The Escape: Why Did He Run?
1232 Words
The Midnight Prince
“Did the masked boy escape?” my son asked.
I smiled into the fire. “For a little while.”
My daughter frowned. “Why would he run from the princess?”
“That,” I said, turning the old ring on my finger, “was the question that haunted her most.”
“Was he scared of her?”
“Not of her, exactly.”
“Then why?”
I leaned back, letting the firelight wash over the children’s curious faces.
“Because some boys are taught that kindness is only another trap,” I said softly. “And when someone gentle reaches for them, they do not always know how to stay.”
Princess Moon
The ring hit the balcony floor with a soft silver sound.
For one breath, I forgot the clock.
Forgot the ball.
Forgot the Rare Moon hanging over the palace like the eye of the Goddess herself.
All I saw was him.
The masked wolf running from me.
“Wait!”
He did not.
His coat flashed midnight blue and silver as he disappeared through the balcony doors, one hand pressed against the glowing mask on his face.
The sixth bell rang.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Storm surged beneath my skin.
Follow him.
I bent and snatched the ring from the floor.
The moment my fingers closed around it, frost bloomed across my glove.
Not painful.
Not cruel.
Just cold.
Ancient cold.
Moonlight flashed through the silver band like it had been waiting for my touch, and for one impossible second, the ring felt alive in my palm.
Storm went utterly still.
Then she whispered, Mine.
I did not have time to ask if she meant the ring.
Or him.
I lifted my gown and ran.
The west balcony opened into the upper corridor, where golden lamps burned against the midnight-blue walls. His scent lingered in the air, faint beneath the failing magic of his mask.
Frost.
Winter roses.
Something old enough to make my wolf bare her teeth and bow her head at the same time.
I chased it.
Ahead of me, he turned the corner so fast his shoulder struck the wall.
“Stop!” I called.
He did not look back.
That bothered me more than it should have.
Not because men ignored me. Men did not ignore me. Men heard the word princess and trained themselves to listen, or at least pretend to.
But he ran like my voice hurt him.
Like staying would cost him more than leaving.
Why?
The question struck harder than my shoes against the marble.
Why was he running?
From me?
He reached the end of the corridor and vaulted over the low stone guard wall into the moon garden below.
I stopped for half a heartbeat.
Then climbed after him.
A guard gasped somewhere behind me.
“Princess!”
Too late.
I landed in the garden with my gown gathered in one hand and his ring clenched in the other.
Storm steadied my knees before I could stumble.
The masked wolf was already across the path, sprinting toward the outer archway. He moved beautifully, even in panic. Not like a court-trained noble showing off in front of a crowd.
Like a wolf who had learned to run because stopping was dangerous.
Moonflowers shivered as he passed.
Frost glimmered along their petals.
The seventh bell rang.
His mask flashed brighter.
He grabbed the top of the garden wall and pulled himself up with a strength that made my breath catch.
For someone whose wolf I could not feel, he did not move like someone weak.
I ran harder.
The wall was not high, but the gown was a curse. I tore the hem stepping onto a stone bench, then caught the carved edge and hauled myself over.
For a moment, I saw him on the other side.
His head turned.
Not fully.
Just enough for the moon to catch the cracked silver edge of his mask.
Our eyes met.
Even through the distance, even through the magic, I felt it.
A pause.
A pull.
A question neither of us knew how to ask.
Then he turned the corner.
I dropped from the wall and followed.
The alley beyond the garden should have opened onto the servants’ path near the lower gates.
It was empty.
No masked wolf.
No footsteps.
No door swinging shut.
Only silver-blue dust floating in the air like crushed stars.
Fairy dust.
It curled once beneath the moonlight, then scattered into nothing.
His scent lingered for one breath.
Frost.
Winter roses.
Old magic.
Then even that faded.
Gone.
I stood there with the torn hem of my gown brushing the stones, my pulse pounding in my throat, and his ring cold in my hand.
Storm pressed against my ribs.
Find him.
I stared at the empty path.
“I tried.”
Find him.
The command carried more than instinct.
It carried certainty.
But all I could think was:
Why did he run?
Not who was he.
Not what was he.
Not even why had the moonflowers turned toward us when our hands touched.
Why did he run like being found would ruin him?
Footsteps pounded behind me.
Two guards appeared at the end of the path, breathing hard, swords half-drawn.
“Your Highness!”
I straightened before they could see too much.
The princess returned first.
The girl with the torn gown and racing heart had to wait.
“I am unharmed,” I said.
One guard looked at the wall. Then the alley. Then me.
To his credit, he did not ask why the Luna Princess had just climbed over royal garden stonework in a moon-silk gown.
“I lost my way,” I said.
The other guard’s eyes flicked to my torn hem.
“Of course, Princess.”
Excellent man.
I slipped the ring into my glove and walked back toward the palace.
The ballroom had not stopped.
That was the cruel thing about royal events. A heart could change shape in the garden, and inside, the orchestra would still be playing.
When I stepped back through the side entrance, every eye turned.
Again.
Whispers stirred.
Again.
I smiled.
Again.
The princess smile. Calm. Polished. Untouchable.
Elira reached me first, her face pale. “Where were you?”
“Getting air.”
“You are missing half your hem.”
“It was aggressive air.”
Her gaze dropped to my gloved hand. She knew me too well to miss the way my fingers were closed.
“What happened?”
“I lost someone.”
Her brows drew together.
Before she could ask more, heat pressed near my shoulder.
Dorian Calder.
Of course.
“Princess,” he said, his voice threaded with concern so neat it had clearly been practiced. “Are you all right?”
“Perfectly.”
“You left in a hurry.”
“I returned in one.”
His smile held, but his eyes searched my face. “The masked guest who was with you. Who was he?”
I tilted my head. “You ask as if I misplaced property.”
“I ask because he seemed… unusual.”
“That is a generous word coming from a Fire Wolf at a moon ball.”
Dorian chuckled, but the sound did not warm his eyes.
“He ran from you?”
- Writer
