His Forbiden Princess

Chapter Two – Exile

The world outside the car blurs into streaks of green and gold.

For the first time in my life, no one is watching me — and I don’t know what to do with the silence.

Rowan drives like a man who’s made peace with his damnation. Hands steady, eyes fixed on the winding road ahead. There’s blood on his collar where one of the guards must have grabbed him. I want to reach over, to touch it, to ask if he’s all right — but I don’t. I just keep staring out the window as the palace disappears behind the trees.

It feels like losing gravity.

I take off my gloves. My fingers tremble. “You realize,” I say softly, “that what you did back there can’t be undone.”

“I know.”

“My father will have you hunted.”

“I know.”

“And the council will call it treason.”

“I know,” he repeats, his voice calm, almost gentle. “But you’re safe.”

Safe.

The word feels foreign on my tongue.

I laugh, but it sounds cracked. “You call this safe? I’m in a stolen car with a man who just declared love in front of every monarch in the continent.”

His mouth twitches — not quite a smile. “Technically, it was only half the continent.”

Despite everything, a weak laugh escapes me. It’s ridiculous — all of it. The silk, the scandal, the roses still pinned in my hair. I look down at my wedding dress — the one I never finished walking down the aisle in — and realize the lace is torn across my knees. My whole life was supposed to be pristine. Perfect. Controlled.

Now I’m sitting in a moving crime scene.

The car hums through the coastal road, wind in our wake. After a long moment, Rowan says, “There’s a safe house north of the cliffs. Belonged to my mother’s family. No one from the palace knows about it.”

“Your mother’s family?” I turn to look at him. “You never talk about them.”

His jaw tightens. “There was never much to talk about.”

Something in his voice tells me not to push.

I look back out at the road instead. “How long do we stay there?”

“Until it’s safe.”

I shake my head. “It will never be safe. My father will send half the royal guard after us.”

“He won’t find you,” Rowan says quietly. “Not until you decide to be found.”

That part hits me harder than I expect. ‘Until you decide.’ No one’s ever given me a choice before — not really. Not about my marriage, my friends, my life.

Hours pass. The road narrows, and the ocean grows louder, the scent of salt and pine thick in the air. The sun dips low, painting the cliffs in bruised orange light. When the car finally slows, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for miles.

We pull into a dirt path overgrown with wildflowers. At the end of it stands a small stone cottage, weathered but solid, tucked against the edge of the sea. The waves crash below, steady and endless.

“This is it,” Rowan says, cutting the engine.

I blink at the cottage. “It’s… small.”

He glances at me, that ghost of amusement flickering again. “Your Highness, it’s a miracle I didn’t have to drag you here on horseback.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

He opens the car door. “Then what should I call you?”

The question hangs in the air.

For a moment, I don’t know the answer.

“Serena,” I finally say. “Just Serena.”

Rowan nods once. “All right. Serena.”

The way he says my name — low, reverent — sends something dangerous through me.

***********

The cottage smells like sea salt and dust. The floorboards creak under my heels, the air cool and quiet. There’s one small kitchen, a couch, a fireplace, and a bed in the corner. One bed.

Of course.

Rowan notices my stare and clears his throat. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’ll break it.”

“It’ll hold.”

I want to argue, but I’m too tired. My body aches from the weight of the gown, from the running, from the sheer adrenaline of the day. I wander toward the window, looking out at the ocean. The horizon stretches endlessly — no kingdoms, no cameras, no expectations.

Just water and sky.

“Are they saying anything yet?” I ask softly. “About us?”

He hesitates before answering. “The palace released a statement. They said you were… taken.”

“Taken?” I repeat, incredulous. “Like I’m some damsel in distress you dragged off into the woods?”

His gaze flicks up to mine, unreadable. “Would you rather they tell the world the truth?”

I fold my arms. “That their perfect princess ran away with her bodyguard? That she chose love over duty?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. We both know the truth isn’t what the world wants.

