The knock had barely rattled her door when Captain Arven gave the order outside.
"Seize her."
Another hammering strike shook the frame.
Suzan snorted, grabbed her bread, and sauntered toward the door. "Maybe she wants help cleaning again. Poor Lily—forever the broom, never the glory. But I didn't invite anyone to a party this early! Rude guests."
She giggled at her own joke and flung the door open.
And froze.
A whole squad of armored guards stood outside, sunlight gleaming off polished steel. Their tabards bore the kingdom's crest: the Crown Guard. At their head, a man with graying temples, hawk-like eyes, and an aura of authority stepped forward.
"By the order of the Crown Guard," Captain Arven declared, his voice carrying like a gavel strike, "you are under arrest."
Suzan blinked once. Twice. Then her lips stretched into a grin.
"Oh my," she drawled, dramatically pressing a hand to her chest. "Am I that popular? What's my crime—being the cutest girl in the capital?"
No one laughed.
Arven said flatley, his voice cold and certain, "you are under arrest for the theft of the royal relic. Surrender peacefully."
Suzan tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief. "Theft? Me? Why would I even care to do something like that? And if I did," she added, skipping backward into her kitchen, "I'd do a much better job."
"Girl." Arven's voice tightened. "Enough games. Come quietly."
She sat back down, picked up her slice of bread, and took a deliberate bite. "Why should I surrender? The only thing I've stolen today is breakfast."
"Get her."
The guards surged forward. But Suzan didn't flinch. She leapt sideways, faster than any child her age had a right to move. A gauntleted hand swept past empty air.
"You wanna play with me today?" she crowed, springing to her feet, squealing with happiness. She hurled her crust like a missile at the next guard, who flinched as crumbs scattered across his visor.
Laughing like a child at a fair, Suzan bolted for the window. With one nimble leap she was out, landing catlike on the cobblestones outside. She spun, hands on her hips, green eyes glittering.
"Catch me if you can!"
"After her!" Arven thundered.
The street exploded into chaos.
Suzan darted through the capital like a bird too quick to cage. She vaulted barrels, skipped across market stalls, and swung from hanging laundry with acrobat's grace. Every time a guard lunged, her body bent at impossible angles, their hands closing on air just a hair's breadth from her tunic.
"Missed again!" she cried gleefully, sticking her tongue out before vanishing into the next alley.
The Crown Guard were no ordinary city watch. These were the kingdom's best—trained to hunt criminals across walls, rooftops, and crowded squares. Their formation was tight, their pursuit relentless. But nothing in their training had prepared them for this.
One veteran swore under his breath after nearly crashing into a fruit cart. "She's not human."
A rain of oranges followed him down the cobblestones like cannon fire.
"Saints preserve us—she's a demon!" someone yelled.
"I'm a champion!" Suzan crowed back, darting around a bewildered goat. The animal bleated and joined the chase, adding to the absurdity.
"She's a child," another panted.
"Children don't move like that."
"Careful—she's baiting us."
But Suzan only laughed, the sound bright and maddening. To her, it wasn't arrest—it was the best game of tag she'd ever played. And she was winning, "Come on, shiny tin cans! Keep up!"
Twice, guards cornered her against walls only for her to flip neatly between them. Once, Arven himself almost had her, fingers brushing her sleeve—only for her to twist mid-air and land on his shoulders before springing off again, laughing so hard she nearly lost her balance.
A few passersby actually clapped.
Even the seasoned soldiers found themselves glancing at each other, breathless and wide-eyed, silently asking: What is she?
"Too slow!" she sang out, her voice carrying mockingly. "Are you sure you're not trainees?"
Her joy was infectious—her laughter trilled like bells, her face lit with childlike glee.
Still, they didn't relent. The Crown Guard did not give up.
They burst into the main street, their boots clattering in rhythm. Shoppers scattered; fabric stalls toppled as the chase wound through the square.
That was when it happened—
A sudden boom shattered the air.
Arven's head whipped around toward the distant roar. Smoke rose near the noble quarter, curling darkly into the sky.
