The Prince and His Princess

The night she left

Tobi’s POV

The moment Prudence told me Lila was still out—with Ophelia, no less—something inside me snapped. It was after ten.

She’d been gone all day. And the palace was too damn quiet for it to feel innocent. I didn’t wait. I didn’t ask permission. I stormed straight to the north wing where the Luna quarters were housed, and banged on the heavy wooden door without a second thought.

Asgot answered. He looked half-dressed and half-drunk, the smell of wine clinging to his shirt.

“Prince Tobias,” he said coolly, not moving from the doorway. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Where’s your wife?” I snapped.

His smirk widened. “I’m not her keeper.”

I took a step forward. “I’m not playing games, Asgot. Where is she?”

He gave a theatrical sigh, as if this whole thing bored him deeply. “Last I heard, she was headed to the Speakeasy with your mate. Broderick took them.”

That was all I needed. I turned on my heel without another word, fists clenched at my sides. I didn’t even change. Didn’t bother to put on anything more appropriate than my half-unbuttoned formal shirt and leather boots. I just left.

The moment I stepped into the Speakeasy, I knew I was out of place. The music thumped through the floor, smoke curled through the chandeliers, and too many eyes followed me as I crossed the room.

Then I saw her.

Lila.

She was draped in black satin, the fabric hugging every inch of her like it had been designed to make me suffer. Her long hair was pin-straight, shining under the low lights, her lips painted crimson. She looked untouchable. Lethal.

She was seated at a VIP table with Broderick and Ophelia, champagne bubbling in front of her. She didn’t see me at first. She was laughing. And it hit me all at once—how far away from me she’d drifted. I stepped past the velvet rope. The moment my presence was noticed, the atmosphere shifted. Ophelia looked startled, Broderick smirked like he’d been expecting this, and Lila…

Lila met my gaze with cool neutrality.

I sat down at the table, sliding into the seat beside her.

“How were today’s meetings?” Ophelia asked, trying to keep her tone light—trying to pretend she wasn’t panicking about what my arrival meant.

“Long and tiresome,” I replied, accepting the glass the waitress poured for me. My eyes never left Lila.

She looked... furious. Her arms crossed, lips pressed into a tight line.

“Lia,” she said suddenly, rising from the table, “come dance with me.”

She didn’t give Ophelia time to answer. Just grabbed her hand and pulled her to the dance floor. Ophelia looked back at me with an awkward smile.

“Sorry,” she mouthed.

Then they were gone—disappearing into the pulse of the crowd, the music swallowing them whole. I finished the glass of champagne in one long swallow and watched them.

This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? To see her smiling. To see her safe. To know she was okay. She was more than okay—she was radiant. Wild. Alive in a way I hadn’t seen in months. Her hips moved in perfect time with the music, hair swinging like a dark banner. People were watching her. Men were watching her.

And then I saw him.

One bold i***t with too much confidence and no self-preservation. He moved through the crowd with purpose, eyes locked on her. He didn’t hesitate—just stepped behind her, grabbed her hips, and pressed himself into her from behind.

She froze.

Her eyes found mine instantly.

A growl tore out of my chest before I could stop it, rumbling so deep the floor itself seemed to shake. I was on my feet and through the crowd in seconds, rage blinding me.

I didn’t think—I moved.

I grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him clean off the ground. His feet dangled as I stared into his terrified face.

I wanted to snap his neck.

A scream pulled me back. Lila.

She was crouched on the floor, helping Ophelia to her feet. Ophelia looked shaken, clinging to Lila’s arm.

Shit. In my haste, I must’ve knocked her down.

“Luna Ophelia, I’m truly sorry. Are you hurt?” I said, dropping the man and letting him scramble away like the coward he was.

“I’m fine,” Ophelia said quietly, not meeting my eyes. “Just ready to go.”

Broderick was suddenly beside us, his eyes sharp. Ophelia waved him off, brushing invisible dust from her skirt.

“Luna, I am terribly sorry,” I said again, lowering my voice. “If you need anything—”

“We all do what we have to do for our mates,” she said softly, climbing into the waiting car.

I turned back to Lila.

The fury radiating off her was ice-cold and blinding.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” she spat.

