THREE
I didn’t run.
Not that day.
Not the next.
I stayed.
And that, I quickly learned, was the most dangerous choice of all.
I forced myself to breathe through the panic that still sat like a blade under my ribs and did what survival had taught long ago—I perford. I smoothed my face, softened my eyes, and let the fear drain from my posture until I looked like the sa tired, grateful daughter they all expected to be.
When the servants returned, I let them in.
I let them bathe , dress , brush my hair until it fell in gentle waves down my back. I smiled when they complinted my glow. I laughed softly when one of them said pregnancy suited .
All the while, I watched.
I watched who spoke first when instructions were given and who waited for permission.
I watched who avoided my eyes when my father’s na was ntioned.
Fear wore many faces here.
So hid it behind obedience.
Others behind devotion.
I noticed how information moved.
Quiet murmurs passed from one servant to another, always upward, never sideways.
I noticed how quickly conversations ended when guards approached.
How doors were never quite left open unless they were ant to be overheard.
This wasn’t a ho.
It was a system.
When my father sent word asking how I felt, I replied just as carefully.
Weak.
Still shaken.
Grateful for his concern.
I let myself be seen resting, reclining on cushions with my hand over my belly, playing the part of a woman too fragile to question anything. When training was ntioned, I smiled apologetically and said perhaps in a day or two once my strength returned.
Inside, I rehearsed my lies like prayers.
I’m tired.
I’m dizzy.
The baby needs rest.
I repeated them until they sounded natural even to my own ears.
But at night, when the castle quieted and the lamps dimd, I beca sothing else entirely.
I listened.
I pressed my ear to doors, lingered in corridors longer than necessary, learned which staircases echoed and which swallowed sound. I learned which guards rotated at which hours, which ones grew lax near dawn, which ones never did.
I started asking questions but never the dangerous ones.
Not directly.
Instead, I asked about supplies going missing. About patrols changing routes. About disturbances beyond the outer grounds. I let curiosity mask intent.
"Are things safe outside the walls?" I asked one maid casually while she folded linens.
She stiffened. "Of course, my lady."
Too quickly.
Another ti, while a servant poured tea, I asked, "Do the rebels really co this close?"
The cup rattled faintly against its saucer.
"I wouldn’t know," she said, eyes fixed firmly on the table. "That’s not sothing we’re told."
That was answer enough.
I asked about Sofia once, only once.
I frad it gently, as if rembering a passing face.
"There was a maid," I said lightly, adjusting the blanket over my knees. "Dark hair. Quiet. I thought she helped the other night."
The servant’s smile froze.
"There are many maids," she said carefully. "Perhaps you’re mistaken."
I didn’t press.
I couldn’t.
Because every ti I drifted too close to the truth, the castle seed to tighten around .
Guards appeared where there had been none monts before. Servants beca suddenly busy. Doors that had once been unlocked were now barred.
They were watching.
That was when it truly sank in.
This place didn’t just protect.
It contained.
And still, every night, I watched the window.
I waited.
For the fireflies.
They never ca.
Night after night passed in quiet disappointnt.
I would sit by the window long after the castle slept, my palm resting on the cool glass, searching the dark for even a single flicker of light.
Nothing.
No glow.
No movent.
No whisper of guidance.
I began to wonder if they had been a one ti miracle. Or worse
if I had imagined them entirely.
Hope thinned, stretched fragile.
If I couldn’t find the rebels, I couldn’t find Maelis.
If I couldn’t find Maelis, I couldn’t find the truth.
And if I couldn’t find the truth...
I was trapped.
The realization sat heavy in my chest, making it hard to breathe so nights.
I thought of my mother’s voice, telling to reach out to bale and trust him.
But how?
I couldn’t leave.
I couldn’t ask.
And I couldn’t risk another disappearance—not now that I knew how quickly punishnt followed suspicion.
So nights, exhaustion won. I would fall asleep with my hand over my belly, whispering apologies to my child for the uncertainty I had brought them into.
"I’ll get us out," I promised again and again. "I just need to know how."
Days passed.
Too many.
Then, on a night when I had nearly convinced myself to abandon hope altogether, it happened.
I was standing by the window, staring out at the empty grounds, preparing myself for another night of nothing when a flicker caught my eye.
I froze.
There.
Just beyond the glass.
A single point of light.
Then another.
Then several.
Fireflies.
My breath hitched so sharply it hurt.
They hovered near the window, pulsing softly, brighter than before, their glow steady and insistent as if they had been waiting for to notice.
My heart began to race.
They were back.
I glanced over my shoulder instinctively, scanning the room for any sign of watchers. The door was closed. The corridor outside silent.
Slowly, carefully, I stepped closer to the window.
The fireflies drifted downward, moving with purpose now, trailing toward the edge of the grounds.
Co.
The ssage wasn’t spoken but it was clear.
My hand slid to my belly, fingers trembling.
Fear surged.
But beneath it, sothing else stirred.
Resolve.
This wasn’t coincidence.
This wasn’t imagination.
This was a second chance.
And I knew, with sudden clarity, that if I didn’t take it now, if I hesitated again, I might never get another.
I turned away from the window and crossed the room, moving with quiet urgency.
This was my escape
User Comments
0 comments from readers