Victoria had a habit of believing she was braver at night than she was in the day. Darkness wrapped around her like a cloak and made her feel older, bolder, and a little less trapped. But as she stood in her chamber staring at the packed trunk, she felt the truth settle on her shoulders. This was not a dream she would wake from. If she stepped out of her room tonight, she would not return a Halstead daughter. She would become something she had no map for.

She pulled her cloak from the wardrobe. A simple brown one. Nothing grand. Nothing embroidered. Nothing that screamed future duchess. She tied it around her neck, swallowed the dry lump in her throat, and whispered a shaky, "Right. Just walk. One foot after the other. Do not faint."

Her stomach fluttered. Not in fear. Not exactly. More like an old door swinging on rusty hinges, ready to open but unsure how much noise it would make.

She lifted the trunk by its handle. It was heavier than she remembered. That made her smile a little. "Typical," she muttered. "I try to run away and my belongings turn into a stubborn cow."

She lifted it again with more determination and marched toward the balcony doors. The night greeted her again, cool and full of promise. She stepped out and closed the doors quietly behind her. The gardens stretched before her like a shadowed maze, the main gate visible in the distance.

Guards walked the grounds, but they were predictable. Halstead guards were well disciplined, loyal, and always half asleep after midnight. She had observed their routines since she was ten, mostly out of boredom, partly out of curiosity.

She listened now. Rustle on the left. A low cough near the oak tree. Footsteps along the stone path.

She counted the seconds. When the guards drifted toward the stables, she slipped down the balcony steps, kept low behind the rose bushes, and hurried across the grass. Her breath came faster, but she did not hesitate.

Halfway across the lawn, her slipper sank into a patch of soft earth. She stumbled forward and muttered, "Fantastic. Even the ground wants to keep me here."

She yanked her foot free and rushed toward the hedge that lined the property. There was a small gap at the back, one she discovered as a child when she tried to chase a butterfly. Her mother nearly fainted when she found her out there. Victoria had been grounded for a week, but she remembered the thrill of spotting the world outside the estate for the first time.

She found the gap easily. The branches brushed her cheeks as she crouched and dragged the trunk through with her. On the other side, the world looked different. Wilder. Colder. Real.

She stood, brushed off stray leaves, and tugged her cloak tighter. The moon lit the dirt road ahead. It would take her to the river town of Greenwharf if she followed it long enough. Greenwharf had inns, noisy taverns, and ships that traveled far beyond the borders of Aveloria. She had never been there, but she heard enough stories to know it was full of strangers who minded their own business.

Perfect.

She took a step.

Then another.

And suddenly she was walking away from everything she had ever known. Her home. Her family. Her future as a duchess.

The wind whispered through the trees. For a moment she felt free in a way she never thought possible.

But freedom had a way of making space for fear.

It took only twenty minutes of walking before her thoughts caught up with her legs.

Her parents would wake soon. Her maids would knock. Her wedding dress would be laid out. Cedric would stand at the altar with that polite, practiced smile. The guests would gather. The musicians would tune their instruments. The kingdom would whisper.

And Victoria would be gone.

Her throat tightened. "Maybe I am insane," she whispered to herself.

A twig snapped behind her.

She spun around quickly, heart jolting. Her hand flew to the small dagger inside her cloak. She had taken it from her uncle's old chest years ago. It was not large enough to scare anyone determined to harm her, but it was sharp enough to give her a tiny sense of courage.

She squinted into the darkness behind her.

Nothing moved.

Maybe it was an animal. A fox. A restless deer. Surely not a guard. She had slipped out unnoticed. She was certain.

She swallowed hard and kept walking.

After a while, the sound of the night became almost soothing. Crickets. Owls. The steady crunch of her slippers on the dirt. She imagined she was a character in one of the stories she used to read aloud in the attic. A girl with a mission. A girl escaping fate. A girl who would one day look back at this moment and laugh about how clumsy she was with her trunk.

She smiled at the idea and shook her head. "If I survive this, I will buy myself a cake. A big one."

Hours passed. Her legs ached. Her shoulders burned from carrying the trunk. She switched hands every few minutes and scolded herself for packing three dresses instead of two.

