── 𝓦𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓦𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝓦𝐀𝐈𝐓 𝅄 ݁ ⏜



❝ 𝐈𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. ❞

✧ ࣪⊹˖ 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓔𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝜗𝜚˚⋆



The forest was alive with the soft murmur of wind threading through brittle leaves and the faint crackle of branches underfoot. You guided your mare with steady hands, her ears flicking nervously at every distant sound. The faint glow of the autumn sun filtered weakly through the thinning canopy above, casting dappled patterns of amber and gold onto the forest floor. Somewhere far behind you, the faint horn of the hunting party echoed, reminding you of how far you'd wandered from the others.

You had intended this—to lose yourself in the silence, away from the watchful eyes and sharper tongues of the nobles. Here, there were no whispers, no sidelong glances, no carefully veiled insults dressed in fine silks and honeyed tones. Just the stillness of the woods, the rhythm of your mare's hooves against the earth, and the faint scent of damp moss and decay lingering in the crisp autumn air.

But the silence was beginning to feel too heavy now—too complete, too watchful. The wind had stilled, and the faint calls of birds had vanished. Your mare felt it too. Her steps grew hesitant, her head lifting high, nostrils flaring as she caught a scent on the breeze. Her muscles tensed beneath you, coiling like a spring ready to snap.

"Easy, girl," you murmured, your gloved hand running along her neck in a gentle reassurance. But it wasn't enough.

The mare let out a shrill, panicked whinny and reared sharply. The reins slipped from your grip as you fought to keep your balance, but the mare twisted violently, her panic far beyond your control. In the next instant, you felt yourself slipping, the world tilting sharply as you were thrown from the saddle.

The impact was brutal. The air was punched from your lungs as your back met the hard forest floor, and sharp pain splintered through your arm as it struck a jagged stone hidden beneath the leaves. For a moment, the world swam—a muddled haze of burnt-orange leaves and patches of sky above.

Your mare's hooves thundered away, her dark figure disappearing into the shadows of the forest. And then... silence.

The kind of silence that didn't belong in nature. .

Your chest heaved as you pushed yourself upright, your injured arm trembling under your weight. The sharp scent of blood—your blood—cut through the damp earth and fallen leaves. You forced yourself to your feet, your knees shaking as you adjusted to the pain flaring in your ribs and arm.

That's when you saw it.

A hulking shape lingered in the shadows just ahead, its outline barely discernible in the dim light. At first, it seemed impossibly still, like a statue carved from the darkness itself. But then it moved—a slow, deliberate shift of massive shoulders, followed by the glint of pale eyes catching the faint light. They were fixed on you, unblinking, glowing faintly.

A deep growl rumbled through the creature's chest, vibrating through the ground beneath your boots.

Your hand went instinctively to your side, fingers curling around the hilt of the dagger strapped to your waist. The blade was small—pathetically so—but it was all you had. Its weight felt pitiful in your trembling hand as you pulled it free.

The creature stepped forward, its massive paw crushing the underbrush as though it were paper. Its snarl deepened, teeth glinting in the faint light filtering through the canopy. Every primal instinct within you screamed to run, but your body refused to move. Fear rooted you to the spot, cold and sharp.

But then, something stirred within you—something older, something buried deep within the marrow of your bones. Muscle memory, reflex, the whispers of lifetimes spent in battle, lifetimes spent fighting against inevitability. You shifted your stance without thinking, your weight balanced evenly between your feet, the dagger held firm and steady.

You had died with weapons in your hands before. Countless times. On execution blocks, in duels, on forgotten battlefields. You had learned to fight out of necessity, out of desperation, out of the cruel inevitability of your fate. But every time, it had ended the same.

Yet now, in this life, in this moment—you were still here. Still breathing. And this beast, this hulking predator, was not the prince, nor the blade at the executioner's block. It was just flesh, just teeth, just something you could fight.

The creature lunged.

Your body reacted before your mind caught up. You threw yourself to the side, narrowly escaping the arc of its claws as they tore into the ground where you'd stood moments before. The sound of splintering wood and ripped earth followed you as you rolled, landing on one knee as the creature wheeled around with a snarl.

You darted forward, your dagger flashing as you slashed across its flank. A guttural roar tore from its throat, and hot blood splattered against your sleeve. The beast staggered slightly, its massive head turning toward you with eyes that now burned with a mixture of fury and hunger.

