The courtyard had become a crucible of stone, smoke, and shattered resolve, and within it the fight dragged on far longer than Oscar's body had any right to endure.
Every step backward felt like a small surrender, every scrape of his boots against the courtyard stone a reminder that ground once held was now lost. Commander Cedric pressed him relentlessly, the bastard sword moving with disciplined inevitability, each strike measured and lethal in a way that spoke of years spent mastering violence as both art and duty. Oscar's knife flashed in response, fast and desperate, catching edges rather than centers, redirecting force instead of meeting it head-on, because meeting it head-on would mean death.
Steel rang again and again, sharp and echoing beneath the open sky, the sound slicing through the drifting haze that spilled from the palace doors behind them. Oscar's shoulder burned like it had been branded, every movement tugging at torn flesh, blood slickening his grip despite how tightly he clenched the knife. Small cuts bloomed across his arms and ribs, shallow but numerous, each one a reminder that Cedric was shaving him down piece by piece, testing patience, waiting for the inevitable opening.
Stephanie stood frozen at the edge of the fight, hands trembling as she watched the two figures circle and clash. Every time Oscar staggered, her heart lurched painfully, her breath catching as if she herself had been struck. Her mind raced uselessly, searching for something, anything, that she could do, but the space between intention and action felt impossibly wide.
Oscar ducked beneath a sweeping strike and managed a quick parry, the knife scraping hard along the flat of Cedric's blade. For one brief, dangerous moment, he thought he felt it, the rhythm beneath the commander's movements, the subtle pattern in the way Cedric shifted his weight before striking. Hope flared, sharp and reckless.
Then Cedric shattered it.
The knight commander pivoted smoothly, his sword hand pulling back just long enough to deliver a brutal backhand strike with the hilt. It connected with Oscar's face in a burst of blinding pain, snapping his head sideways and tearing the breath from his lungs. The impact ripped the mask from his face, sending it skidding across the stone as Oscar crashed to the ground in a heap.
Stars exploded behind his eyes. The world spun violently, the sky and courtyard smearing together into a nauseating blur. Blood filled his mouth, metallic and hot, dribbling from his split lip as he groaned and tried to orient himself. His head rang like a bell struck too hard, and for a terrifying second he could not remember where he was or why everything hurt so much.
" This is the end for you ,boy" Cedric said, his voice distant but clear, already advancing.
Oscar rolled onto his side, panic surging as he clawed weakly at the stone, fingers slipping in blood and dust. His thoughts fractured, spiraling inward in a flood of curses and disbelief.
Shit, shit, goddammit.
Is this really how it ends?
Here, on cold stone, bleeding out like an idiot?
Tears stung his eyes, blurring his vision further as fear finally broke through the wall of adrenaline. He sucked in a ragged breath, his chest tight as his body screamed for him to move faster than it could obey. His hands shook violently as he tried to push himself upright, limbs heavy and uncooperative.
Cedric loomed closer, sword lifting with finality, the blade catching the moonlight as he prepared the finishing strike. There was no hesitation in his posture, no doubt in his intent, only the clean certainty of a man carrying out an order.
Oscar's thoughts scattered wildly as the inevitability of it all crashed down on him. He thought of unfinished plans, of friends waiting somewhere beyond the palace walls, of strains he would never get the chance to try, of nights he had imagined stretching endlessly ahead. He thought of Stephanie, standing alone once he was gone, dragged back into a life she despised.
So this is it, he thought dimly.
Guess I'm not making it out after all.
He closed his eyes, jaw clenched tight as he braced for the strike, for the sudden, final pain that would end everything.
It never came.
Instead, a sharp, shattering crack tore through the night, loud and violent enough to jolt him out of his despair. Ceramic exploded somewhere nearby, the sound followed by a dull, stunned grunt.
Oscar's eyes flew open.
The courtyard scene had shifted into something surreal. Scattered across the stone beside him were jagged shards of a thick clay pot, soil spilled everywhere like dark blood, leaves crushed underfoot. A decorative plant that had once stood pristine around the courtyard now lay utterly destroyed.
