Part V: The Escape
Whispers passed like wind over dry leaves.
"It's the Princess."
At the sound, both Alexander and Asura instinctively eased their hands away from their hilts, standing straighter, a rare note of respect overtaking their posturing.
Abigail stepped forward confidently, her presence commanding the silent path the knights made for her.
Without a glance toward Asura, she addressed Alexander sharply, her voice cutting through the heavy stillness.
"What is taking so long, Alexander? I thought you would be done by now."
Her tone was cool, calm, but carried an edge that brooked no argument.
With deliberate grace, she closed the distance to stand beside her brother, eyes narrowing as they swept over Asura.
She assessed the man before speaking again.
"Captain of the Dark Knights, Asura, I presume we have never had the pleasure to meet.
I am Princess Abigail, twin sister to Alexander here.
I would like to know—why do you seek to cut off the hand of one of our guards?"
Asura bowed his head slightly, his voice lowered and respectful—a stark contrast to the curt, almost equal tone he had used with Alexander.
"Your Majesty, I have been informed that the guard has been whispering words that could doom us all by nightfall. I urge you to allow me to complete my mission and punish him for using the Death Language."
Alexander's eyes flickered with bitter resentment toward the Dark Knights. He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his skin, drawing blood—each drop a silent testament to the fury and humiliation burning inside him.
The difference in Asura's tone was a sharp sting, a reminder of the gulf that separated him from his sister, even here, in front of all.
Abigail caught the flicker of rage in her brother's eyes and moved to ease the tension, as she often did. She was about to give the order to Asura to sever the guard's hand when a thought struck her—sharp and sudden.
What slave would possess knowledge of the Death Language? Even if it was nothing more than myth, it wasn't something commonly known among the empire's common folk. And why report it directly to the Dark Knights and not the regular guards?
It was almost as if the slave had anticipated this outcome—a calculated stalemate, buying time.
At first, she suspected vendetta—someone punished by this guard seeking revenge.
But then a colder, more terrifying realization settled in: Were three guards truly enough to protect Nex and Actaeon?
Nex was the finest swordsman she had faced seriously in a duel, aside from Crown Prince Damon, and Actaeon was one of the most skilled archers in the empire, with the eye of an experienced hunter.
With a steady voice masking her racing mind, she asked, almost knowing the answer but needing to hear it aloud.
"Was it someone with golden-brown hair? Young-looking, blue eyes?
Asura's expression shifted—surprised by her specificity.
"Yes, Your Imperial Highness."
The words struck Abigail like a blow, but her face stayed neutral.
Her carefully constructed plan, her political maneuvering, her attempts to salvage something from disaster—all crumbled.
More than that, she realized with growing horror she'd been outplayed. Again.
Cold certainty settled in her stomach.
This wasn't coincidence. The timing was too perfect—he had orchestrated this.
"Cut off his hand, or let him do it, Alex," she said without looking away, rushing toward the lake.
Her voice held a desperate urgency neither man had heard before.
""Where are you going now, Abigail?" Alexander called after her, but she was already disappearing into the tree line.
As Abigail raced through the forest...
The forest closed around her as she ran—branches snagging clothes and hair.
Every step took her closer to a confrontation she dreaded but knew was inevitable.
Breath came in sharp puffs in the cold morning air as her mind churned with implications.
Her boots slipped slightly on damp forest floor near the lake's bend. But something stopped her. A thought. A truth.
He would never leave Tazan behind. More importantly—he would never abandon the infant.
She froze, breath caught in her throat.
Her heart lurched.
She spun toward her guards, grabbing one by the collar. Her voice was sharp, deadly.
"You two—go back. Find Tazan. Find the infant. DO NOT let them out of your sight."
The guards blinked, confused. "But, Your Highness, we are your guards. We're assigned to protect—"
She shoved him back a step, eyes wild with fury and fear. "I GAVE YOU ORDERS. OBEY THEM. Now MOVE!"
The men hesitated no longer. They sprinted back to camp, soldiers who knew their princess no longer guessed—she knew.