"What was that?" a soldier shouted.
"Fire! Carriage fire!" another cried.
Arven didn't slow. "You—take two men. Check it. Report back."
The chosen guards broke off instantly, sprinting toward the smoke as the others pressed on.
Unseen by them, in the chaos of the explosion, a cloaked figure slipped down an alleyway, the edge of his dark mantle fluttering once before he vanished into the crowd—quiet laughter trailing behind.
By noon, sweat beaded on Suzan's brow. She was still running, though her grin had dulled into panting giggles. She ducked into a shaded square, grinning. "Not bad," she murmured to herself. "But they're still not as fun as Lily." She snatched a sip from a public fountain, wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and bounded off again.
But the guards, though weary, adapted. Arven's jaw tightened. "This ends now. She'll run us in circles until dusk."
He signaled. The squad fanned out. One soldier hurled a long metal rod forward—its tip glowing faintly with runes. It struck the ground and crackled alive, an electric trap.
Suzan didn't see it in time, dashed forward—too focused on her taunts to notice.
Her foot caught the rod. A spark leapt, and agony ripped through her small frame.
"AAAAAH!"
Her scream echoed off stone walls. Her body convulsed, twitching under the electric current, before crumpling to the ground.
She lifted her head weakly, lips trembling into a faint smirk. "Th-this… is… cheating…" Then she slumped, unconscious.
The square fell silent.
Some guards stared, horrified, at the small figure lying limp on the cobblestones. Her chest still rose and fell, but her twitching frame burned itself into their eyes.
"She's just a child…" one muttered, voice thick regretting what anger made them do.
Another knelt, guilt etched into every line of his face. "Captain, we used battlefield measures on her. That was—"
"Enough." Arven cut him off, but his voice lacked its usual iron. He crouched beside Suzan, pressing two fingers to her neck. The pulse was steady. Relief flickered across his stern features.
"She lives," he said firmly. "Treat her injuries once she's secured in the cells. No lasting harm must come to her."
One exhaled audibly, lowering his weapon.
The words lifted a heavy weight from the men. Several sighed in quiet relief. Some even murmured, "Thank the stars."
Arven pulled a water flask from his belt and carefully tipped a drop onto her lips. Her eyelids fluttered faintly, but she didn't wake.
"She'll be stable," Arven said, masking the conflict in his voice with clipped command. "Bind her. But carefully."
The guards obeyed, more tenderly than before. They carried her as though she might break, their guilt pressing heavier than her weight. None spoke of the rod again.
Still, as they bound her wrists and ankles—tighter this time, afraid she'd bolt even in sleep—every man felt the tremor of unease. They had chased criminals, killers, smugglers, but never a girl who laughed as though the whole world was a game.
And never one who made them feel like the villains.
Then came the sound of boots—two of the scouts returning from the noble quarter, breath ragged, faces pale.
"Sir," one said, "the blast was deliberate. A carriage destroyed—Lord Fenton's. They found her smoke shell, marked the same as the others. Witnesses claim she fled that way."
Arven's brow furrowed. "That way?" He pointed sharply—toward the northern market road. "She was with us by then."
The men hesitated. "The time lines… conflict, sir. But the reports all say the same. Her shell, her trail, her grudge."
Arven's gaze hardened, a storm brewing behind his eyes. "Too neat," he murmured. "Too convenient."
He dismissed the scouts and stood silent for a long moment.
"Captain?" a sergeant ventured.
Arven's reply was low, almost to himself. "If she's being framed… then someone's writing a story they want us to believe."
He turned toward the castle walls, his expression unreadable. "And I intend to find the author. We might yet get our answers from her."
For the briefest moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his eyes — the smallest thought he refused to entertain: why was she always at the center of it all? The doubt lingered, then hardened away as quickly as it came, buried beneath command and duty.
By the time Suzan stirred awake, she was lying on a hard cot in the dim prison ward. Iron bars separated her from the rest of the world. Shackles weighed heavy on her small wrists, their edges biting faintly into her skin.
