Before Aurelia could even form a coherent word, before she could process the weight of Camilla's love and her own sudden, conflicting desires, she ran. Panic, sharp and primal, seized her, overriding any rational thought.
Forgetting the bag she still clutched in her hand, she didn't mind its weight. Forgetting Calvus, her contact, her hoped-for escape, who was surely waiting for her out in the shadows, she ran. Her legs pumped faster than they ever had before, propelling her through the dimly lit corridors, a desperate whirlwind in search of an impossible sanctuary.
She moved, a phantom propelled by a sudden, overwhelming need, toward the royal chamber. Her lungs burned, her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She paused, mere steps away from the chamber door, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The sight that greeted her stole what little air she had managed to draw. Guards. Ten of them, standing like stoic sentinels, their armor glinting dully in the torchlight, protecting just one room. The sheer number was a testament to the importance of the occupant, or the perceived threat.
Her breath came even faster now, a frantic rhythm against the oppressive silence of the hallway. She tried to calm herself, to summon the cool, ordering face she had practiced, the one that had served her so well in the past. She worked her way towards the door, projecting an air of purpose, of legitimate access.
They recognized her. Tenebrarum's claim, her perceived status as someone Tenebrarum would summon, offered a sliver of hope.
She pushed forward, her voice attempting a confident, commanding tone. "Your master called for me," she announced, trying to hold an ordering face, even as her hands trembled slightly. "To be on the safer side, you have to..." she started to lie, to weave a plausible story.
But one hand rose, a thick gauntlet of armor blocking her path, an unyielding barrier. "No orders have been given to let you in," the guard stated, his voice deep and resonant, amplified by his helmet. His other hand rested on the hilt of the sword at his side, a silent, potent reminder of their authority.
"Princess Matrona is already in the deepest part of the room," the guard continued, his movements dismissive, almost bored.
"Are you still needed?" His words were disrespectful, a casual dismissal that grated on Aurelia's frayed nerves, but she barely registered it.
All her focus, all her attention, snapped to what he had just said.
Princess Matrona!
Her mind flew, a jolt of cold dread shooting through her.
If Isabelle ishere, that means...
She couldn't bring herself to complete the thought, the implication too devastating. A wave of nausea washed over her. She stepped backward, away from the unyielding guards, away from the sealed chamber that held the terrifying truth.
Why did I ever think that this would have worked?
She whispered to herself, the words swallowed by the vastness of the hallway. The dream of escape, of a different future, dissolved like smoke.
"It's only going to be me, loving as usual." The resigned, heartbroken realization settled over her, a familiar, heavy shroud.
Aurelia's composure shattered when she heard one of the guard laughter, a chorus of cruel mockery, echoed in the silent hallway, each peal a fresh stab to her already wounded pride.
She tried, with every fiber of her being, to keep the tears from spilling, to maintain a semblance of dignity, but it was a losing battle.
Disgrace, hot and suffocating, washed over her.
"If the master actually called for you," one of the guards sneered, his voice dripping with condescension, "we could inform him, that his harlot is here." The words were a barbed arrow, designed to wound and belittle.
And then, as if on cue, the others joined in, their laughter building, a wave of derision that threatened to drown her.
They all saw her as nothing, a stupid human.
Tenebrarum's whore. Nothing useful. The label, hurled in the open, stripped away any pretense of respect, any illusion of her own agency.
She could no longer hold the tears back. They flew confidently, a torrent of raw emotion, hot and unstoppable, tracing hot trails down her cheeks.
The tears were a testament to her broken spirit, a visible manifestation of the deep humiliation she felt.
The same way she had run in, fueled by a desperate hope, she ran out now, propelled by the same force, but with a crushing weight of despair.
Her legs moved mechanically, carrying her away from the echoing laughter, away from the crushing eyes that saw her as less than human.
I'm going to be always nothing.
The thought, stark and bleak, echoed in the hollow chambers of her mind. It was a grim, undeniable truth.
They saw her as a pawn, a plaything, a convenient target for their scorn.
I should go, nobody will ever respect me here...not Tenebrarum not anyone.
The words settled upon her like a shroud, heavy and cold, a definitive pronouncement of her fate.
In this world of power and manipulation, she was utterly alone, invisible, and utterly disrespected.
Freedom was all.
---
"What took you so long?" Calvus's voice boomed, laced with a nervous urgency that mirrored Aurelia's own frayed nerves.
He stepped forward, his hands immediately reaching to help her up, guiding her towards the waiting carriage. The air was thick with the scent of ripening fruit, a welcome change from the perfumed lies of the palace.
"Aurelia, you'll enter the basket," he instructed, his movements quick and efficient.
He gestured to a large, woven basket nestled amongst crates overflowing with produce. "It has holes, you will be able to breathe," he explained, his brow furrowed with concern. "I'll pour fruit inside, to cover you."
Aurelia didn't argue. Her spirit, battered and bruised by the day's events, offered no resistance.
She simply nodded, her eyes scanning the contents of the carriage, the potential hiding places.
He helped her carefully into the basket, the rough weave scratching against her skin. She clutched the bag, her only remaining possession, as he began to pour the oranges around her, their round, firm bodies creating a makeshift, fragrant shield.
The scent of citrus filled the air, a sharp, clean aroma that felt like the first breath of freedom.
This was it.
This was her only way.
Into the food carriage, hidden amongst the bounty of the land, a stark contrast to the gilded cage she was leaving behind.
She curled herself into a fetal position, protecting her belly, the oranges pressed hard against her back, the rough fibers of the basket a familiar discomfort.
As the carriage began to move, a slow, rumbling creak that signaled their departure, Aurelia closed her eyes, a silent prayer on her lips, and a single, desperate hope in her heart.
Heavens, please guide me.
----------------------------
To be continued...