Despite the raging storm outside, Annelise Vandergeld was resolute. She would run away tonight.
She packed only a small suitcase—just enough to keep herself light and quick. Inside, she placed all the cash she had hidden in her vault, her cards, and a few pieces of valuable jewelry. Her fingers trembled slightly as she zipped the bag shut, the sound loud and final in the quiet of her chamber.
Fear gripped her, but so did resolve. Heart pounding, she moved to the door of her room, opening it ever so slowly. The old hinges creaked, and she winced, holding her breath. Nothing stirred. Carefully, she tiptoed into the long hallway she had known all her life, each step echoing with memories she was desperate to leave behind.
When she reached the grand staircase of the castle she had always called home, she froze. The flickering chandelier cast long shadows across the marble floor. For a moment, doubt clawed at her chest.
Can I really do this? she wondered. What if I regret it?
But then she remembered the silence, the cold rules, the walls that kept her gilded and caged. The palace may have been beautiful, but it had never felt like hers.
Annelise drew a deep breath. And then she chose herself.
That stormy night, the youngest princess of Alandra—third in line to the throne of the small western kingdom—ran. Not away, but toward freedom.