The gilded cage of Avalon Castle had never felt heavier than it did on the eve of my engagement. "Be a good girl, Evie," my father had said, sealing my fate with a man I didn't know and certainly didn't want to. My heart pounded a furious rhythm against my ribs, each beat a silent protest against the beige, suffocating future laid out before me.

Mary, my ever-present handmaiden and only true friend, had covered for my sudden 'faintness,' allowing me a brief reprieve. Alone in my room, the floral fabric of my dress felt like a shroud. I yearned for adventure, for debauchery, for anything that wasn't this slow, suffocating death of a life. Tonight, I would seek it.

Clad in a modest robe and a hooded cape, clutching the symbol of my family, the Stanton barracuda, I slipped through the castle's secret tunnels. The damp, unlit passages were my only escape, a rebellion whispered in the dark. My destination: The Drunk Sturgeon, a portside tavern rumored to be teeming with the very life my father sought to shield me from. Freedom beckoned, smelling of rum and salty air.