Chapter 14 - The Art of the Getaway

                The fallout from the ‘Slap Heard Round the East Wing’ was swift and, frankly, hilarious. Romani had kept his word, scrubbing Elara and her brother from my sight as if they were a pair of stubborn ink stains.

                In their place, he had sent in the heavy artillery: Elizabeth.

                Elizabeth was Romani’s old nanny, a woman who looked like she was made of equal parts gingerbread and iron filings.

                “Honestly, dear, I’ve wanted to smack that girl since she was six and threw a tantrum over the color of her pony,” Elizabeth chirped. “You’ve done us all a service. Now, stand up straight. We have twelve centuries of history to cram into your head before tomorrow, and I refuse to let you walk into that ballroom looking like a lost puppy.”

                Training with Elizabeth was a whirlwind of dry wit and surprisingly practical advice.

                “When the King speaks to you,” she continued, adjusting the posture of my shoulders with a firm poke, “look him in the eye. He’s a wolf, Ana. If you look at your shoes, he’ll think you’re dinner. If you look at his forehead, he’ll think you’re a challenge. But if you look him in the eye with a bit of a smirk? He’ll respect the hell out of you even if he hates your guts.”

                I tried to hold back my laughter.

“Is that how you handled Romani?” I asked, trying to balance a heavy silver tray on one hand as instructed.

                “Romani was a terror,” she laughed. “Always running off to the woods, coming back covered in mud and claiming he’d found a dragon. He’s got his father’s temper and his mother’s pride, but he’s got a heart, that one. He’s quite smitten with you, you know. It’s making him clumsy. I haven’t seen him stumble over his own feet since he was twelve.”

                I managed a weak smile, but inside, my stomach was doing slow, anxious rolls.

                Smitten was dangerous. Smitten meant he wouldn't just be hurt when I left, he’d be humiliated.

                By the evening of the first day, I was exhausted, my brain a soup of genealogical charts and proper fork etiquette. Just as I was about to face-plant into my silk pillows, the door opened. Romani was leaning against the frame, looking unfairly handsome in a casual leather jacket, dangling a pair of keys from his finger.

                “Training's over for the night,” he said, his eyes dancing. “Let’s get out of here.”

                “Out? As in, outside the walls where I might actually breathe?”

                “Don’t tell my father,” he whispered, pulling me toward the private elevators. “He thinks we’re in here studying the trade routes of the Northern Territories.”

He led me to the sub-basement garage, which looked like the set of an action movie. Row after row of elegant, terrifyingly fast vehicles sat under glowing spotlights. He stopped in front of a low-slung, matte red sports car that looked more like a jet than a car.

                “A bit flashy, don't you think?” I teased as the engine roared to life, a deep, guttural sound that echoed in the concrete cavern.

                “It’s a Prince’s privilege to be flashy, Ana,” he countered, flooring it as we shot out of the Palace gates and into the crisp mountain air.

We tore through the Kingdom. Romani drove like he lived, with absolute, terrifying confidence. He took me to the highest overlook, where the entire valley was spread out like a map of his inheritance.

He killed the engine, the silence of the mountains rushing back in.

                “You’ve been quiet today,” he remarked, shifting in his seat to face me. He reached out, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. “Elizabeth says you’re a quick study, but I can feel you... pulling away.”

                “It’s a lot to take in, Romani,” I lied, my voice steady despite the guilt gnawing at me. “The ceremony, the people, the fact that I’m supposed to be a 'Crown Princess' by Saturday.”

                “I’ll be right there,” he promised, his voice dropping into that warm, romantic silk that usually made my knees weak. “I know the King and Queen are... a challenge. And Elara’s a nightmare. But you’re not doing this alone. When we’re on that dais, it’s just us. My wolf is already counting the seconds until the mark is official. I’m going to make sure you have everything you ever wanted. No more running. No more hiding.”

                “Everything I ever wanted,” I repeated softly. It sounded like a beautiful dream. It also sounded like a life sentence.

                He leaned in, kissing me softly, a slow, lingering heat that tasted of pine and power.

                For a second, just one second, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to say, ‘Romani, I’m a witch, and my blood is about to catch fire. I have to fly.’

                But I knew the look that would cross his face. The possessiveness, the protection that would turn into a cage.

                “I’m going to take care of you, Ana,” he whispered against my lips. “During the duties... all of it.”

                ‘He doesn't know,’ Era whimpered, touched by the Crown Prince’s romantic display. ‘He thinks he’s saving us.’

                ‘I know,’ I whispered back to her. ‘That’s why I have to go.’

                The next day was a frantic blur of silk and pins. Elizabeth had mobilized an army of seamstresses.

                “This one is for the Vows,” Elizabeth directed, holding up a gown of shimmering white lace that looked like it was woven from frost. “This one for the Reception, crimson to show the blood of the lineage. And this,” she held up a deep, midnight blue velvet piece, “is for the private dinner with the Majesties.”

                “And then?” I asked, eyeing the sheer volume of fabric.

                “And then,” Elizabeth said with a knowing, slightly scandalous wink, “you are escorted to Romani’s private chambers. The staff will be dismissed. The doors will be locked. You’ll stay there for the duration of the moon. It’s tradition. And, biologically speaking, you won’t want to be anywhere else. It’s going to be hot.”

                I looked at the massive, carved doors of the Royal bedchamber.

                 That was the destination. The place where my life as Ana would end and my life as a Royal Consort would begin.

                The second night arrived with a heavy, pregnant silence.

                The moon was nearly full, a giant silver eye peering over the mountain peaks. I could feel the hum in my bones now, a vibrating frequency that made my skin itch. The Heat was beginning to simmer, a low-grade fever that made my wolf restless.

                In the hallway, I could hear the rhythmic clink of the guards’ boots as they patrolled. I had watched their rotations for forty-eight hours. I knew the three-minute window when the balcony of the East Wing was unobserved.

                I moved through the shadows of my suite, my heart hammering against my ribs.

                I had changed into dark, durable leathers, no silk, no lace. I reached the back balcony and whispered the spell. Instantly my broom appeared, it was humble, made of ash and bound with copper wire, but the moment my fingers touched the wood, it sparked with a faint violet light.

‘Now?’ Era asked, her instinct warring between the urge to stay for the Alpha and the need to run for the Moon.

‘Now,’ I breathed.

                The wind was biting, smelling of snow and ancient magic. Below me, the Palace was a fortress of stone and light, a monument to a world that wanted to own me.

                I straddled the broom, the wood vibrating against my thighs. My magic surged, connecting with the elemental pull of the rising moon.

                “Sorry, Romani,” I whispered to the dark windows of his study. “But a witch doesn’t belong in a wolf’s den.”

                I kicked off.

                For a terrifying second, I plummeted toward the rocks below.

                Then, the magic caught.

                The broom lurched upward, slicing through the freezing air like an arrow. The Palace shrank beneath me, a dollhouse of grey stone.

                I was three thousand feet up, the wind screaming in my ears, the violet light of my magic trailing behind me like a comet’s tail.

                The Heat was still there, a fire in my blood, but the Flight was the air that let me breathe.

                I wasn't a Princess. I wasn't a mate.

                I was gone.