It lunged again, faster this time, and you ducked low, slipping beneath its arm and driving your dagger into the softer flesh beneath its ribs. Its howl split the air, deafening and furious. But the beast was relentless—it swung one massive paw toward you, and this time, it struck true.

The impact sent you crashing into the trunk of a nearby tree. Pain exploded in your side, sharp and searing, and your breath came in shallow gasps as you slumped against the bark. The world tilted, your vision swimming as your body screamed in protest.

But the creature was faltering now. Its movements were sluggish, its breaths ragged and uneven. Blood poured from its wounds, dark and viscous, pooling beneath its feet.

You couldn't stop now.

With a raw, desperate cry, you pushed yourself off the tree and surged forward. Your dagger found its mark—plunged deep into the creature's chest, the blade sinking to the hilt. Its final roar rattled through the forest, but its body was already collapsing, its massive form hitting the ground with a dull, earth-shaking thud.

For a long moment, you stood frozen, your chest heaving, your dagger still embedded in the creature's chest. Its pale eyes, now dull and lifeless, stared into nothing.

The strength drained from your body all at once. Your knees buckled, and you sank to the blood-stained ground beside the creature. The dagger slipped from your fingers, landing with a faint clink against the stones.

Every breath burned, every movement felt like splintered glass shifting beneath your skin. Blood—yours and the creature's—streaked your clothes, staining the fine silk and embroidery beyond repair.

The world around you seemed to blur, the edges of your vision darkening as exhaustion and pain dragged you downward. The forest, so loud and alive moments ago, felt distant now—a hollow echo fading into silence.

As your body gave in to the weight of exhaustion, you allowed yourself to slump against the cold earth, your eyes fluttering shut.



───────── ⟡ 𝜗𝜚 ‧ ⁺ ⊰ ─────────



The forest was sinking into darkness when your eyes finally fluttered open. The sky above, fractured by twisting branches, was painted in deep shades of purple and fading gold, the last remnants of daylight clinging stubbornly to the horizon. The air was colder now, sharp with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Crickets had begun their chorus, the sound rising and falling like waves on a distant shore.

Pain bloomed across your side the moment you tried to move, sharp and unyielding, and your arm throbbed with every faint pulse of your heartbeat. Dried blood clung to your riding gloves, cracked and rust-coloured against the pale fabric. The lifeless body of the creature lay just beyond you, its bulk partially obscured by shadows, its foul scent lingering in the cold air.

How long had you been here? Minutes? Hours? Time felt elastic, slipping through your grasp with every shivering breath.

You pushed yourself upright with a hiss of pain, your hand trembling as you braced against a tree trunk. Every movement felt jagged, your body protesting the smallest shift. Your thoughts were sluggish, clouded by exhaustion and the faint hum of encroaching panic.

And then you heard them—the steady, unyielding sound of boots against forest soil. Each step measured, deliberate, like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable.

You turned your head slowly, dread coiling cold and tight in your stomach. And there he was.

Sir Elias Grey emerged from the shadows, his figure sharp against the dim backdrop of twisted branches and dying light. His polished armour caught what little light remained, glinting coldly with each step. His grey eyes, the colour of steel and winter skies, swept over you with the sharp precision of a blade. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, though his posture was relaxed, exuding an air of absolute control.

The sight of him sent a sharp spike of anger—of something bitter and raw—through your chest. Sir Elias Grey, Captain of the Royal Guard, the man whose blade had ended your life more times than you could count. The man whose gaze had always been steady, always cold, even when you'd met your end on his sword.

He looked at you now with the same impassive expression, the same detachment, as if your current state—battered, bleeding, barely upright—was little more than an inconvenience.

"Lady [Name]," he said, his voice smooth and even, a blade wrapped in silk.

You didn't answer immediately, letting the silence stretch between you as you forced yourself to your feet. Your breaths were shallow, each one accompanied by a sharp stab of pain from your ribs. When you finally spoke, your voice was thin, edged with acid.

"Sir Elias," you said, your chin tilting upward in defiance despite the tremor in your limbs. "How dutiful of you to grace me with your presence."

His brow twitched slightly, just enough to show he'd registered the bite in your words, but his expression remained infuriatingly composed. "You were reported missing, my lady. I was tasked with ensuring your safety."

"Safety," you repeated bitterly, your lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Is that what we're calling it now? A rescue mission? Or are you simply here to collect what's left and return me like discarded prey?"