The sky slowly shifted from deep blue to the early gray of approaching dawn. Birds began to stir. A thin mist curled along the road. It felt like the whole world was waking up with her secret already written in the morning air.

She finally stopped to catch her breath near a small clearing. She placed the trunk on the ground and flexed her fingers.

"Alright," she whispered, "I need to rest for a moment before my arms fall off."

She leaned against a tree and closed her eyes. The air was damp and cool. A little too quiet.

Then she felt it.

Someone watching her.

Her eyes snapped open.

A figure walked toward her from the other end of the road, steady and silent. Tall. Hooded. Moving with the kind of confidence that belonged to someone who was not lost or wandering.

Victoria straightened slowly. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her dagger beneath her cloak.

The figure stopped a few feet away.

Even in the dim morning light, she could see the outline of his face. Sharp jaw. Serious mouth. Eyes dark enough to look intimidating even at dawn. The cloaked stranger studied her like he was trying to decide who she was or what she was doing.

For a heartbeat, Victoria forgot how to breathe.

He tilted his head slightly. "You should not be out here alone."

His voice was deep. Calm. Too calm for someone who had just encountered a frightened girl on an empty road.

Victoria swallowed. "And you should not appear out of the mist like a character in a scary tale. Yet here we are."

One corner of his mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile but refused to let himself. "You are far from Halstead Manor."

Her blood ran cold.

"How do you know where I came from?" she asked.

He stepped closer, just enough to make her heart race but not enough to seem like a threat. "Because I have been following you since you climbed out of your balcony."

Her breath caught.

He knew.

He had seen everything.

But why?

She tightened her grip on the dagger under her cloak.

The stranger watched her hand, his gaze steady and unreadable.

"You are running from something," he said quietly. "I am here because someone does not want you hurt."

Victoria's pulse thundered.

"Who sent you?" she whispered.

He lifted his hood slightly, revealing more of his face. Strong features. Tired eyes. And a faint scar near his temple.

"My name is Rowan," he said. "And your life is not as simple as you think."

Victoria's heart stumbled.

Rowan.

The name meant nothing to her.

But the danger in his calm voice meant everything.

Before she could speak, before she could even decide whether to run, Rowan glanced over his shoulder and said three words that made her chest tighten painfully.

"They are coming."

The moment Rowan said they are coming, something alive and sharp jolted through Victoria's body. Her fingers tightened around the hidden dagger, her pulse thudding fast enough to drown out the morning birds. She stepped back, letting her shoulder touch the rough bark of the tree. Her breath felt too tight in her chest.

"Who is coming?" she asked, louder than she meant to. "And why in the world would they be after me?"

Rowan's expression stayed calm, which annoyed her almost as much as it scared her. He looked like someone used to danger, someone who had walked through storms and learned not to flinch. He scanned the road behind him, then turned back to her.

"Victoria, you must move now," he said. "If they find you, you will be taken back before sunrise."

Heat rose in her face. "Taken? I left voluntarily. I am not a sack of flour someone can carry home."

"Your father does not care about your voluntary choice," Rowan replied. "He cares about what losing you will cost him."

She stared at him. "That makes no sense."

"It will," he said. "But you must trust me for the next few minutes if you want a chance to keep your freedom."

Trust him. A man who had followed her in the dark. A man who knew her name without introduction. A man who could be anyone, including someone dangerous.

She took a small breath and raised her chin. "I do not trust you. But I am not foolish enough to stay here waiting for whoever you are afraid of." She pointed her dagger at her trunk. "Help me carry this."

Rowan blinked once, surprised at her boldness, then nodded. He hoisted the trunk with one hand as though it weighed nothing. She tried not to stare at the ease of it, but curiosity tugged at her.

"What are you?" she asked quietly. "A soldier? A thief? A professional trunk carrier?"

He almost smiled. "A guard."

"A guard for who?"

"You."

Her eyebrows rose. "I do not recall hiring anyone."

"You did not," he said. "Your uncle did, months ago, before his death."

Victoria's breath caught. Her uncle had been the only person who made her feel understood. He had taught her how to hold a dagger without cutting herself. He had given her her compass. He used to call her, without fail, my brave girl, even on days she tripped over her own shoes.