For a heartbeat, fear coiled cold in her chest. Why am I here? I didn't do anything. What's happening? Why me?
But then she heard the scrape of a guard's boot nearby, and her facade slipped back into place. Mischief over fear. Smiles over panic.
"Oh, good!" she chirped, sitting up with a grin. "Breakfast in bed, I assume?"
The guard flinched, then chuckled despite himself. "You're incorrigible."
"That's a big word. Did you just make it up to impress me?"
Another guard snorted. "You nearly made us run the entire city ragged, girl. My legs are ruined."
Suzan clasped her hands dramatically. "Aw, poor tin cans. If you'd asked nicely, I'd have slowed down. Maybe."
Laughter rippled despite their attempts to stay stoic.
She leaned against the bars, lowering her voice in mock conspiracy. "Tell you what. You open this door, and I promise not to escape."
"Nice try, cutie," one said, shaking his head. "We're not that foolish."
"Shame," she sighed, flopping back onto her cot. "Would've been fun."
But inside, her grin faltered. Fear still gnawed, cold and sharp, at the edges of her heart. Why me? Why are they treating me like some great criminal?
She hid it well—because she knew if she let them see her tremble, they'd only believe she was guilty. So she laughed, teased, joked.
By the time the torches dimmed and midnight crept over the dungeon, the atmosphere had shifted.
She wasn't just a prisoner anymore—she was Suzan, the impossible girl who could make even Crown Guards laugh in the middle of their shifts, even though the guards rolled their eyes, a few found their lips twitching despite themselves. Even Arven, watching from a distance, felt that strange unease twist again, but smiled at her antics and ridiculous banter.
And all of them were quietly relieved to see her alive and well.
Still, when the laughter faded and silence settled, she curled up on the thin cot, staring at the ceiling.
Her grin slipped away.
Why am I here?
The thought clawed at her chest. She hadn't done anything. And yet, tomorrow, she knew the real questions would begin—the kind no amount of joking could dodge.
She hugged her knees, whispering into the dark, "I didn't do it."
But no one was there to hear her.
The next morning, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall.
"Prisoner," a voice barked. "On your feet."
Suzan stretched lazily, yawning. "Breakfast in bed would've been nice first. But fine, lead the way, gentlemen."
They shackled her wrists and ankles tighter than before, forming a protective circle as they escorted her out.
Crowds had gathered. Whispers followed them through the streets.
"That's her."
"The girl who outran the Crown Guard."
"Look at her—so small…"
The guards kept her hidden in the middle of their formation, shields raised partly for her protection, partly to make sure she couldn't bolt out. Suzan caught their glances, the way some bit their lips at the raw marks on her wrists where yesterday's chains had scraped her skin.
One veteran leaned close and muttered, almost apologetically, "Stay in the middle, girl."
Suzan looked up at him, mischief sparking in her eyes. "Oh? Protecting me from the adoring fans? How thoughtful."
None answered. But she noticed how tightly they guarded her—how their formation shielded her from too many eyes. And she understood. They weren't only keeping her from running. They were protecting her dignity.
None of them said it aloud, but she could feel it: many of the guards didn't believe she belonged here. They marched her forward because duty demanded it, but their hearts whispered otherwise.
And yet, the chains remained. The kingdom demanded this march.
Finally, the great doors loomed ahead. The Tribunal Hall.
Inside, Suzan blinked at the sea of faces: nobles, officials, armored soldiers, and commoners spilling into the balconies. All eyes on her.
She grinned wide, masking the pounding of her heart. "Well," she declared, bowing theatrically, "this is quite the welcome party. Did someone finally recognize my talent?"
Captain Arven stepped forward, eyes sharp as a blade. "Suzan. Today, you answer for the theft of the relic."
Suzan raised her chin, green eyes sparkling with mock defiance, even as her pulse thundered in her ears.
For the first time, she wasn't playing her own game.
The kingdom was playing hers.
And she had no idea what the next move would be