He stepped closer, boots crunching softly over dead leaves. His eyes flickered briefly over your injuries, lingering on the torn fabric and dried blood that stained your attire. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less sharp.

"Does it matter?"

The words landed like a blow, their cold detachment cutting deeper than they should have. For a brief, fleeting moment, something in his expression shifted—something faint, something almost like hesitation—but it was gone before you could grasp it.

You turned your face away, your teeth gritted against the sharp sting of pain in your side. "You're right. It doesn't matter."

"You're hurt," he said, softer now, though the authority in his voice never faltered. "We need to leave before night fully descends. You'll slow us down if you collapse."

You let out a sharp breath, somewhere between exhaustion and bitter laughter. "Ah, ever the pragmatic soldier. Efficiency above all else, isn't that right, Captain?"

He didn't rise to the bait, his face carved from stone as he extended his hand slightly, a silent offer of assistance. You stared at it for a long moment, your pride flaring hot and stubborn within you. But the forest was growing darker, colder, and every inch of your body screamed with pain. You couldn't make it back alone.

With gritted teeth and trembling hands, you took a step forward, ignoring his offered hand and bracing yourself instead against a tree. "Lead the way, Captain," you said stiffly.

Without another word, he turned and began walking, his hand falling back to the hilt of his sword. His steps were steady, his posture unyielding, as if the weight of the world itself rested on his shoulders and yet left him unbent.

You followed, every step sending sharp jolts of pain through your body. The world tilted slightly at the edges of your vision, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you forced yourself to keep up. The silence between you felt suffocating, filled with every unsaid word, every unspoken accusation that hung heavy in the air.

After a time, Elias broke the silence, his voice low and steady. "You fought it, didn't you?"

You glanced at him sharply, your vision swimming as you met his piercing gaze. "What makes you think that?"

He nodded toward the smear of dark blood still staining the ground, the leaves, the tips of your gloves. "The creature is dead, and you're still standing. That tells me enough."

You looked away, your gaze fixed on the narrow path ahead. "It wasn't by choice."

"Perhaps not," he said simply. "But you survived."

There was no admiration in his voice, no softness—just plain, stark truth, delivered like an observation rather than a compliment. Yet, for some reason, those words settled heavy in your chest, their weight far greater than you expected.

The camp appeared in the distance, lantern light flickering like distant stars against the darkness. The faint murmur of voices and the occasional bark of a hound carried through the still air. Relief, sharp and bitter, flooded through you.

Elias slowed his pace, turning slightly to glance at you over his shoulder. "When we arrive, a healer will see to your injuries. Don't argue."

You let out a humourless laugh, your voice hoarse from exhaustion. "Commanding, as always."

He didn't respond, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back toward the camp.

The light grew brighter, the shapes of nobles and soldiers coming into view as the two of you stepped into the edge of the encampment. You could feel their eyes on you already—the sharp gazes, the whispered speculation that was surely spreading like wildfire.

But you kept walking, your spine straight, your head held high. Pain, exhaustion, humiliation—all of it was locked away behind an impenetrable mask of cold composure.



───────── ⟡ 𝜗𝜚 ‧ ⁺ ⊰ ─────────



The central clearing was ablaze with lantern light, casting long, flickering shadows across the trimmed grass and polished boots of the assembled nobles. The faint scent of spiced wine and roasted meats hung in the air, but it did little to mask the sharp tang of blood still clinging to your gown. Conversations fell into hushed murmurs as you emerged from the edge of the gathering, every eye turning towards you with thinly veiled curiosity and suspicion. The nobles' gazes felt like shards of glass pressing into your skin, their whispers curling like smoke in the cold night air.

"How does she always find herself in the centre of scandal?"

You kept your head high, your spine straight, though every step sent sharp jolts of pain through your side and down your arm. The nobles' stares were sharp enough to cut, but you refused to let them see weakness—not here, not now.

And then he appeared.

Crown Prince Lucian de Valmont strode through the throng of gawking nobles like a falcon descending upon unsuspecting prey. His golden hair caught the lantern light, glowing like a molten halo, while his emerald eyes—sharp and unyielding—found yours almost immediately. The crowd parted instinctively as he approached, nobles bowing their heads, stepping aside, their conversations dying into faint murmurs of reverence and unease.