"What did he ask you to guard?" she whispered.

"You," Rowan said again. "Your uncle believed you would one day attempt to leave. He wanted someone ready to protect you when that day came."

Her heart twisted. "He knew me too well."

Rowan glanced past her again. "They are close. We must go."

"Fine," she said, adjusting her cloak. "Lead the way. And if you try anything strange, I stab you and run."

"I understand."

"Good."

She followed him down the narrow forest path. He moved confidently, avoiding noisy leaves and branches, while she struggled not to stumble on every root that dared to exist. She was quick on her feet in her own manor, but the forest was another story. Still, she kept up. Mostly.

At one point she whispered, "What exactly is your plan?"

"To get you to Greenwharf before they catch us."

"And after Greenwharf?"

"We get you out of Aveloria."

She stumbled, nearly twisting her ankle. "Out of the kingdom? That was not in my plan."

"Your plan had holes," he said.

She frowned. "My plan was at least twenty percent solid."

Rowan slowed just enough to look at her. "Victoria, the men coming for you are not simply guards following orders. Your father hired trackers."

She felt her stomach drop. "Trackers? To collect his daughter?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. "Why would my father go that far? I am not a danger. I am not Princess Loraine fleeing a curse. I am just a girl who does not want to marry a man with the emotional range of a teacup."

Rowan tilted his head. "Your father is concerned about political alliances. Your marriage to Cedric would merge two powerful families. If the wedding fails, he loses years of negotiation."

"So he would hunt me down like I am a lost coin?"

"Yes."

Victoria pressed her fingers to her forehead. "I knew my parents valued appearances, but I did not think they would panic this fast."

Rowan looked at her gently. "You leaving was not a small thing. And because of that, you must be careful."

She sighed. "I am trying."

"You are doing well," he said.

She looked at him in surprise, not expecting the small flicker of warmth in his voice. She turned away quickly so he would not see the faint flush on her cheeks.

They walked deeper into the forest, the sun rising slowly behind the trees. The air grew warmer. The path widened. The birds grew louder. Victoria began to relax, little by little, believing they had managed to slip away without being noticed.

Then she heard it.

Distant hooves.

The sound rolled through the forest like a warning. Strong. Fast. Getting closer.

Victoria froze. Rowan did not.

"Do not panic," he said quietly. "You panic loudly."

"That is rude and accurate," she whispered.

Rowan placed her trunk behind a large fallen log, then turned to her. "Stay low. If I say run, you run. Do not look back."

Her throat tightened. "What about you?"

"I will distract them."

She grabbed his sleeve. "Rowan, if they catch you because of me..."

"They will not," he said simply. "I have dealt with worse."

She wanted to argue. She wanted to insist they stay together. But the sound of the hooves grew louder, echoing through the trees, rattling her bones. The hairs on her arms rose.

Rowan stepped forward, positioning himself between her and the road. He looked calm, almost too calm, as though danger was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Victoria crouched behind the log, gripping her dagger so tightly her fingers ached. Her breath came short and rapid. She peered through the leaves just enough to see the bend in the road.

Three riders appeared.

Black cloaks. Heavy boots. Cold expressions.

Trackers.

Rowan stepped into the open path as if he owned the forest.

One of the riders slowed his horse and pointed his sword at Rowan. "We are looking for a girl. Brown cloak. Small trunk. Red hair. Have you seen her?"

Rowan's voice was steady. "No."

Victoria mouthed silently, You liar.

The man narrowed his eyes. "She is not far. We know she left the manor. If you are helping her, you will be punished."

"I am traveling alone," Rowan said. "You are wasting time."

The man swung down from his horse. "Step aside."

Rowan did not move.

The rider's jaw tightened. "I said step aside."

Victoria's breath caught.

Rowan lifted his head slightly. "Turn back. You will not find her on this path."

The rider growled. "Move."

When Rowan did not step away, the rider punched him.

Rowan barely flinched.

Victoria closed her eyes for a moment. She knew nothing about Rowan except that he was stubborn, quiet, and surprisingly gentle for someone with a scar on his face. She did not want to watch him get hurt because of her.

The rider tried to strike again.

