Emily’s Daring Escape
Emily hurried out of the queen's chamber, her hand covering her mouth as she processed the shocking news she had inadvertently overheard. She had stolen away to take a nap in the queen's private lounge, evading the strict palace tutors and the festival chaos. It was the High Summer Harvest Festival, an occasion that promised grandeur and revelry.
Her father and elder brother — the king and crown prince, respectively — had been caught in an unexpected snowstorm during their diplomatic mission to Toronto and wouldn't return in time. This left the young queen in charge, too preoccupied with the evening's festivities to notice Emily's illicit presence.
Unexpectedly, two of the queen’s maids entered to retrieve some items, pausing in the drawing room for a whispered conversation. “Jessica, did you hear? Among tonight’s guests are emissaries from Quebec.”
“Quebec? You mean...”
The mention of this distant northern realm piqued Emily’s curiosity. Her lessons rarely held her interest, yet the name Quebec rung a distant bell. Pressing close, she strained to catch every word that floated through the delicate partitions.
“It's been twenty years—I never thought we'd hear of them again.”
“Indeed,” sighed Jessica, subtly gesturing with her hands, “I've heard that their werewolves’ fingers are thicker than our arms, let alone...”
The words faded, leaving an ominous resonance. Werewolves? Emily knew only of them from her studies—a distant, terrifying race, brutal and cunning, often leading among the beastly tribes.
Why tonight of all times? A growing unease clawed at Emily, demanding she uncover the full truth.
But this queen, barely older than Emily herself, held no familial ties to the princess. Their relationship, marred by jealousy and rivalry, left Emily unprotected save for her father's affection and her brother's formidable status.
The conversation resumed, tinged with regret.
“So, they've come to demand that we honor the pact?”
“Ah, poor Princess Emily...”
Emily froze. Her name carried through the air, wrapped in foreboding.
What could they mean?
“Such a delicate and beautiful princess, fated to marry a ruthless werewolf. How can one so fragile withstand such a beast’s brutality?”
“God help her.”
The weight of silence pressed down, the maids’ footsteps gradually fading into obscurity.
She? To marry a... werewolf? Her skin turned ashen at the thought.
As the maids departed, Emily gathered her voluminous skirts and fled through the palace halls. Her pink leather shoes tapping against the immaculate corridors, a gust of floral lace fluttering behind her like petals caught in a breeze. Sunlight danced on her golden locks as she wove through the gardens back to her chamber.
“Your Highness.”
The knights flanking the grand palace entrance saluted her, resplendent in their silver armor. Their presence a stark, metallic reminder of her careful entrapment.
Ignoring these watchdogs of the queen's brother's enforcers, Emily flitted past them without a second glance. To her, they were nothing more than pawns, surveying and smothering her every move.
The heavy doors closed with a thud that echoed her building frustration. She discarded her shoes, pacing the soft rug in anxious strides.
Absurd—utterly absurd! A princess of the realm, bartered away to a wild werewolf? Surely her father, who cherished her above all else, would never permit such madness.
Yet a sinking sensation pulled at her.
She recalled a lesson, a tale of yore. A prince, driven north by conflict and rightful claim, spared only by the mercy of a roaming werewolf. In return for salvaging his honor and life, the prince promised the beast his firstborn daughter, cursed otherwise to never marry.
This prince was her father, and she, the only eligible daughter.
“No, it can’t be true.” Emily reassured herself, a denial mingling with pleading hope. Her father’s love couldn’t allow such cruelty.
But he wasn't here now.
Ruling in his stead was the same queen who eyed Emily with envy. An opportunity to be rid of her rival, delivered by fate.
Emily couldn't risk complacency.
“I have to escape!” she resolved, conviction igniting her determination. She yanked open the chamber doors, her decision firm.
Once more the familiar knights shifted their regard.
“Your Highness, do you require assistance?”
She glanced at the palace’s rigid customs, each pair of eyes hiding a potential snitch. Her every move shadowed by decorum and decor.
It wasn’t possible to slip past the watchful eyes without aid. She needed someone flexible, brave enough to defy expectation.
Someone whose loyalty belonged only to her.
