Claimed by the Ruthless Duke

ESCAPADE

CHAPTER 2: ESCAPADE

I waited until the manor slept.

The candlelight in the east wing had long flickered out. The maids were curled in their quarters, the guards rotated into their second shift, and even the wind, which had clawed at the windows all night, seemed to hush—watching. Waiting. As if it knew what I was about to do.

Barefoot, I slipped down the corridor like a shadow. Every breath I took felt like betrayal. Every floorboard that creaked beneath me was a scream I didn’t dare let loose.

My satchel was light but heavy with purpose—stuffed only with what I couldn’t bear to leave behind: a handful of coins stolen from my father’s desk, the dagger my mother once carried in her boot, a map that smelled of sweat and old ink, and the locket with my brother’s portrait tucked inside like a ghost I couldn’t bury.

There were three roads out of Greenvale. Two were patrolled by Carter men—damn him. He’d rooted his power like ivy through the kingdom, swallowing villages and bloodlines like some ancient, starved god.

But there was still one way left. A forgotten trail that carved north through the forest, veiled in thorn and fog: the Vale of Ashes. A place untouched by politics or power. Dangerous, yes. Unwatched? Absolutely.

And that was exactly why I chose it.

Because brides who married men like Damian Carter didn’t return. They were displayed, adored, consumed… and eventually discarded when their usefulness soured.

I refused to be next.

And yet… my hand trembled on the iron gate.

Why?

The ache in my chest wasn’t fear. No, fear, I understood. Fear was rational. But this—this twisting, shivering pull in my gut?

It was grief.

And worse than that… it was longing.

What if he meant it?

What if he came back because he couldn’t stay away?

What if this isn’t hatred… but love twisted until it cut too deep?

I pressed my forehead to the gate’s rusted curve, and the sob I’d held back all night spilled out, sharp and quiet. My rage coiled around my ribs like wire, tighter, tighter still.

Because the cruelest truth of all was that some desperate part of me—however small, however furious—had been waiting for him all these years.

I’d dreamed of his eyes in the dark.

I’d imagined what he might say if he returned.

I lied to myself with stories where he apologized. Explained. Changed.

But fairy tales rot, and I’d already seen what lay beneath the velvet and crowns.

That night—when he stood in my doorway like a storm wrapped in silk—should’ve shattered all illusions.

And our earlier encounter proved that. He was no longer the same stranger that I had known before.

Damian had come to see me without guards and fanfare.

It was just him. He was standing in the doorway of my chamber like a devil dressed in ink-black velvet.

“I brought the seamstress,” he said. “She’ll begin your measurements tomorrow.”

I sat there in silence. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

Until he moved closer. Until he said, softer, “You still cry when you're afraid. I remember that.”

I snapped my gaze to his. “You remember a lot of things you have no right to.”

He didn’t flinch. “And yet I do.”

His eyes swept over me—not lecherously, but as if trying to read the words carved into my bones. “Do you know what you did to me, Eloise?” he asked, his deep baritone voice is low. “You saw me when I was broken. No one ever has. Not even my own mother. And you—a girl with trembling hands and a fire in her mouth—you stayed.”

“You left,” I spat. “Without a word.”

“I had to.”

“No. You chose to.” My voice cracked. “You used me.”

There was a flicker of something—shame, maybe. Or pain.

“Do you think I forgot?” he said after a moment. “You haunted every night. Every war council. Every time I took a city or broke a man’s will. I thought of your hands. Your eyes. The way you never looked at me like I was a monster.”

“You are a monster,” I whispered.

He smiled.

“And still,” he murmured, “I know you wonder what it would feel like to love one.”

***

I turned away from the gate, the bile is rising in my throat at the sudden remnants of those memories.

I hated him. God, help me, I hated him.

And I hated the part of me that still longed to run into his arms and ask him why.

Why didn’t you stay?

Why did you come back?

Why couldn’t you let me go?

But I couldn’t afford questions. Not anymore.

A carriage would come in the morning. Flowers would arrive. A dress. A vow. A chain.

If I waited, I’d never get free.

I had until dawn, and there’s no time for me to hesitate now.

I slipped out through the orchard path, past the rose hedges and the statue of the goddess of mercy. I didn’t pray. She’d never listened before.

I was nearly to the stables when a voice cut through the dark atmosphere.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?”

My blood run cold.

No, this couldn’t be possible.

I whirled.

Damian stood under the moonlight, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. No guards. Just him.

He’d known.

He always knew.

“N–no…”

He stood there like sin dressed in starlight—hands folded behind his back, jaw sharp, posture relaxed in that quiet, predatory way he had when he knew he’d already won.

“Go on, then,” Damian said.

The words sliced through me. My feet froze. My breath caught.

He tilted his head, dark curls brushing his collar. “If you’re so desperate to run, Eloise… run.”

I narrowed my eyes, not moving. “You’re not going to stop me?”

He smiled—but it wasn’t kind. It was the kind of smile a wolf wears just before it sinks its teeth into flesh.

“No. I’m giving you a choice.”

My heart beat louder. “What kind of choice?”

He stepped forward slowly, boots whispering over the dewy grass. “You leave now—tonight, through that little forgotten trail, just as you planned. No guards. No pursuit. You’ll make it to the Vale… maybe. But the moment you cross its border, your parents will be arrested. Your brother’s estate seized. The staff executed for negligence.”

My knees nearly gave out.

His voice was soft, gentle even. Which made it worse. “Your cousin Lysandra? I’ll have her wed to someone three times her age before the moon wanes. And every merchant, soldier, and servant who ever helped you escape will suffer the full weight of Ashbourne law. Which, I assure you, is… extensive.”

“You’re bluffing,” I rasped, though my voice shook.

His gaze met mine. Calm. Flat. Unrelenting.

“Try me.”

The satchel slipped from my shoulder, hitting the grass with a pathetic thud.

“I gave you my terms the day I stepped into your home, Eloise,” he continued, his voice silk wrapping around a blade. “You marry me. You wear the crown. You play your role.”

“And in return?” I spat, fists clenched.

“In return,” he said, now inches from me, “you keep your people alive. You protect what little you still love. And I give you power—not over me, of course—but enough to build your own little corner of the world. Safe. Comfortable. Yours.”

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek, tender in a way that felt like a noose.

“It’s not a cage,” he whispered. “It’s a throne.”

I looked at him—this man I once saved. This man I once believed could be something more.

But there was no boy left in him. Only shadow. Only control. And somewhere in that darkness, an obsession that wore the skin of devotion.

He had turned my love into leverage.

He had turned my mercy into chains.

And now he offered me a crown made of thorns… and dared to call it mercy.

“I hate you,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“I know,” he said, brushing his knuckles along my jaw. “But you’re still here.”

I wanted to slap him. Scream. Cry. Anything.

But I stood frozen beneath the weight of his presence—and the bitter truth that he had trapped me with precision, not violence.

There would be no guards dragging me back. No shouting. No bruises.

Only choices.

And every one of them would end with me kneeling.

“Make your decision,” he murmured. “You have until the stars fade.”

Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared back into the shadows—leaving me there in the orchard, choking on air that no longer felt like mine.