This time Rowan caught his wrist.

In one swift motion, he twisted it behind the man's back and pushed him to the ground. The other two riders shouted and jumped off their horses.

Victoria covered her mouth to muffle a gasp.

Rowan looked like a different person now. Focused. Sharp. Ready.

She had never seen anything like it.

One of the other riders raised his sword and charged toward Rowan.

But he did not reach him.

Because the moment before the blade could strike, Rowan shouted one word she did not expect.

"Victoria, run!"

She shot to her feet.

The third rider spun in her direction.

Their eyes met.

He saw her.

A cold wave flooded her body.

Rowan yelled again. "Go!"

Victoria grabbed her trunk without thinking, turned, and launched into the trees, her heart racing, her breath tight, her legs burning with sudden fear.

The forest blurred around her.

Behind her, metal clashed with metal.

And footsteps followed her.

Fast.

Too fast.

Victoria looked over her shoulder once.

The rider was gaining on her.

She stumbled over a root, caught herself, and kept running.

The trees thinned ahead.

A drop of sunlight cut through the branches.

And then she saw it.

A cliff.

A real, towering cliff with nothing but open air beyond it.

Her feet skidded to a stop as the world fell away beneath her.

Victoria Halstead stood at the edge, chest heaving, dagger in hand, with a tracker closing in behind her.

Rowan's voice echoed faintly from somewhere in the trees.

"Victoria, move!"

But forward meant falling.

And behind her was danger.

She had seconds to choose.

She had always imagined cliffs as dramatic, romantic places where heroines stood with wind in their hair while thinking poetic thoughts. In reality, they were terrifying. Sharp. Too high. Too final.

The cliff before her dropped straight down into a rushing river, the water foaming and smashing against rocks like it was angry at the world. One wrong step and she would be swallowed whole.

Behind her, branches snapped.

The tracker was close.

Too close.

Victoria tightened her grip on the dagger, her hand shaking. Her legs trembled in that weak, panicked way she hated. Wind whipped her cloak back, making her feel even more exposed.

Move, Rowan had yelled.

Move where? Into thin air?

She turned slightly, trying to find another path, but the cliff curved around her like a prison. She could not outrun the tracker. She could not fight him. She could not leap without breaking half the bones in her body.

Her mind raced.

Think, Victoria.

The tracker stepped into view, his boots crunching on the dirt. His face twisted in a cold, satisfied smirk.

"There you are," he said, breathing hard. "Your father will be pleased. You nearly caused trouble."

Victoria forced her voice to stay steady. "I am trouble."

It was bravado. Pure bravery flavored nonsense. But it gave her a bit of strength.

The tracker took slow steps toward her, sword raised. "Drop the knife. Come quietly."

"Quietly is not my style," she said.

Her eyes darted around, desperate for anything that could help.

A loose branch?

The trunk at her feet?

The river?

The river.

If she timed it right, if she jumped into a deeper section and angled herself correctly, she might survive long enough to reach the bank. That was a huge maybe. A wild maybe. The kind of maybe that made sensible people stay home.

Victoria was not sensible today.

She took a step back.

The tracker smirked. "You would not dare. You would die before you hit the water."

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe not."

Then she did something she had not planned.

She threw her trunk at him.

It was heavy, messy, clumsy, and completely unexpected. The trunk smashed into his chest, knocking him back with a startled grunt. He stumbled, dropping his sword.

Victoria did not wait to see if he recovered.

She ran.

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeats.

And then she jumped.

Air roared in her ears. Her stomach flipped. Her scream tore out of her throat before she could stop it. The fall stole her breath, ripped it from her lungs, and replaced it with pure fear.

Then the river hit her.

Cold.

Violent.

Shock ripped through her body. Water closed over her head, dragging her down, spinning her like a rag doll. Her arms flailed, fighting for the surface. The current pulled her sideways, then down again.

She kicked as hard as she could, reaching for air.

Her head broke the surface for a moment. She gasped once before a wave smacked her face and dragged her under again. Her lungs burned. Panic tightened her chest.

She pushed upward again.

Her fingers brushed air.

She tried once more.