Abigail turned back to the trees.
"Guards! GUARDS! RESPOND TO ME!" she called, pushing through the final branches.
Silence greeted her—complete, absolute. No response, no movement, no signs of life. The scene awaiting her was painted in crimson and steel.
The massacre at the lake...
The first guard—the one who spat at northern prisoners—lay twisted against a tree.
An arrow pierced his throat; the fletching quivered where it tore through chainmail.
His eyes bulged in shock, dark blood pooling beneath him, freezing in the morning frost.
The second guard had drawn his sword before dying.
The blade rested inches from outstretched fingers, catching the pale sky.
The arrow that killed him slipped between helmet and gorget, iron tip emerging from the back of his neck.
The third—the one who delighted in whipping prisoners—had tried to flee.
Two arrows shattered his ankles, sending him sprawling face-first into mud.
While he writhed, a final arrow split his skull between the eyes, embedding so deep only the fletching remained visible.
The bodies told a brutal truth: no struggle, no defense—only a hunter striking from the shadows with deadly precision.
""Damn! How did they kill all three of you—useless fools?" Abigail kicked the nearest corpse. Her boot connected with ribs that cracked wetly.
Fury flared inside her, but her mind sharpened, dissecting the scene with the cold efficiency that had made her dangerous.
She forced herself to breathe, then scanned for tracks. Near the lake, mud coated the shores—there was no way Nex and Actaeon could have moved without leaving traces.
Her eyes swept the ground, methodical and calm.
She found what she sought: footprints heading south toward Lumen, clear and undeniable between trees and bushes.
Yet a chill, deeper than the morning air's bite, crawled down her spine.
But it was too perfectly expected.
Nex had shown cunning during their duel. Actaeon was an expert hunter, able to track through terrain that would confuse bloodhounds.
They wouldn't leave their trail in plain sight.
Her gaze lingered on the southern footprints for a moment.
Then, she shifted her attention northwest.
Minutes later, she uncovered a second set of footprints—
carefully hidden beneath scattered leaves and broken branches.
A double deception.
ranches cracked behind her. Alexander emerged from the bushes, his face and Imperial uniform splattered with dark blood. His two-handed sword gleamed, fresh crimson dripping slowly from its edge. Each drop fell deliberately onto the frost-hardened forest floor.
"Where is he?" Alexander's voice trembled beneath the fury, barely controlled but edged with desperation.
"He's heading northwest. There's a trail we should follow—"
"I told you not to leave him alone, didn't I?" His words snapped like a whip, frustration breaking free. Rarely did he lose his temper with Abigail, but this was different. This was Nex—the threat that clawed at his deepest fears.
The forest seemed to hold its breath. The cold air bit at their skin as Alexander's anger settled like a heavy weight. His sword dripped steadily, an ominous heartbeat in the silence.
Abigail's eyes widened, panic flickering behind her calm exterior. "Now's not the time, Alex. We still have Tazan and the infant. We should—"
She cut herself off, noticing the Imperial Guards standing silently behind Alexander—the same guards she'd sent to secure Tazan and the infant. Their empty hands and downcast eyes told the grim truth.
"Where's Tazan?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with dawning horror. Every searching glance from the guards spoke volumes. No sign. No trace.
Silence pressed in, unyielding.
"I told you to kill him," Alexander bellowed, fury exploding through the trees. "But you wanted to sell him for some mercy you thought you could buy. Now we're doomed—executed by the Emperor."
His words cut deep, exposing the chasm between them. Alexander favored ruthless finality; Abigail clung to opportunity, desperate to bend chaos to their will.
"You think too much," Alexander muttered, frustration giving way to a flicker of vulnerability. His voice cracked almost imperceptibly. "If we lose you... I don't know what I'd do."
Abigail's narrowed eyes softened for a moment, guilt weaving beneath her resolve. She stepped closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a fragile secret. "I'm trying to protect us both. But sometimes I feel I'm carrying more than I should—making decisions for both of us because you don't."
Her breath misted in the chill air as she glanced away, the weight of her control settling uneasily on her shoulders.
