From his post outside the princess's chamber, Darius Leipon had grown accustomed to the quiet creaks of the castle and the soft hush of distant footfalls. But tonight was different. The chamber was silent. Too silent. No candlelight flickering behind the heavy oak door. No muffled voices. And the unmistakable scent of lavender, which always clung faintly to her presence, had long since faded into nothing.

She was gone.

Darius cursed under his breath and left his post, cloak trailing behind him like a storm cloud. He moved like a shadow down the servants' corridor, his instincts guiding him better than sight ever could. The cold stone beneath his boots, the faint glimmer of moonlight through the slitted windows, and the hush of the sleeping castle—all of it pressed around him like the weight of his own restraint.

By the time he reached the stables, her trail had grown cold, but not cold enough for him to lose her entirely. She was smart, clever beyond measure, but he was sharper. A streak of worn leather on the stable gate. A loosened saddle hook. Muddy prints, just barely distinct, leading toward the city.

She had dressed as a maid—Maia’s clothes, no doubt. It suited her poorly, and it enraged him more than it should. The foolishness of it, the dangerous risks she were taking, yes. But more than that, it reminded him of the walls between them. The princess could snatch a servant's or peasant's clothes, remove her jewelry, and opt for a hairstyle more practical than pretty, but it was all a game. An actress taking on a role she would shed by the end of the day.

Darius kept his distance, watching her slip through the alleys like an elegant ghost in a world of filth. The further she went, the darker the streets became. The sound of laughter and drunken song drifted from a nearby tavern, The Boar’s Head, judging by the reek of ale and piss that clung to the corner. His fists clenched as she ducked into a narrow alley, dimly lit by the yellow spill of lanterns.

That was it. Enough.

Darius’s patience shattered like glass beneath a steel boot as his instincts went into overdrive, adrenaline almost feeling like a poison. "Have you lost all fucking sense?" he hissed lowly, stepping forward and grabbing her arm. Firmly, like keeping a child from reaching out to pet a stray dog, but not enough to cause pain. His steel blue eyes first checked her face for an indicator of what she was feeling. A hint of why she would even go to this shithole. Then his gaze drifted downwards, noting every single detail. She looked beautiful. Perhaps more so now than when she wore those royal dresses.