, and he held a large pair of garden shears in his hand.
He regarded me with a quiet intensity that sent thrills down my spine. I could see he was taken aback by me too, maybe by the way his lips parted as he drank me in. His gaze swept over my ridiculously frilly dress, and then his face pulled into a frown.
"You're bleeding," he said.
I followed his line of sight and saw it: my hand looked almost battered. It was only then I focused on the heavy, throbbing pain.
Before I could say anything, the stranger had dropped his garden shears and was right in front of me, holding my hand in his as he inspected the wounds.
He retrieved a perfectly folded, soft cotton white handkerchief and wrapped my hands quickly in a skillful manner.
Then his eyes went back to my face, and he seemed to observe me intensely all over again. I suddenly felt conscious of how horrible I must look with streaking mascara lines.
He let my hand go and took a good step backward. His eyes, though set in a strict face, held a kind of warmth that seemed to radiate through the energy between us. "Are you okay?"
His question seemed to bring me back to my reality, and I fell into panic again. My eyes searched around and landed on his shears.
I saw his eyes shoot up in surprise as I rushed past him towards his tool. I grabbed it before hurling it at the padlock. The shears broke immediately. My shoulders sank again and I turned to the stranger.
"I am so sorry!" I breathed.
He walked over to me and his eyes fell on the padlock.
"The palace is being extra cautious today. It's the royal wedding," he said, and his eyes fell on my dress. I sighed and let the broken shears drop to the ground before sitting on a nearby water fountain.
"Can I help you with something?" he asked.
I looked up at him in surprise and gave a bitter smile.
"I don't think you can." The plan had failed; the only opportunity I had…
"I guess I am destined to be with àn old monster who can't even blow out his own birthday candles," I mutter myself with a fine layer of bitter sarcasm in my voice.
"Not just a monster, but one that would be twenty-four years older than my great Nan if she was alive!" I pointed out bitterly.
A cold shock of realization hit me. I was in the company of a stranger, a palace worker, and I had just committed treason. My heart hammered in panic .
Why did I tell him that? His quiet empathy had made me clung to it without a second thought. It was a reckless, stupid mistake.
"I'm sorry," I muttered under my breath, but this stranger looked unfazed.
He walked towards me and sat on the fountain. "You should not be sorry," he said, his eyes firmly on me. "The world should be sorry for failing you."
I had never felt such a rush of emotions from only a few words. It had been so long since I felt so seen, so validated.
"You should not be heard disrespecting the king," I found myself saying, my words stumbling over one another.
"A man who is more interested in marrying a girl he is almost five times older than, rather than busying himself with the affairs of the kingdom, does not deserve respect. Don't you think?"
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of my lips, and his eyes flashed with support and warmth.
"And you're right, he can't blow out his birthday candles. I mean, he wets his pants and can't even change himself. The royal team in charge of his wardrobe must be traumatized," he said.
He sounded so serious that an unconscious, short bubble of laughter bubbled up from inside me.
A smirk tugged at the stranger's lips, and in that fleeting moment, he looked even more handsome.
"I'm sorry that this is happening to you," he told me, sadness in his eyes.
Suddenly I realized that I was smiling amidst the sadness. "You don't need to be," I assured him.
I stood up. "Thank you, Mr…."
"Dylan."
"Thank you, Mr. Dylan," I said softly.
"Just Dylan," he said, his intense eyes never leaving mine.
I melted into a smile. "Thank you, Just Dylan," I joked weakly.
He smiled then; it was brief, but it was clear.
I curtsied and turned around to leave. Just then, a shout echoed through the garden. "There she is! I see the dress!"
My eyes widened in panic. They'd found me. "Oh, no, no, no," I muttered, scrambling backward.
Dylan moved quickly, stepping closer and placing himself, quite deliberately, between me and the direction of the approaching shouts. His dark gaze flickered towards the sound, then back to me.
"Stay here," he said, his voice low and firm.
Before I could even process his words, six guards in the royal livery burst through the hedge, their eyes immediately locking onto me.
"There she is! My Lady…" The first guard stopped abruptly, his eyes widening in shock as he took in the figure standing protectively in front of me. His jaw dropped.
The second guard stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "The P-P-Prince!"
"Y-Your Highness?" they chorused and bowed low.
My head snapped between the stunned guards and the man who had offered me a handkerchief and kind words.
Your Highness?
My mouth fell open. This wasn't the groundskeeper.