Alexander looked down, anger fading into shame. "I don't want you to bear it alone."
The morning's silence was broken only by distant birdsong—a sharp contrast to the turmoil beneath the siblings' strained words.
Abigail gestured toward the bloodstained clearing, her voice steady despite the ache beneath. "Lumen was our way in—their nobles hold the leverage we need. The High Knights could have swayed the West to our side."
Alexander's jaw tightened, his voice clipped. "But now? We have nothing. No leverage. No reason for anyone to choose us."
Her gaze hardened, a flicker of cold calculation beneath exhaustion. "I carry that burden because I can't afford for us to fall apart. Not now."
For a long moment, they stood suspended—two halves of a broken whole, tangled in years of love, resentment, and unspoken fears.
Abigail's voice dropped to a whisper, softening the distance between them. "Promise me, Alex."
The words wrenched him back eleven years.
He was five, knees tucked beneath a threadbare blanket, cheeks damp with tears. Outside, a storm raged—an end to the world in a child's eyes. Abigail had crept in with a candle and a worn storybook: The Prince and the Fox.
Her voice had been shaky, but steady enough to anchor him. When the prince outsmarted monsters, Alexander had smiled through tears.
"Promise you will always be by my side, Abigail."
"You don't have to be afraid," she whispered, brushing back his hair. "I'll always be here. Always."
He had believed her then.
Back in the present, Alexander's voice was thick with years of frustration and fear. "You think too much. We should have just killed him. Dead princes tell no tales."
"And lose the Western nobles? That would lose us the throne, you ignorant buffoon."
The silence between them brimmed with tension, bitter love, and the heavy cost of secrets.
Since Lucy had cared for them, they'd been anchors to each other—constants in a sea of shifting alliances and deadly politics. Alexander protected Abigail. Abigail guided Alexander. But Nex poisoned that bond.
Alexander saw her as a schemer who overthought everything until plans unraveled. Abigail saw him as blunt, ruled too much by emotion to make the hard choices survival demanded.
Yet beneath it all, neither could speak the bitter truth: Nex was still the boy Lucy loved—something neither sibling could ever be.
"Fine," Alexander said, voice tight but with a quiet edge of pleading. "But don't follow the trail of wild pigs." He knew exactly how to wound her—her fear of being outsmarted.
They stood for a moment longer—two siblings once inseparable, fractured by ambition, fear, and a brother they both resented for different reasons.
Abigail broke away, running along the hidden trail. Alexander headed north with his guards.
Neither noticed the deeper cost their hatred of Nex had wrought—not just the throne, but their bond.
Earlier that same morning, while the camp slept…
Hours earlier, while the camp slept and plans took shape, Tazan moved to the storage tent as instructed and hid there. The baby was easier to carry than expected—her wide eyes calm, sensing the need for silence as she nestled in his massive arms.
The storage tent was perfect: large enough to hide in, filled with supplies that muffled sound, and rarely visited except for scheduled checks. Tazan crouched behind barrels and crates, following Nex's mud-written instructions, waiting for chaos to signal their move.
The baby slept peacefully, waking only to Tazan's quiet offering of food and water—cached in advance. Every detail planned with ruthless care.
Alexander was told by the two slaves that Tazan fled north on horseback. The truth was simpler: Nex and Actaeon had orchestrated the deception, buying cooperation from the slaves with a promise of justice—the guard who'd tortured them died painfully, his fate carved with surgical precision.
As horses thudded north and search parties spread east and west, Tazan smiled down at the infant. For the first time in months, something like hope stirred.
The meeting point was a village northeast of Lumen, where he'd rendezvous with Actaeon before heading to the city to find Nex. The prince had gone ahead alone, seeking allies among the High Knights—the only force strong enough to escort a lost prince safely back to the capital.
It was a desperate plan, full of risks and fragility. But still better than the alternative.
They had always been prisoners of what others saw in them—monster, curse, disgrace. Now, for the first time, they could define themselves.
The baby gurgled softly. Tazan's smile widened. Whatever came next, she would never know chains.