Her head broke the surface again and she coughed, gasping. Trees blurred past along the riverbank. She tried to swim but the current was too strong. It carried her faster and faster, tossing her like she weighed nothing.

"Victoria!"

The shout came faintly from the top of the cliff behind her. Rowan.

She tried to look back, but another wave blocked her view. She swallowed water and choked, fighting to stay afloat.

The river rushed her toward a bend. She saw rocks ahead and fear shot through her chest like lightning.

No.

She kicked, twisted her body, and aimed for the deeper water. She hit a smooth rock with her hip and cried out underwater, bubbles spilling from her lips. Pain burst through her side.

She forced herself back up.

The current slowed just a little as the river widened. She seized the chance, kicking toward a fallen tree near the bank. Her fingers reached a branch. Her grip slipped once, then tightened again with desperation born from pure survival.

She dragged herself closer, coughing hard, clinging to the wood like it was life itself. Inch by inch, she pulled herself toward the shore.

Her arms felt like they were barely attached. Her head spun. Her lungs burned as if she had swallowed fire.

But she made it.

With a final heave, she crawled onto the muddy bank, collapsed on her side, and lay there gulping air like someone who had almost lost the privilege forever.

Time blurred.

The world tilted.

Then footsteps crashed through the brush.

Victoria weakly grabbed her dagger, even though she probably could not lift it properly. Her vision blurred. Shapes doubled.

"Stay back," she rasped.

Someone knelt beside her.

Warm hands rolled her gently onto her back. She blinked hard, forcing her eyes to focus.

Rowan.

Soaked.

Breathing hard.

His hair dripped onto her cheek as he leaned over her, his eyes scanning her face with a mixture of relief and something she could not quite name.

"You jumped," he said in a low voice. "I told you to move, not leap off a cliff."

Victoria coughed again, wincing. "I improvised."

"You nearly died."

"But I did not."

"You could have broken your neck."

"But I did not."

His jaw tightened. "Victoria."

She looked at him stubbornly. "Would you rather I let that man drag me home?"

Rowan glared for a moment, then sighed, tension leaving his shoulders. "No. I would rather you stay alive."

She blinked at that. No one had said anything like that to her in years. Certainly not with such raw honesty. It settled somewhere deep inside her, warm in a strange, unexpected way.

He brushed wet hair away from her face. The touch was gentle, surprisingly so for someone who fought like a blade with legs.

She swallowed. "Did you kill them?"

"No," he said. "But they will not follow us for a while. One is unconscious. The others went searching the wrong direction."

Victoria nodded faintly. "Good."

Rowan studied her. "Can you stand?"

She tried pushing herself up and winced sharply. "My hip says no."

He sighed again. "I will carry you."

She stared at him. "No need. Give me a minute."

"You cannot walk like this."

"Rowan, I am fine."

"You nearly drowned."

"I said I am fine."

"You are not."

"Do not tell me what I am."

They glared at each other for a full second before Rowan finally leaned forward and scooped her into his arms.

Victoria let out a startled gasp. "Rowan!"

"Save your energy," he said. "We cannot stay here."

She wanted to argue again, but her body was trembling and her teeth had started to chatter. She tucked her face against his shoulder, partly to hide her exhaustion, partly because his warmth felt steady in a world that currently felt like chaos.

As he carried her through the forest, she whispered, "Why are you doing all this for me?"

His arms tightened around her just a little. "Because your uncle asked me to. And because someone has to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" she murmured.

Rowan did not answer immediately.

Then he said something that made her breath catch.

"From the truth your father has kept hidden for years."

Victoria's grip on his shirt tightened. "What truth?"

Rowan met her eyes.

"That you are not the only one in danger."

She opened her mouth to speak, but a rustle ahead cut her off.

Rowan stopped.

Victoria lifted her head slightly.

A shadow moved behind the trees.

Not a tracker.

Not an animal.

Someone else.

Rowan set her gently on her feet and pushed her behind him, his entire body shifting into defense without hesitation.

The bushes parted.

A man stepped out.

Dressed in green.

Holding a bow.

And aiming the arrow directly at Rowan's chest.

Victoria's breath caught.

Rowan whispered, "Stay behind me."

The archer pulled the string tighter.

"You should not have brought her here," he said.