Althea's body still trembled long after the Crown Prince's footsteps had faded, each tremor a silent echo of her close call. One slip of the blanket, one moment sooner, and he would have seen everything—her true face, her deception, her death sentence. A frantic knock at the door shattered her thoughts. He knows. Her blood ran cold. But it was only a servant's voice, laced with false concern.
"Mistress, are you alright? We heard you were ill."
Ill? If only that were the problem. Althea forced her voice into a raw, strained whisper, pulling the covers high. "I have a fever. I don't want anyone but Morfida. Call her. Now."
"But Mistress, the court physician—"
"No!" The word cracked through the room, sharp and final. "I said, only Morfida."
The servant bowed hastily and left. Soon after, the door opened, and Morfida entered with quick steps. Her long hair was slightly dishevelled, and her face was filled with worry.
"Mistress," she whispered, quickly approaching. "What happened? Why did you call for me in such a rush?"
Althea threw off the blanket, revealing her returned true form. Her white skin glowed under the lamplight, and her eyes radiated a pink sheen.
Morfida gasped. "Mistress... your body..."
"No time," Althea cut in. Her voice was shaky, a mixture of panic and determination. "Morfida, we have to escape. Right now, before Caspian or anyone else realizes it."
Morfida looked at her deeply, then nodded briefly. She grabbed a small satchel she had prepared long ago—containing gold coins, a few small jewels, and a piece of a map.
"We leave through the back gate. Follow me."
With practiced skill, Morfida took Althea's arm. She covered Althea's body with a thick black cloak. As they passed a guard post, Morfida muttered a short spell. Her face transformed into that of a middle-aged man.
"It is late at night. Where are you headed, Sir?" one of the yawning guards asked.
"Direct orders from inside," Morfida replied with a deep voice that wasn't her own. She held up an empty scroll as if it were a writ of command. "Urgent business. Do you want to be responsible if I am late?"
The guard immediately bowed. "N-no, please pass."
Althea held her breath, clutching the edge of her cloak tightly. As soon as they stepped out of the gate, the night air greeted them—a bone-chilling cold. Althea only then realized how hard she had been holding her breath. As her steps reached the cobblestone road outside, she nearly fell. Morfida immediately steadied her.
"Take it easy, Mistress. We made it."
But the word "made it" hung in the air like a thin mist that would soon be swept away by the wind.
They ran until their legs felt heavy. When they finally stopped on a small hill, the palace looked only like a distant silhouette behind the torchlight.
When they reached the secluded village of the elder mages, hope curdled into ash in Althea's throat. Where she expected sanctuary, she found only ruins. The air was thick with the ghost of smoke and something worse—the scent of charred dreams. Morfida stood beside her, a statue of grim acceptance.
"This is common, Mistress," Morfida said, her voice hollow. "The empire never allows mages to live in peace."
Althea's gaze snagged on a half-burnt child's toy lying in the cinders. A wave of grief, sharp and alien, slammed into her.
"Why do I feel more pain than when I looked in the mirror at my own unfamiliar face?"
***
The next night, they hid in a ramshackle house on the outskirts of the capital. The air was filled with the pungent smell of dampness and rotting wood, a stark contrast to the fragrant palace halls where Althea had fled.
Logically, their escape had been successful. There was no commotion, no shouts from the guards combing the slums for the escaped crown princess. Yet, a cold anxiety still hung over Althea. Had Caspian noticed her disappearance? Or had he simply ignored her and sought someone more useful?
Seeking a glimmer of night air, she peered through a crack in the wall. What she saw chilled her blood.
A grim procession marched down the muddy street. A line of figures, their hands and feet bound in iron shackles that glinted dimly in the torchlight. They moved with a hollow resignation more terrifying than any resistance.
Althea's breath caught. Her gaze was no longer on the prisoners' faces, but on the metal shackles wrapped around their wrists and ankles, each promising a stolen freedom.
She stumbled back from the wall, her hand flying to her own throat. The sight was a brutal prophecy. That could be her. That could be Morfida. Their successful escape suddenly felt terrifyingly fragile, a temporary reprieve in a world designed to crush them.
"How many times have I seen that, Morfida? Are they mages too?"
"Yes, Mistress, they are mages. Our nation and race."
"What a cursed world. What have they done wrong?"
"In the eyes of humans, mages are merely a threat that must be displayed, made a spectacle of, and then punished, Mistress."
"Does our power threaten them? But why don't they realize? We are the ones being destroyed here. Why are they afraid of creatures as easily destroyed as us?"
Morfida remained silent, her eyes holding an ocean of unspoken secrets.
Althea turned. Morfida's gaze was so deep, as if she wanted to say something but was holding back.
"Morfida... tell me." Althea's voice trembled. "Where is the safest place right now? A place that can save us?"
Her maid was silent for a long time. Then she answered softly, "There are two. First, a distant land across the sea. Mages are allowed to live there, but it is harsh. Especially for foreigners, and power is needed there, Mistress. Be it money or fame. But forgive me, Mistress, my magical power is not good enough to take you there." Morfida looked at Althea with deep regret.
"And the second?"
"In this country, Mistress, specifically in a noble's residence. As long as a person has high status and can conceal their power, they are safe. The higher the noble's rank, the more impossible it is to be suspected."
Althea frowned. "So, the safest place..."
"Is the empire, Mistress." Morfida's voice was firm. "The place where you lived before."
The words hit Althea like a sledgehammer, harder than the clanking of handcuffs in the street.
She was silent for a long time. Her body shivered not from the cold, but from the anxiety crawling in her bones.
Return to the palace?
The place where Caspian can look at me anytime?
The place where the shadow of death constantly lurks?
Irony... could it be that I am safest there?
No, not even for Althea now. Morfida was a lamp in her darkness.
What if, because of her, Morfida ended up with the mages who were paraded earlier?
What if her death would be faster than in the novel because of her status as a mage?
Thinking about it almost brought Althea to tears, but she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand.
"What kind of life is this," she whispered, her voice faint like the rustle of dry leaves, "where the only safe place... is the very golden cage I want to leave?"
She looked out the window, toward the magnificent silhouette of the palace in the distance. In her heart, a decision began to grow a decision that would change their destiny forever.