“That man was touching what’s mine,” I growled, barely containing the primal rage still churning under my skin.

“What is yours?” she snapped. “I am not your property, and I could have handled that myself.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d dressed appropriately—” The words were out before I could stop them.

Lila’s expression cracked into something that shattered me.

“If what I’m wearing offends you so much,” she said, voice cutting through the noise like a blade, “I’ll help you out.” She slid into the car and slammed the door. The window rolled down.

“Don’t bother coming home tonight. I’d hate to offend you further, Your Highness.”

“Lila—wait, I didn’t mean it,” I said, stepping forward. I reached through the window, cupping her face gently. “I’m sorry. Please—”

She slid across the seat, just out of my reach, and the car sped off into the night.

Lila’s POV

I didn’t cry in the car.

I didn’t speak.

I just stared out the window, the blurred city lights melting past like I wasn’t really there. My reflection stared back at me in the glass—smudged lipstick, hair frizzed at the ends, eyes dull with exhaustion.

Don’t go back.

Don’t let him do this again.

When we pulled up to the palace gates, I leaned forward.

“Keep driving.”

The chauffeur blinked in the rearview mirror. “Your Highness?”

“Drive past the gate and park two blocks down. Then forget you saw me.”

He hesitated. I didn’t blame him—I looked like a wreck in a royal disguise. But after a beat, he nodded and kept going. When he finally pulled to the curb, I reached for the door handle.

“Wait,” he said softly.

I turned to look at him. Without a word, he reached behind the passenger seat and pulled out a folded black jacket. Not fancy. Just clean and warm.

“You’ll be cold,” he said, holding it out.

I stared at it for a moment before taking it from him, my fingers brushing his glove.

“Thank you.”

He nodded once, then looked away. I slipped the jacket on—it dwarfed me slightly, smelling faintly of laundry detergent and something piney. I stepped out, heels in hand, and started walking across the grass toward the staff gate. The moment my feet hit the earth, I pulled out my phone. I scrolled to Henry’s name.

He answered groggily on the second ring. “Lila?”

“Hey. I’m sorry for waking you,” I whispered.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to go back to the palace,” I said, voice trembling despite myself. “Can I come to you?”

There was a beat of silence, then, “Yes. Of course. I’ll wake Oscar. Where are you?”

“I’ll get a car,” I said, already moving. “Just send me the address.”

“Lila—are you safe?”

“I am now,” I said.

The road was quieter the further we drove. Fields replaced city lights, and the buzzing in my chest began to ease. When the car slowed, I spotted a small house tucked behind a fence lined with vegetables. It looked old, lived in, and—somehow—safe.

Henry was already waiting at the edge of the drive, barefoot in flannel pants and a hoodie far too big for him. His hair was messy, and he was rubbing sleep from his eyes as he jogged toward the car. I stepped out before the driver could open the door.

“Hey,” I said, hugging the jacket tighter around myself.

“Hey,” he whispered back, then wrapped his arms around me without hesitation. His embrace was warm and immediate, no questions, no judgment. Just there.

“You okay?” he asked, pulling back to study my face.

“I will be.”

The porch light flicked on. Oscar stood in the doorway, his arms folded and expression unreadable—until he saw my face. Then it softened.

“Come in,” he said. “You look frozen.”

I followed Henry inside. The house smelled like herbs and fresh bread. A fire crackled in the hearth, half-burned logs casting a sleepy glow over the wood-paneled room. It felt like a world apart from the palace. Henry took my hand and pulled me into the kitchen.

“Tea?” he asked.

I nodded, sinking into a worn chair. My fingers were stiff, jacket sleeves still cold. Oscar leaned against the counter, watching me closely.

“Do we need to call anyone?”

I shook my head. “No. I didn’t tell anyone I left.”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press.

Henry set a mug in front of me. “You can stay as long as you want. Okay?”

“Thanks,” I said quietly, the words catching in my throat. “Really.”

Oscar opened a cupboard and pulled out a blanket, tossing it over my shoulders like it was no big deal.

“No one’s gonna find you here if you don’t want them to,” he said. “Not unless you say so.”

I wrapped the blanket tighter and finally let myself breathe.