Martin's soft voice hung in the air like a blade waiting to fall.
I tightened my grip on Caleb's hand. His fingers were cold and trembling, but I did not let go. I would not let go. Not now. Not ever.
"We are leaving," I said. My own voice surprised me – steady, clear, carrying none of the fear that hammered in my chest. It was as if someone else was speaking through me, someone braver than I had ever been.
Martin's thin lips curled into a sneer. "Leaving? And where, pray tell, do you think you are going, my lord?"
"To Larkin. With my husband." I lifted my chin. The black velvet collar was gone – Gideon had removed it the night before – but the mark on my neck throbbed beneath my tunic, a constant reminder that I was no longer just the unwanted second prince. I was the consort of Duke Gideon Voss, Lord of the Northern Marches. "Caleb is coming with me."
Martin's eyes flicked to Caleb, then back to me. "That servant belongs to Valerion. You cannot simply take him. And I doubt the Larkins would want some nameless servant cluttering their household."
"I can. My husband has given his permission."
"Has he?" Martin took a step closer. His shadow stretched across the stone floor, long and thin, like a finger pointing at my guilt. "And who do you think will stop me if I say no? The guards at the end of the corridor answer to the king, not to some foreign alpha."
I felt Caleb flinch beside me. The guards. Two of them, hands on their swords, watching from the far end of the hallway. If Martin called out, they would come. And I had no weapon, no true authority here. I was still in Valerion. Still surrounded by people who had tormented me for years.
But I was not the same boy who had cowered in corners, who had taken their blows in silence, who had wept into his pillow and wished for death. I had survived them. And I would not let them take Caleb from me.
"Then call them," I said quietly.
Martin blinked. "What?"
"Call the guards." I met the butler's cold eyes and did not look away. "Summon them. Tell them that the second prince is stealing a servant. And then explain to the king why you delayed the departure of the Larkin delegation. Explain to him why the alliance – the peace treaty – is now in jeopardy because you wanted to keep one servant from leaving."
Martin's face tightened. A muscle jumped in his jaw. I could see him calculating, weighing his options. He had always been a coward at heart, bullying those who could not fight back. But now I could careless, I wasn't a part of Valerion anymore.
"We all know how brutal the king of Larkin is," I pressed on, my voice growing stronger. "Go on. Stop us. Cause a scene. And watch how Father gives you to the king of Larkin as a peace offering to save his own skin."
"You insolent brat!" Martin shouted. He marched toward me, his face red with fury.
Beside me, Caleb tugged at my sleeve. "My lord," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Please –"
But I did not step back. I stood my ground, even as Martin's shadow fell over me, even as his sour breath washed across my face. My heart was pounding, but I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
"What are you going to do?" I asked, my voice low and steady. "Hit me? I think the delegates from Larkin would love to know that even a mere servant can strike the second prince. Imagine the scandal."
Martin's hand clenched into a fist at his side. I could see the violence in his eyes, the urge to hurt me as he had done so many times before. But he did not strike. He could not. The consequences were too great.
"You..!" He pointed a finger at me, his whole body trembling with rage.
"This would be the perfect gossip for them," I added, tilting my head. "How the prince that was given to Larkin is treated no better than a servant in his own home. How the king of Valerion allows his staff to beat his children. I am certain the Larkin court would be most interested to hear such tales."
Martin said nothing. He simply glared at me, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with hatred. I could see him wanting to beat me, to have me whipped with a cane as he had done when I was younger. But those days were over.
The silence stretched between us. Caleb's hand trembled harder in mine, but I did not let go. I would never let go.
Then Martin stepped back.
His expression did not change – the contempt was still there, buried beneath a mask of cold civility – but he stepped back. He looked at me for a long moment, as if seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. Perhaps the cowering boy he had tormented had finally vanished, replaced by someone he did not recognise.
Then his gaze shifted to Caleb.
"You," Martin said, his voice flat. "If you leave this palace, you will never return. Do you understand? You will have no home here. No position. No references. You will be nothing. Are you certain you wish to leave?"
Caleb's voice was small but steady. "Yes."
Martin's lip curled. He looked at me one last time, then back at Caleb.
"Fool," he spat.
Caleb cowered, pressing closer to my side. He was terrified that Martin would hit him, or hit me. But I watched Martin with cold eyes, refusing to step back, refusing to show any weakness. I wondered how long this standoff would continue.
Then, finally, Martin turned.
He walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. The guards at the end watched him approach, then fell into step behind him. Within moments, the hallway was empty.
I did not move. I stood frozen, Caleb's hand still clutched in mine, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. The silence was deafening.
"Come," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Before he sends someone else."
We ran.
The corridors blurred past – familiar stone walls, familiar torches, familiar doors that had once been the boundaries of our world. I pulled Caleb around corners and down staircases, the wooden box banging against my hip. We did not stop. We did not look back. My lungs burned. My legs ached. But I did not slow.
When we burst into the courtyard, the morning light was blinding.
I blinked against the brightness, gasping for breath. The carriages stood ready, horses stamping their hooves against the cobblestones. Gideon's men looked up at our sudden arrival, and I saw Gideon himself turn from where he stood by the lead carriage.
His grey eyes swept over us – the box clutched against my chest, Caleb's pale face, our heaving breaths. He did not ask questions. He simply looked at Caleb, then back at me.
"This is him?" Gideon asked.
I nodded, unable to speak. My throat was too tight, my heart still racing from the confrontation.
Gideon studied Caleb for a long moment. The servant ducked his head, but he did not let go of my hand.
"Load the box," Gideon said to his men. Then, to Caleb "You will ride in the second wagon. There is room among the supplies. When we reach Larkin, you will be given proper quarters."
Caleb blinked, as if he could not believe what he was hearing. "I – thank you, my lord."
Gideon nodded. His gaze shifted to me, and something softened in his expression. "Are you all right?"
I swallowed. My hands were still shaking. My heart was still pounding. But I was alive. We were both alive.
"Yes" I said.
Gideon offered me his hand. I took it, and he helped me up into the carriage. The interior was small but well-cushioned, lined with furs. I settled onto the bench, my body still trembling with leftover fear.
Behind me, I heard Caleb climbing into the second wagon, his box thudding against the wooden bed. One of Gideon's men secured the tailgate.
Gideon swung up into the carriage and sat across from me. He rapped on the roof twice, and the wheels began to turn.
The carriage rolled forward. Through the window, I watched the grey stone walls of Valerion slide past – the palace where I had been born, where I had been tormented, where I had never belonged. I watched until the gates closed behind us, and then I looked away.
Gideon said nothing. He simply sat across from me, patient and steady, as the carriage carried us north.
Toward Larkin. Toward a new life.
I touched the mark on my neck. For the first time in my memory, I felt something other than fear.