He crosses the room, takes off his jacket, drapes it over a chair. The undershirt clings to his shoulders, the faint sheen of sweat catching the light. I look away quickly, pretending to study the wall. My heart shouldn’t be doing what it’s doing.

He stops beside me, just close enough that I can feel his warmth. “We’ll have to keep a low profile,” he says. “Use new names. Act normal.”

I raise a brow. “Normal? Rowan, I’ve never been normal a day in my life.”

“You’ll learn,” he says, almost teasing. “You’re a quick study.”

“Quick enough to pretend to be married?”

That makes him still. For a moment, neither of us breathes.

He meets my gaze, eyes dark. “It’s the only way this works. The locals don’t ask questions if they think we’re newlyweds.”

“Married,” I repeat, the word foreign and sharp. “You mean—”

“I’ve already set up the paperwork,” he says quietly. “Different names. New records. It’s temporary. But it keeps you safe.”

I stare at him. “You thought of all this before today?”

“I had a feeling we might need it,” he admits.

I swallow hard. “You planned to ruin your life for me.”

His jaw flexes. “It was already ruined the moment I fell in love with you.”

The silence after that is deafening.

My throat tightens. I want to say something clever, something to make it lighter — but I can’t. There’s nothing light about this. There’s only the pounding of my heart and the sound of the waves outside.

*************

Later, after he’s built a fire and found a spare blanket for the couch, I stand in front of the mirror, trying to undo the buttons of my gown. My hands are shaking too much. The silk is stiff with dust and sweat, the jewels digging into my ribs.

I curse under my breath — a very un-princess-like word — and hear him behind me.

“Need help?”

I freeze. His voice is low, careful. I meet his eyes in the reflection.

“I’ve been undressing myself since I was ten,” I say, though the lie is obvious. Servants have always done it. He knows that.

He steps closer. “Turn around.”

I do.

His fingers brush the back of my neck as he finds the first button. The contact sends a shiver down my spine. He works slowly, each movement deliberate, gentle. I stare at the floor, afraid that if I look up, I’ll drown in the way he’s looking at me.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmurs.

“I’m not,” I whisper.

But my heart’s beating so loud it’s practically echoing off the walls.

When the last button comes undone, the gown loosens and slips from my shoulders, pooling around my feet. For a moment, I feel n***d — not just in body, but in soul. All the layers of silk and expectation gone.

He steps back quickly, turning away, giving me space. Always the soldier. Always the gentleman.

“Get some rest,” he says gruffly. “We’ll figure out supplies in the morning.”

I nod, even though he isn’t looking. I change into one of the plain shirts he found in a drawer, the fabric rough but comforting. When I crawl into the bed, I can hear him moving around the small room, trying to make himself comfortable on the too-short couch.

The fire crackles. The wind howls outside.

I stare at the ceiling and whisper, “Rowan?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Then: “Yeah?”

“What happens now?”

A long pause. Then, softly: “Now, we live.”

Sleep doesn’t come easily. I wake sometime after midnight to the sound of the sea, silver light spilling through the window. Rowan’s still awake, sitting by the fire, his head bowed. The light paints his face in gold and shadow.

I study him quietly — the strong line of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the exhaustion carved into his expression. He looks like a man carrying a war inside him.

Maybe we both are.

I should tell him to come to bed. I should thank him, or yell at him, or something. Instead, I whisper into the dark, “Thank you.”

He glances over, startled, like he hadn’t realized I was awake. His mouth curves — not quite a smile, but close.

“For what?” he asks.

“For ruining my life,” I say softly.

He chuckles under his breath. “Anytime, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” I murmur, eyes already closing.

“What should I call you, then?”

I smile against the pillow. “I already told you – Serena.”

He says it again, low and rough, like a promise.

“Goodnight, Serena.”

The waves crash against the cliffs, steady as a heartbeat.

And for the first time in my life, I sleep without dreaming of a crown.