Seize The Princess

Chapter Five: Seize the Princess

The night cloaked the palace in eerie silence. Every shadow stretched longer, every rustle carried weight.

Everything was already prepared. I wore a thick and long cloak to obscure my face, the hood casting a veil of anonymity. Beside me, Lyle, cloaked in black, moved with the assurance of someone who had done this before. He carried my luggage with a steady grip, his other hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword.

When we reached the back gate, two guards were waiting—men Lyle trusted. They gave us a silent nod before slowly opening the heavy iron gate. Beyond it, a carriage waited in the darkness like a phantom carriage from a fairytale gone grim. The crest on its door gleamed under the moonlight: two crossed swords forming an 'X' behind the silhouette of a black eagle, wings outspread. The insignia of House Zyair.

Strength. Protection. Freedom.

House Zyair is a noble house of knights, protectors of the Empire since its founding.

Lyle, being the head of House Zyair, holds the title of Marquis. Despite that, he remains my personal knight.

He opens the door of the carriage and offers his hand. Lyle's hand found mine as he helped me up the step, the brief contact firm and grounding.

He entered after me, closing the door with a soft click. As the wheels began to turn, rocking the carriage into motion, I pulled back my hood and looked out the small window, committing the path to memory.

For the first time in years, I was leaving the palace. Not under guard. Not under orders. But by my own will.

I can already imagine the shock on my dear father's face when he learns that his imprisoned daughter has escaped and is on her way to her maternal estate.

"Are you bothered, Your Highness?" Lyle asked.

I kept my gaze on the road. "I am not. " I reply flatly.

But perhaps I was lying—to him or to myself, I could not tell.

We planned to stay at Zyair Manor before heading south. The southern border was still days away, and Lyle warned me against traveling through the forest after dark. Still, the forest path was our only option. The main road was crawling with royal patrols.

One look at the Zyair crest and the guards would know. My father would know. And he would never let this go.

The thought made my stomach twist.

I do not want the only person loyal to me to be captured. I asked Lyle for an alternative route, and he said the forest that connects to his backyard would be the safest, albeit risky.

"We will ride straight through the woods and arrive by dawn," Lyle had said earlier. "But be on guard. Bandits prefer the dark."

The night is still. The air grows colder.

The creak of the wheels. The rhythmic snorting of the horses. The occasional hoot of an owl. For a while, all was calm.

Until a sudden neigh tore through the silence—and the carriage lurched to a violent stop.

I gasped, grabbing the edge of the seat. Lyle was already moving. He slid next to me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders protectively. His body was close, his breath brushing my cheek. I could feel the tension vibrating off him like a string pulled taut.

Then, footsteps. Crunching on leaves. Closing in.

They dare ambush the carriage of a Marquis? Have they lost their minds?

Lyle listens carefully, then draws his sword and stands.

"Stay inside," Lyle whispered, his voice cold and sharp. He drew his sword and stepped out without a backward glance.

I held my breath, I peek through the crack in the door and watch him fight.

Steel clashed.

Lyle was a blur of movement, his movements are graceful and precise—like a deadly dance. Each swing is rhythmic, his face concentrated. I have never seen a real knight fight up close before. His usually stiff expression now carries a strange tremble in his jaw and an intense fire in his eyes.

He moved like a predator, beautiful and terrifying.

I could not tear my eyes away. My heart races, my lips curve into a smile. I am in awe.

But my fascination was cut short when the carriage door flew open.

Rough hands seized my neck, and a jagged blade pressed against my throat.

"You better stop, or we will kill this woman!" the bandit barked.

His breath hit my face and I nearly gagged.

Rotten eggs? Dead rats? What is that smell? Do they not know what hygiene is?

My skin burned as I felt something warm slide down my neck—a shallow cut. The sting was immediate.

"How dare you!" Lyle's roars tore through the trees like thunder. His entire body glowed with a faint blue light, his aura crackling with restrained power. For a moment, I thought the man would incinerate from just Lyle's glare.

Is it divine power?

"If you attack, I will slit her throat!" the bandit threatened again.

