The Escape: Why Did He Run?-Final
1373 Words
The words struck exactly where they should not have.
I kept my face still.
“So did half the council when I suggested lowering noble tax exemptions.”
A few nearby courtiers laughed.
Dorian did not.
“He wore a mask,” he said. “At a ball that required none.”
“Perhaps he had a skin condition.”
“Did he give you a name?”
“No.”
A lie by omission.
He had given me no name.
"Masked Wolf"
The unfinished sound still haunted the back of my tongue.
Dorian stepped slightly closer. “If he frightened you—”
“He did not.”
Too fast.
Dorian noticed.
So did I.
His smile sharpened.
Before he could press, the Drakewood twins approached.
Callan looked irritated in a way he probably believed passed for concern. Cael looked unsettled.
“Princess,” Callan said, bowing. “That masked wolf left rather suddenly.”
“How observant of you.”
His jaw flexed. “Do you know which house he belongs to?”
“No.”
Cael watched me quietly. “Did he say anything?”
I looked at him then.
Really looked.
There was something different in the younger twin. Guilt, perhaps. Or worry. Or the kind of fear born from recognizing a shape but not the shadow casting it.
“He said very little,” I answered.
Callan scoffed. “Convenient.”
“For whom?”
His mouth closed.
I let the silence sit there long enough to remind him he was speaking to the future queen of LunariaNova, not a servant in his packhouse.
Then I smiled.
“Enjoy the rest of the evening, Lords Drakewood.”
Dismissal was a blade when held correctly.
Cael bowed first.
Callan followed half a second later.
As they left, I heard Callan mutter, “Coward in a mask.”
My fingers tightened around the ring.
Frost kissed my palm through the glove.
Storm growled.
Not now, I told her.
Soon.
But not now.
The ball continued for another hour.
I danced when required.
I smiled when watched.
I answered questions without answering anything at all.
All the while, the ring sat hidden in my glove like a secret with a heartbeat.
Why did he run?
The question followed me through every step.
When Dorian bowed again from across the room.
Why did he run?
When Callan watched the doors as if expecting the masked wolf to reappear.
Why did he run?
When Cael stood silent beside his brother, looking less triumphant than troubled.
Why did he run?
Near the end of the night, my parents began their formal farewells with the visiting alphas.
I stood near the dais beside Elira, exhausted from pretending to be untouched by anything.
Then I saw Alpha Torren Drakewood.
He was taller than his sons, broad-shouldered, cold-eyed, with the kind of face men called noble because no one had ever made him earn gentleness. Lady Seraphine stood beside him, beautiful in pale silk, her smile smooth and dead.
My mother approached them with my father at her side.
“Alpha Drakewood,” Queen Selene said. “Lady Seraphine. Your sons represented SilvaFrost with confidence tonight.”
Lady Seraphine brightened. “They were honored to attend. Callan and Cael have been raised to understand the importance of duty.”
“Indeed,” my father said politely.
Alpha Torren inclined his head. “House PentNova honors us with the invitation.”
My mother’s gaze remained calm, but something shifted in it.
“I remember another wolf from SilvaFrost,” she said. “A gentle one. Your fated mate.”
The air changed.
Not enough for the room to notice.
Enough for me to feel it.
Alpha Torren stiffened.
Lady Seraphine’s fingers clenched around her fan so tightly the ribs bent.
“My first mate has been gone many years,” Torren said.
“Yes,” my mother replied. “I was sorry to hear of her passing.”
His jaw hardened. “It was a difficult time.”
Lady Seraphine’s smile stretched wider.
Painfully wider.
My mother continued, voice elegant as a knife hidden in velvet. “She had a son, did she not? Ashen?”
The name struck me.
Ashen.
Storm lifted her head.
Alpha Torren’s eyes flicked away. “Yes.”
“He was expected tonight,” my father said. “All unmated sons of noble blood were.”
Torren’s smile appeared too late. “Unfortunately, Ashen was unwell. He remained home.”
Home sick.
The same explanation families used when they did not want questions.
Lady Seraphine laughed softly. “Poor thing. He is not very social.”
She lifted one hand and made a delicate, fluttering gesture near her temple.
Not all there.
She did not say the words.
She did not need to.
Heat crawled up my neck.
My mother’s expression did not change, but the room seemed to lower around her.
“I see,” Queen Selene said.
Lady Seraphine’s fan trembled in her hand.
“Perhaps when he recovers,” my mother added, “he should come for tea with the princess. I would like to meet the son of an old friend.”
Alpha Torren looked as if he had swallowed ice.
“That would be lovely,” he said.
Lady Seraphine’s smile twitched. “Yes. Lovely. Though Ashen is quite shy. He may not be comfortable in court settings.”
“How fortunate,” my father said mildly, “that tea is not court.”
A faint sound escaped Elira beside me.
It might have been a cough.
It might have been laughter.
Lady Seraphine’s eyes flashed.
My mother stepped back with a graceful nod. “Then we will send word.”
Torren bowed.
Seraphine curtsied.
My parents moved on.
I remained still.
Ashen.
Homesick.
Not social.
Not all there.
A third Drakewood son who had not attended the ball.
A masked wolf who had appeared from nowhere, vanished at midnight, and looked terrified when his mask began to glow.
No.
I could not make that leap.
Not yet.
A name was not proof.
A feeling was not proof.
A wolf’s instinct was powerful, but even Storm did not know everything the Goddess had hidden.
Still, the ring pulsed in my glove.
Once.
As if it had heard the name too.
When the last carriage left and the ballroom finally emptied, I escaped to my chambers.
Elira followed, closing the door behind us before turning on me.
“Show me.”
I should have pretended not to know what she meant.
Instead, I removed my glove.
The ring lay in my palm.
Silver-white. Old. Beautiful. Cold enough to mist the air above my skin.
Elira’s eyes widened. “That belonged to him?”
“He dropped it.”
“Princess…”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
That was the first honest thing I had said since midnight.
I sat on the edge of my bed, still in my torn gown, and studied the ring.
It was not PentNova work.
Not Fire.
Not Earth.
Not Air.
Snow or Ice, perhaps, but older than the modern SilvaFrost styles. The band carried tiny markings along the inside, so delicate I could barely see them.
When I tilted it beneath the lamp, frost curled over the silver.
Storm pressed close.
Why did he run? I asked her.
She did not answer.
For once, my wolf had no prophecy. No half-message from the Goddess. No ancient certainty except the one that had been pounding through my blood since the balcony.
Find him.
I closed my fingers around the ring.
Outside my window, the Rare Moon shone over LunariaNova, blessing bonds, hiding truths, and laughing at every wolf foolish enough to think destiny cared for proper timing.
I did not know his name.
I did not know his pack.
I did not know why I couldn't smell him until the very last minute, why my wolf went still when he smiled, or why his ring reacted like moonlight had touched old ice.
But one question would not leave me.
Not for a breath.
Not for a heartbeat.
Not even when the palace finally went quiet.
Why did you run?
- Writer
