THE ESCAPE
1192 Words
The palace sleeps with one eye open.
Torches burn low along the corridors, their flames bending with every draft that slips through unseen cracks. Guards move in patterns. Predictable. Rehearsed.
Seraphine counts them without looking.
One passes.
Three breaths.
Another turns the corner.
She does not move from the window.
Below, the courtyard glows under moonlight. Soldiers gather near the gates. Horses stamp against stone. Metal shifts. Voices stay low, but not low enough.
They are preparing.
Not for dawn.
For tonight.
Her reflection stares back at her in the glass—pale, still, composed.
Be ready.
She is.
A soft knock breaks the silence.
Not from the door.
From the wall.
Seraphine turns.
Once. Twice. Then a pause.
Her chest tightens.
She crosses the room fast, fingers pressing against the carved panel beside her bed. For a moment, nothing happens.
Then
A click.
The stone shifts.
A narrow opening breathes cold air into the room.
And her mother steps through it.
Queen Elyria does not look like a queen tonight.
No jewels. No silk. Just a dark cloak wrapped tight around her body, her hair pulled back, her face stripped of everything but intent.
“Close it,” she says.
Seraphine does.
The wall seals behind them with a dull, final sound.
For a second, they just look at each other.
No titles. No distance.
Just mother and daughter.
“You came,” Seraphine says.
Elyria steps forward, her hands rising—then stopping just short of touching her.
“I should have come sooner.”
Seraphine shakes her head.
No time for regret.
“They’re leaving tonight,” she says.
“I know.”
Of course she does.
Elyria always knows.
“They changed the plan,” Seraphine continues. “The envoy—”
“—does not wait,” Elyria finishes.
Silence falls again.
Heavy.
Decisive.
Then Elyria reaches into her cloak and pulls out a small object wrapped in cloth.
She presses it into Seraphine’s hand.
“Do not lose this.”
Seraphine unwraps it slightly.
A thin metal pendant catches the light. Pale. Almost white. It hums faintly against her skin.
She stills.
“What is it?”
“Your life,” Elyria says.
Seraphine looks up sharply.
But Elyria has already turned.
“Listen to me,” she says, voice low, urgent now. “You cannot go North.”
“I know.”
“No—you don’t.” Elyria steps closer. “That is not a marriage, Seraphine. It is a claim. A possession. Once you cross that border, you do not come back.”
Seraphine’s fingers close around the pendant.
Cold spreads through her palm.
“Then we don’t let them take me,” she says.
Elyria’s gaze sharpens.
“That is why I am here.”
A beat.
Then—
“You are leaving. Now.”
The words land hard.
Seraphine does not flinch.
“Alone?”
Elyria’s jaw tightens.
“Yes.”
Something twists in Seraphine’s chest. Small. Sharp.
She ignores it.
“Where?”
“There is a passage beneath the palace. It leads beyond the outer walls.” Elyria moves toward the hidden door again. “It will take you to the lower districts. From there—you keep moving. Do not stop. Do not trust anyone who knows your name.”
“And you?”
Elyria stills.
For the first time, something cracks.
“I will make sure they do not follow you immediately.”
Seraphine exhales slowly.
“That means they will follow.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Elyria looks at her.
Really looks this time.
And something like fear flickers in her eyes.
“You must not let them find you.”
Seraphine tilts her head slightly.
“And if they do?”
Elyria steps forward, grips her shoulders.
Hard.
“Then you run.”
Seraphine does not nod.
Does not promise.
Because something inside her already knows—
Running will not always be an option.
A distant sound cuts through the air.
Boots.
Closer than before.
Elyria releases her instantly.
“No more time.”
She presses her forehead briefly against Seraphine’s.
A rare. Fragile contact.
“Go.”
The word breaks something open.
Seraphine turns before it can spread.
The hidden passage yawns before her—dark, narrow, swallowing light.
She steps inside.
Cold wraps around her instantly.
“Seraphine.”
She pauses.
Looks back.
Elyria stands at the entrance, half-shadow, half-light.
“Do not become what they expect you to be.”
Seraphine’s grip tightens around the pendant.
“I won’t.”
Then she disappears into the dark.
⸻
The passage breathes dust and silence.
Seraphine moves fast.
Her steps stay quiet against the stone, her hand sliding along the wall to guide her. The air grows colder the deeper she goes. The palace above fades—voices, movement, life—all replaced by the hollow echo of her own breath.
Left turn.
Downward slope.
She does not hesitate.
Her mother mapped this into her memory years ago. Not with words.
With stories.
If you ever need to disappear…
A sound snaps behind her.
Footsteps.
Not hers.
Seraphine freezes.
Listens.
There—
Faint. Distant.
But wrong.
No one should be here.
Her pulse sharpens.
She moves again. Faster now.
The passage narrows. The ceiling dips. She ducks under low stone, her shoulder brushing against damp walls. The pendant warms in her hand.
Another sound.
Closer.
A voice this time.
“…this way.”
Male.
Guard.
Seraphine’s jaw tightens.
They found the entrance.
Too fast.
She breaks into a run.
No more silence.
Her footsteps echo now, loud, urgent, bouncing off the walls. The darkness thickens ahead, swallowing the faint light from behind.
A fork appears.
She does not slow.
Left.
Always left.
The air shifts.
Fresher.
Exit close.
Behind her—
“Stop!”
The command cracks through the tunnel.
She doesn’t.
A blade scrapes free of its sheath.
Then—
A flash of light slices past her shoulder.
Seraphine jerks to the side.
The dagger slams into the wall ahead of her.
Stone chips scatter.
Her breath catches—but her feet don’t stop.
The passage drops suddenly.
Steps.
Uneven.
She stumbles—catches herself—keeps moving.
Her hand slams against the wall to steady herself.
The pendant burns now.
Hot.
Alive.
She gasps.
For a split second—
The air shifts.
Not cold.
Not damp.
Something else.
Something vast.
A flicker of white—
No.
No time.
She pushes forward.
The tunnel opens—
And she bursts into the night.
⸻
The city hits her all at once.
Noise. Heat. Movement.
Vyrenth breathes around her alive, restless, unforgiving.
Smoke curls through the air. Lights flicker from broken towers. Voices rise and fall in sharp bursts.
No one notices her.
Good.
Seraphine pulls her hood up, forcing her breathing to slow.
Behind her, hidden beneath layers of stone and secrecy
The palace waits.
And the hunt begins.
She steps forward.
Into the unknown.
Into something that already feels like it has been waiting for her.
The pendant pulses once.
Bright.
Hungry.
And somewhere far beyond the city
Something ancient stirs.
- Writer