Lyle froze. The light faded, but his eyes remained locked on mine. I could see the panic behind the fury.

"Hand over your money, and she will be safe," the bandit sneers.

Think, think, think.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply. I must think carefully. I am not in my original body, and I do not know how well this one can fight. One mistake could cost me my life

But I have a dagger strapped to my thigh. If I can create a distraction and lift my cloak, I might reach it.

I meet Lyle's gaze. "Distract him,"

He nodded almost imperceptibly.

Lyle tossed a pouch onto the ground—coins spilling in a flash of gold. The man turned, greedy eyes glinting, and began dragging me toward the pouch. That is my chance!

Now!

I grip the folds of my dress and cloak in one hand, lifting just enough to find the dagger.

When I feel the cold steel, I yank it free, whirl around, and stab him in the chest.

He stumbles, clutching his wound.

I take a step back as he staggers toward a tree.

His eyes widened. He pulled his sword again, but my blood was boiling now. I was no longer thinking. Just feeling.

I can feel it—the adrenaline, the high.

A strange, terrifying joy flooded me.

His blood spills. My hands tremble, my body goes cold, yet I smile.

I stabbed him again. And again.

His screams echoed once—then died. He fell, choking, blood spilling like paint on a canvas.

I climbed on top of him and kept stabbing, even as his body went limp. My hands trembled, my breath came fast, but my lips curled into a smile. Laughter bubbled from my throat.

This thrill—it was beyond fear. Beyond logic. It was... addicting.

I did not stop until a strong hand grabs my wrist, pulling me from the haze.

"That is enough, Your Highness," Lyle said, voice low. His expression was unreadable—part confusion, part concern, part... suspicion.

I blinked at him, my hands soaked in blood.

Had I gone too far? I need to come up with a believable excuse.

I take his hand. We walk to a horse his men have brought. He helps me up, then mounts behind me. grim-faced.

"Clean the mess. No one must know this happened," Lyle ordered.

"Yes, sir!"four men respond and begin dragging away the corpses.

Once mounted, Lyle kicks the horse into motion. The wind stings my face. I cannot focus on the road—my thoughts whirl in chaos.

When we reach the gates of his estate, they open without question. At the main entrance, Lyle jumps down and lifts me into his arms.

"Welcome back, My Lord," a young man greets. "And welcome, Your Highness."

I could not reply. Lyle had scooped me into his arms before I could even attempt to. I try to speak, but Lyle walks past them, carrying me inside.

"You can put me down now, Lyle," I muttered, cheeks flushing.

He did not answer. "Prepare a hot bath," he instructs the butler.

I do not know where we are, we entered an enormous bathing chamber—larger than even my royal suite. The steam curled around us like a lover's caress. The tub was more like a private spring, the water already hot and fragrant.

He only sets me down when the servants brought in towels and a robe, leaving behind a sealed box I could not identify.

Then I freeze.

His fingers brush the back of my neck, undoing my cloak.

"Lyle, I—I can do it!" I stammer.

He does not stop.

He removes the cloak, then unties my corset, undressing me layer by layer until I am bare.

But my body didn't move.

Why couldn't I move?

He picked me up and lowered me gently into the steaming water. I expected shame, fear—but none came.

My body accepted him. Trusted him.

Why?

His hands combed through my hair. His touch was gentle, practiced.

As if this wasn't the first time.

He scrubbed my body with care, giving me a full massage. My mind screamed to react—to say something—but my lips remained shut. My limbs relaxed. My eyes closed.

I opened them only when his hands left me. He was still fully clothed—drenched, but clothed.

"Your Highness," he whispered, wrapping a towel around me, then dressing me in the robe like a parent would a child.

My legs moved on their own, walking toward him without my consent.

He carried me again—down the hall, to a room I didn't recognize. He laid me on a soft bed, then turned to fetch something from the closet.

What is this?

Why does my body remember him?

Did Madeleine and Lyle... already…?

The way he touched me was too familiar. Too intimate. Too... tender.

My heart pounded with confusion.

Is it possible… that Madeleine loved this man?

And worse...

Is it possible he loves her too?