It started with a sharp, impatient knock.
Aren and Amira froze, their eyes locking across the small underground room. The air shifted, heavy with unspoken fear.
Before either of them could move, the door above slammed open. Heavy boots thundered down the stone steps, and a flood of armored guards poured into the room, swords drawn and eyes cold.
At their head stood the prince himself. Tall and draped in embroidered black and red robes, he wore a twisted smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze landed on Amira first, devouring her presence like a starving beast.
"There she is," he drawled, stepping forward. "The jungle's shining jewel."
Amira's hand tightened around her bow, but the prince snapped his fingers. Instantly, two guards seized her arms, wrenching the weapon away and pinning her wrists.
Aren watched, silent.
Amira turned to him, her eyes wide and desperate. "Aren," she breathed, her voice trembling. "Do something!"
For a split second, Aren's fingers twitched near his sword. His eyes flickered with something ;pain, anger, resolve. But then, slowly, he stepped back and raised his hands.
"Wait," he said, his voice calm but cold. "Take her. I care for my life. I don't want to die for some... jungle girl."
Amira's face crumbled. The prince laughed, his voice echoing cruelly against the stone walls.
"You see? Even your so-called hero knows when to bow to power," he sneered, gripping Amira's chin roughly. "You'll look perfect beside me at the royal feasts."
Aren didn't move. He kept his head bowed, eyes locked on the dusty floor.
The guards dragged Amira away. She didn't fight. Her strength had drained at Aren's words, replaced by an aching hollowness. As they forced her up the stairs, she looked back one last time.
He didn't look up.
...
The prince's carriage carried her through the village, villagers peeking from windows and market stalls, whispering in horror and confusion. Amira felt their eyes, felt every stare cut deep into her heart.
At the palace, she was handed over to the handmaidens. They stripped away her jungle leathers and dressed her in shimmering gold and emerald robes, draping heavy jewels around her neck and wrists. Her hair was combed and twisted into elaborate shapes, pinned with shining metal flowers.
She sat before a large mirror, but she didn't recognize the girl staring back.
One maid gently touched her shoulder. "Please, lady... don't fight. It is the prince's wish."
Amira didn't answer. Her mind spun. Betrayal. She heard Aren's voice in her head ,laughing, teasing ; but now it felt like poison.
And yet, another part of her clung to a thin thread of hope. No. He wouldn't leave me. He can't.
Back To Aren
Meanwhile, deep below his room, Aren sat alone.
His sword lay across his knees. He stared at it, eyes empty. Then slowly, he unfolded a worn scrap of parchment — an old, incomplete map of the palace.
He began to draw. Lines crisscrossed, arrows twisted through corridors. Every few minutes he muttered to himself. "East hall... no, too many guards. Kitchen passage... yes. Servants' stairs, hidden balcony..."
He sketched, erased, re-sketched. Sweat dripped down his brow, but he didn't move to wipe it. His entire world had shrunk to the map and her face.
"They think I'm a coward," he whispered to the empty room. "Good."
His hand clenched into a fist over the paper.
"They think I betrayed her. Even better."
He looked up, eyes burning with a wild, sharp fire.
"This isn't over. Not by a long shot."
In The Palace
In the palace, the prince strutted through his halls, gloating to his advisors. He spoke of a new age, how Amira's beauty would secure his power, how she would be the perfect ornament at his side.
Amira sat in silence, her hands resting in her lap. Every so often, her eyes closed, and she breathed slow, careful breaths. She tried to remember the jungle wind, the smell of moss, Aren's dumb jokes.
Somewhere in the depths of that palace, she knew he was coming.
BACK TO AREN
Back in the underground room, Aren finally stood. He pulled on his cloak, strapped his sword to his back, and tucked a small dagger into his boot.
He glanced once more at the maps, then at the empty space where she had stood beside him just a day before.
With one last deep breath, he turned toward the stairway.
"They want a show," he murmured, lips curling into a dangerous smile. "Then let's give them one they'll never forget."
He blew out the lanterns, and in that final moment of darkness, only his bright eyes glimmered ;sharp, alive, unstoppable..
"I'll Come for you "..