A few feet away, Commander Cedric knelt heavily on one knee, his sword tip resting against the ground as he leaned on it for support. Blood trickled from a gash at his temple, his expression twisted with shock and disbelief.
And standing beside him, chest heaving, hands clenched tight around the remnants of courage she had just discovered, was Stephanie.
She stared at Cedric as if she herself could not quite believe what she had done.
Her heart hammered violently in her chest as realization caught up to action. She had grabbed the nearest thing she could find, a heavy clay pot meant for decoration, and smashed it down onto the commander's head with everything she had. The impact had staggered him, sending him to his knees long enough to break the rhythm of the fight.
Cedric looked up at her slowly, his eyes wide not with anger, but with something that cut far deeper.
Betrayal.
"Your Highness," he breathed, disbelief thick in his voice.
Stephanie's hands shook, but she did not step back. Instead, something hardened behind her eyes. She glanced quickly at Oscar, saw him still alive, still breathing, and whatever doubt remained inside her burned away.
Before Cedric could gather himself or speak another word, she seized another potted plant from beside the courtyard floor. This one was even heavier, its clay thick and solid, the weight dragging at her arms as she lifted it overhead with a strained cry.
"Stay down," she shouted, her voice cracking but fierce.
Cedric tried to rise, tried to say something, anything, but she brought the pot down hard before he could finish the thought. It shattered violently against his head, fragments flying outward as he collapsed fully onto the stone.
Stephanie did not stop.
With a desperate sob, she lifted what remained of the pot and struck him again, the final blow landing with a sickening thud. Cedric's body went slack, the bastard sword clattering from his grasp as unconsciousness claimed him.
Silence fell, heavy and unreal.
Stephanie stood over him for a long moment, chest rising and falling rapidly as she stared at what she had done. Her hair had come loose from its braid, strands clinging to her face with sweat and tears, her once-elegant appearance now a mess of dirt and desperation.
Then she exhaled, a long, shaking breath she felt deep in her bones.
Relief washed over her so strongly that her knees nearly buckled.
But there was no time to savor it.
She rushed to Oscar's side, sliding an arm beneath his shoulder and helping him sit up. "Are you okay?" she asked urgently, eyes scanning him for new wounds as her hands trembled.
Oscar laughed weakly, the sound dissolving into a pained wince as he shifted. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "I mean, I just got my ass handed to me, but I've had worse nights."
She huffed out something between a laugh and a sob. "You're impossible," she muttered.
"Thanks for the save," he added sincerely, meeting her gaze. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."
She shook her head, then sobered quickly as reality pressed back in. "What was the plan again?" she asked. "How are we getting out of here?"
Oscar's eyes flicked past her, through the drifting smoke and confusion of the courtyard, landing on something sleek and unmistakably out of place among the chaos. Even half-delirious with pain, his lips curved into a grin.
Using his injured arm, he lifted it weakly and pointed. "That," he said. "That's our golden ticket."
Stephanie followed his gaze and froze.
Parked just beyond the gathered carriages was Lord Caelum's Luxmotor, its polished body gleaming under the courtyard lights, angular and aggressive, like a predator waiting patiently to be unleashed.
Her eyes widened. "You're joking," she said. "Can you even operate that thing?"
Oscar's grin widened despite the pain. "I've read the manuals," he replied. "And articles. Plus I've dreamt about this moment, so I think I've got it."
She snorted despite herself, adrenaline bubbling into something dangerously close to excitement. "Reading and dreaming does not make you an experienced driver," she shot back. "And you're in no condition to drive anyway."
She straightened, chin lifting with a spark of defiance and nervous thrill in her eyes. "I'm driving," she declared smugly.
Oscar blinked at her, then laughed, the sound echoing faintly through the smoke-filled night as chaos continued to unravel around them.
For the first time since the palace doors had burst open, escape felt real.
And the night was not finished with them yet.