"You there" she called
Her voice moving through the dim cell like cool silk, soft, feminine, impossible to ignore.
The man stationed by the barred gate stiffened, but he did not look her way. He kept his gaze fixed forward, jaw clenched, as if acknowledging her might break the discipline drilled into him. He was the one with the keys, the one who watched her every hour, the one who had never spoken a single word and just worked on unseen orders.
Genevive, however, was not a lady easily dismissed.
She stepped closer to the iron bars, her voice dropping into a slow, soft mumur.
"I have been wondering how long you intend to keep me here," she said, moving with graceful, deliberate elegance. "From the looks of it… it seems I shall be staying for quite some time."
Still, he refused to turn.
"If you wished me dead, you would have dealt with me long ago," she continued. "So I assume I am far more valuable alive than dead."
Silence. His eyes stayed stubbornly ahead.
Genevive's lips curved.
"But you know what" she began tilting her head "if you insist upon preserving my life, the least you could grant me is a bath. You cannot keep a lady here for days without so much as a wash. Prisoner or not, I am royalty. Even you must understand a scrap of respect."
No answer.
She scanned the room slowly, letting her gaze fall on the small wooden bowl meant for drinking water.
"Well," she said lightly, "If you will not escort me to the washing chambers… then I suppose I shall simply bathe here."
This time, he turned fully, just a fraction, but enough.
She caught his stare and held it, letting her expression soften into something delicate and dangerously inviting. Then, without breaking eye contact, her fingers lifted to the knot of her dress. She loosened it slowly, elegantly, the fabric slipping an inch off her shoulder, revealing her smooth golden skin and the elegant curve of her collarbone.
She smiled as She knew she had caught his attention… and his guard was already beginning to slip.
Seliah had always been famed for her talent with seduction—a gift, some whispered. Her gaze alone could snare a man; sharp and sly like a fox's, impossible to look away from once caught. That gift passed through every reincarnation, and Princess Genevive was every reincarnated piece of that beauty, she had silver hair shining like moonlight,
high sculpted cheekbones,
eyes the color of clear summer skies,
lips full and naturally pink,
a slender frame with flawless golden skin that gleamed even in the dark.
She turned, lifting her long, twisted hair away from her back, exposing the final rope that held her gown in place.
"Would you do me a favour?" she murmured, presenting her back to him.
The guard hesitated… then stepped forward.
Then again.
And again.
As if drawn, hypnotized by a spell woven in her eyes.
He reached the bars, hand lifting, breath uneven.
Just as his fingers brushed the rope—
Genevive spun.
Her arm shot through the bars, swift and precise, her hand locking around his throat. The guard let out a choked gasp, his spear clattering to the floor as she dragged him hard against the iron.
He struggled, but her grip was unrelenting, born from desperation, and fury.
When he finally slumped unconscious, she slid her hand down, unclipping the ring of keys from his belt with practiced ease. She had studied these guards day after day, memorizing every habit, especially where the keys were kept and how it was used.
She let him drop, unlock ed the gates, Pushed it open, gathered her loosened dress to her chest and stepped out, leaping over his fallen body without a second look, her bare feet hitting the stone floor with silent determination.
For the first time in days...
she was free.
---
Outside her cell, Genevive moved quickly through a row of empty chambers, each one darker and colder than the last. The stone floors were damp beneath her bare feet, and the air smelled of rust and mould. The corridors twisted like a maze—narrow passages that opened suddenly into wide, hollow halls where chains dangled from beams above.
Twice she heard footsteps.
Once, a guard turned the corner too early, his eyes widening the moment he saw her.
But he barely had time to draw breath as She struck fast, one hand clamping over his mouth, the other driving the stolen knife beneath his ribs. He collapsed soundlessly. She dragged him behind a pillar and continued on. She had learned a little of sword fighting just enough to defend herself.
The fortress was far larger than she had anticipated. Stone corridors twisted unpredictably, chambers branching into other chambers. Her captors were no ordinary bandits—they were disciplined, organized, trained. She had underestimated them, Whoever held her was no mere criminal.
At last she reached a large double door that was slightly opened. The sunlight struck her suddenly, harsh and blinding as She squinted, adjusting to the overwhelming brightness. Just then she felt a sharp grip on her wrist, immediately she spun and shoved her attacker against the wall.
Immediately a gasp escaped the stranger—a young blond lady. The woman raised her hands at once in surrender.
