The palace burned behind her, flames licking hungrily at the night sky, casting an orange glow across the snow-covered grounds. Princess Elara stumbled through the forest, her silk gown torn and bloodied, her feet bare against the frozen earth. Each breath came in ragged gasps, her lungs burning from smoke and exertion.
The screams had finally stopped. That was somehow worse than the chaos that had preceded it.
She pressed her back against a gnarled oak, forcing herself to pause, to think. Her father was dead. Her mother. Her younger brother Castor, barely twelve years old. All of them, slaughtered by the very guards sworn to protect them. Lord Darius's coup had been swift and merciless.
Tears froze on her cheeks, but she didn't have time for grief. Not yet. Survival first, mourning later.
A twig snapped somewhere in the darkness.
Elara's hand flew to her waist, grasping for a weapon that wasn't there. Her heart hammered against her ribs as footsteps crunched through the snow, growing closer. She pressed herself tighter against the tree, willing herself to become invisible.
"I know you're here, Princess." A male voice, unfamiliar, neither cruel nor kind. "Your tracks are easy to follow in the snow."
She held her breath.
"I'm not with Darius," the voice continued. "If I were, you'd already be dead."
A figure emerged from between the trees, tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a dark cloak. In the dim light, she could make out strong features, a scarred jaw, eyes that seemed to assess her with the efficiency of a weapon master.
"Who are you?" Elara demanded, surprised by the steadiness in her voice.
"Someone who's been waiting a long time for this night," he said. "Though I hoped it would end differently. My name is Kieran. And if you want to live to see morning, Your Highness, you'll need to trust me."
"Trust?" She laughed bitterly. "I trusted the people who raised me. Who swore oaths to my family. And they murdered everyone I loved."
"Then don't trust me," Kieran said simply. "But run with me anyway. Because in about thirty seconds, Darius's men will arrive, and they won't be interested in conversation."
As if summoned by his words, torchlight flickered in the distance, accompanied by voices and the baying of hounds.
Elara looked at the stranger, then at the approaching lights. She had no weapon, no allies, no plan. Only two choices: certain death, or uncertain survival.
She chose to live.
"Lead the way," she whispered.
Kieran's mouth curved into something that might have been approval. He extended his hand.
Elara took it, and together they disappeared into the winter darkness, leaving behind the only home she'd ever known, now nothing more than ashes and embers against the night sky.