The Girl Who Ran Away
1129 Words
Florian’s POV
Florian had learned long ago that people rarely surprised him.
Nobles were predictable—trained from birth to smile at the right moments and speak with carefully measured ambition. Ministers were worse; they pretended loyalty while calculating advantage. Even the so-called humble often carried hidden agendas, polished just enough to pass as sincerity.
It was all familiar.
All manageable.
That was why he trusted silence more than conversation.
Silence did not lie.
Silence did not flatter.
Silence simply existed.
Which was exactly why he went to the hidden chapel during the St. Aurelia Cathedral anniversary.
One hundred and ten years of history filled the main hall outside—crowds, ceremony, politics disguised as prayer. But here, in the forgotten side wing of the cathedral, there was only stone, dim light, and the faint scent of old candles.
No one came here.
No one was supposed to.
Florian had believed that.
Until he saw her.
She stood near the far side of the chapel, partially framed by stained glass that fractured sunlight into soft colors across the floor.
A servant.
Black gown.
White collar.
White apron.
White cap holding down dark curls that escaped slightly at the edges.
She looked out of place in a place that was already forgotten.
Florian stopped walking.
Not because he was startled.
Because something in the silence shifted.
The girl turned.
And their eyes met.
Golden.
That was the first thing he noticed.
Not brown.
Not dark.
Gold.
Unusual.
Striking in a way that did not belong in a servant’s face.
Then he saw the freckles.
Lightly scattered across her cheeks and nose, as if someone had brushed sunlight onto her skin and left it there.
And then—
Her lips.
Soft pink.
Parted slightly as she realized who was standing in front of her.
Florian did not move.
Neither did she.
For a moment, neither of them seemed to remember how breathing worked.
Then panic arrived.
Her eyes widened sharply.
She stepped back too fast.
Too careless.
Her foot caught on the uneven stone.
And she fell.
Florian moved before he thought.
It was not deliberate.
It was instinct.
One step forward.
Then another.
His hand caught her arm just before she hit the ground fully, steadying her as her balance broke completely.
Her body jolted slightly against his grip.
And for the first time since stepping into the chapel—
She was close enough for him to feel her properly.
Warm.
Real.
Not the polished distance of nobles who always stood carefully measured from him.
Not the rehearsed proximity of court ladies who knew exactly how to position themselves.
This was different.
Uncontrolled.
Unprepared.
Human.
He pulled her upright before she could fully collapse, his other hand briefly supporting her elbow as she regained her footing.
Her breath came out unevenly.
She looked up at him again.
Too close now.
Close enough for detail.
The freckles were more visible here—soft, natural, scattered across her face without pattern.
Her eyes were wide, still golden, still unsettled.
And her lips—
Pink.
Pressed together now as she tried to steady herself.
Florian realized something he did not like.
He was looking too long.
So he let go.
Immediately.
As if distance could correct whatever had just happened.
“I— I’m sorry,” she said quickly.
Her voice was softer than he expected.
Not refined.
Not trained.
Just immediate panic.
“My apologies, Your Highness,” she repeated, bowing too fast.
Her head dipped sharply.
She nearly lost balance again.
Florian’s hand moved slightly—
Then stopped.
She corrected herself before he had to intervene again.
That surprised him.
She stepped back further, putting space between them as if proximity itself was dangerous.
Which, apparently, it was—for her.
Her hands tightened at her sides.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said quickly. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”
Florian studied her.
Most people filled silence when standing before him.
They spoke too much.
Explained too much.
Tried to repair impressions before they broke.
This girl did the opposite.
She looked like she wanted to disappear into the stone.
“I was not disturbed,” Florian said finally.
It was the truth.
At least partially.
She blinked, surprised by the response.
Then bowed again, lower this time.
“I will leave immediately.”
She turned too quickly again.
Still panicked.
Still not careful.
And that was when it happened—
She slipped.
Not fully this time.
Just enough to stagger.
Florian caught her wrist again without thinking.
A second time.
Her body stiffened instantly.
And for a brief moment—
Silence returned.
But this silence was different.
He could feel her pulse through his grip.
Fast.
Uneven.
Alive.
She looked up at him again, breath caught.
And Florian realized something irritating.
She was afraid of him.
Not in the usual way.
Not polite fear.
Not respectful caution.
Real fear.
Like he was something unpredictable.
Something she needed distance from.
That should not have mattered.
But it did.
For reasons he did not name.
“Let go,” she whispered quickly.
Not rude.
Not bold.
Just urgent.
Florian released her immediately.
Again.
She stepped back so fast she nearly stumbled over herself in her haste to escape.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated again, voice shaking slightly. “I’m really sorry.”
Then she turned and ran.
Actually ran.
Not walked.
Not hurried politely.
Ran.
Florian stood still as her footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Then faded.
And then—
Nothing.
Only silence again.
He remained where he was for a long time.
Long enough for it to become unnecessary.
Long enough for it to become noticeable, if anyone had been present.
But no one was.
Only stone.
Only light.
Only memory.
Florian looked down at his hand.
The one that had held her wrist.
He should not have remembered the feeling.
But he did.
Light.
Warm.
Real.
And worse—
Unfamiliar.
He frowned slightly.
Annoying.
That was the word he chose.
Because “unfamiliar” implied curiosity.
And curiosity led to distraction.
And distraction led to mistakes.
He did not make mistakes.
Still—
His mind returned to her face.
Golden eyes.
Freckles.
Pink lips parted in panic.
The way she had looked at him like distance was survival.
Not admiration.
Not ambition.
Survival.
Florian exhaled slowly.
Then turned away from the chapel.
He told himself he would forget her.
He told himself she was irrelevant.
A servant.
A brief interruption.
Nothing more.
But as he stepped back into the noise of the cathedral celebration, surrounded again by voices, expectations, and carefully arranged smiles—
He realized something he did not like at all.
He remembered her too clearly.
And that had never happened before.
- Writer