The woman immediately raised both hands in surrender.
"You're going the wrong way," she whispered urgently as Genevive's eyes narrowed.
The young lady tilted her chin toward a narrow window on the wall as Genevive angled herself to look.
Outside, the courtyard was crawling with armed men. Dozens of them, patrolling, shouting orders, sharpening blades, hauling crates. Horses stamped and snorted. Armour clattered. Banners she did not recognise hung across the far wall.
It was chaos, loud and impossible to pass without being noticed.
Just as she watched just then Two guards passed near them, there she quickly dragged the young lady into a dark corner. They pressed against the wall, completely still, as the men passed, their boots echoing heavily.
Only when their footsteps faded did Genevive release the woman.
The blond woman spoke softly, rubbing her neck.
"Follow me. I know a safer way out."
Genevive hesitated, every instinct sharpened.
"Who are you?" she asked.
The woman stopped and turned.
"A prisoner," she said simply. "Like you."
Genevive stepped closer, gripping the knife she'd stolen from the first guard she killed.
"Why should I trust you?"
"I dont know," the woman replied. "But if you stay here any further moment from now, they'll find you." she warned
Silence held between them for a long breath. Genevive studied her—her torn clothes, her bruised wrists, the raw honesty in her eyes.
Finally, Genevive gave a short nod as she followed, wary but determined.
Anything was better than staying here to die.
They moved through more shadowed hallways, their footsteps barely sounding on the cold stone floor. For a long while, neither spoke.
Then, the blond lady broke the silence.
"You look like someone of high class," she said lightly. "I'm Lily. Who are you?"
Genevive glanced at her briefly.
"Gwen," she answered simply.
"Lady Gwen?" Lily tilted her head.
"Just Gwen."
"Oh. I thought you might be the princess they captured here."
Genevive's brow lifted.
"What do you mean?"
"You don't know?" Lily's eyes widened slightly. "Every prisoner has heard the news, of the princess of a far kingdom that is imprisoned here. You must be very new here" she said "no wonder you almost walked straight into danger."she said
Genevive stayed quiet, studying Lily from head to toe as the young lady continued.
""Who knows… you might have even shared a cell with her and never realized it, i heard the princess has some sort of power… a healing gift." Lily's gaze flicked over Genevive's untouched skin. "Which explains why you look unharmed in a place as torturous as this. Even new prisoners have bruises. Maybe she's been healing you in secret."
Genevive didn't react, but a cold suspicion slid through her mind.
Just then Lily suddenly stopped on her track as she felt the point of a dagger pointed at the back of her neck, with a slight grin she continued
"I heard the princess has silver hair too. Mind if I take one more look at you?" Lily said, her voice playful even thou she knew Genevive already had a dagger aimed at her.
As she made a slight move, Genevive pressed the blade harder against her, the tip biting into Lily's skin.
"Why are you taking me back there?" Genevive asked, her tone razor-sharp.
"Isn't that where you belong?" Lily said softly. "Princess Genevive."
Genevive's eyes narrowed sharply—her suspicion confirmed. But before she could strike, Lily moved with startling swiftness. She twisted, snatching the dagger from Genevive's hand.
But then Genevive was quicker. She had already plucked a second dagger from the sheath hidden at Lily's belt.
In the next breath, both women stood with blades aimed at each other.
"I must admit," Lily began, a wry smile tugging at her lips, "you are sharper-witted than I expected, Princess Genevive. Although… I must say, I am rather disappointed that you felt the need to give a poor me a false name." She chuckled softly. "Gwen," she added, teasingly.
"Well My name is not Lily either," she said. "So I suppose we are even."she tilted
"Then who are you,?" Genevive asked, her voice sharp, her gaze unflinching.
Lily's smile deepened, a shadow flickering in her eyes. "I doubt you would recognize me if I told you just my name," she said slowly. "Perhaps it is best I use my infamous title…" She let the words hang in the air, "I am Rovan, the Fallen Wolf." she said
At that, Genevive's posture stiffened. Recognition hit her instantly. The Fallen Wolf, the infamous warrior, disowned by her father, lost to the world for years... yet whose tales of skill, cunning, and sheer ferocity still haunted whispered legends across the kingdoms.
Genevive's eyes widened, alert, every sense sharpening. She knew, without a doubt, that standing before her was no ordinary person.