Lucian carried himself with the grace of someone who knew the world bent to his will. His tailored hunting attire, all deep forest greens and golden embroidery, clung to his frame with aristocratic precision. His gloves, spotless despite the day's events, curled faintly at his sides as he came to stand before you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

His gaze swept over you, lingering on the blood staining your gown, the tear in your sleeve, the faint tremor in your gloved hand. There was something predatory in the way he observed you, his head tilting slightly, like a hawk assessing whether its prey would run or fight.

"You're hurt," he said at last, his voice low and even, each syllable precise and deliberate.

You dropped into a shallow curtsy, the motion tight and controlled. "It is nothing, Your Highness. I assure you."

But Lucian ignored your dismissal. His gloved hand lifted, reaching towards your face with a slow, deliberate grace. Before you could pull back, his thumb brushed faintly below your eye, a feather-light touch against skin still smeared with faint traces of dirt and blood. The gesture was soft, intimate in a way that felt wrong—calculated rather than kind.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you—the prince and the villainess, standing beneath the indifferent glow of lantern light, surrounded by watching eyes and hungry whispers.

But there was no true warmth in his emerald gaze, no genuine concern in the faint crease of his brow. His expression was perfectly composed, carefully measured—performative. You could feel it in the way his hand lingered just a moment too long, in the way his eyes searched yours as though looking for something useful rather than something real.

"You could have died out there," he said softly, his voice carrying just enough weight to make it sound sincere.

The words settled over you like ash, heavy and cloying. You searched his face, looking for something—anything—genuine. But all you saw was calculation, the careful assessment of a man weighing pieces on a board, deciding whether you were worth keeping or discarding.

With a sharp breath, you stepped back, breaking the fragile line of contact. "But I didn't, Your Highness."

His hand fell away, fingers curling faintly into his palm before he let them relax at his side. For the briefest moment, something flickered in his emerald eyes—something faint and unreadable—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. The tension between you crackled like static in the cold night air, sharp and unspoken.

Behind him, the nobles watched with open fascination, their fans and gloved hands hiding sly smiles and curious eyes. Their whispers rose in faint hisses, curling like smoke into the night.

The weight of their speculation settled on your shoulders, pressing down like chains being carefully forged, link by link. It would spread through court like wildfire—the villainess, painted dark and unworthy, now caught in the light of the Crown Prince's attention. Every glance, every whisper, every smirk from the nobles felt like poison seeping into your veins.

Lucian seemed to sense the tide of attention as well. His posture shifted ever so slightly, straightening with the poise of someone well-versed in managing an audience. His smile, smooth and disarming, slipped into place effortlessly, though the sharpness in his eyes remained.

"Come," he said, his voice carrying just enough authority to silence the murmurs nearby. "You need rest and care. I'll ensure the royal physician tends to your injuries."

But you shook your head, your voice cool and controlled. "That will not be necessary, Your Highness. I can tend to myself."

His brows lifted slightly, just enough to suggest mild surprise, before he tilted his head in what could almost pass as curiosity.

But his words were hollow, empty. They rang false to your ears, a pretty line rehearsed and polished until it had lost all meaning. You inclined your head slightly, your voice low and measured as you spoke.

"If you will excuse me, Your Highness."

You turned before he could stop you, before his words could wrap around you like silk-lined chains, and stepped past him into the crowd. The nobles parted before you, their whispers rising like a viper's hiss, their eyes tracking your every movement.

The campfires burned low as you walked past, their flickering glow casting long, ghostly shadows across the ground. The distant sound of laughter and clinking goblets rose and fell with the night wind, but none of it reached you. The weight of Lucian's gaze lingered, his words echoing faintly in your mind, tangled with the murmurs of the court.

The Crown Prince's interest was a dangerous thing—heavy and sharp, gilded with expectation and laced with inevitability. You knew, deep in your bones, that whatever attention he had given you tonight would not fade quietly.

The whispers wouldn't stop. The nobles would speculate and watch, waiting for you to stumble, to fall, to fail.



✧ ࣪⊹˖ 𝓔𝐍𝐃 𝓞𝐅 𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓔𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝜗𝜚˚⋆



𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓥𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝓘𝐒 𝓣𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃!

𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦! 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘹 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴! 𝘧𝘦𝘮. 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

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𝜗𝜚 ✧𓆪 ‧₊˚⊹

𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 ﹕unedited !



Happy new year!!

So sorry for the late update!! I just started school after being homeschooled for 2-3 years and its been really hard adjust to such a sudden change... I don't have a lot of time to write either since school is 8 hours long 😭😭