The eastern lands were nothing like the world Luca had known.
The soil was dry and cracked, stretching endlessly beneath a pale, unforgiving sky. Wind swept across the plains without mercy, carrying dust that clung to skin and lungs alike. Each step Luca took sent pain shooting through his injured leg, but he refused to slow. Stopping meant surrender—and he had already surrendered too much.
At night, he slept beneath open stars, clutching the ribbon Elara had given him like a talisman. Hunger gnawed at him, and thirst burned his throat, yet what haunted him most was not suffering—it was uncertainty.
Had she escaped?
Had they broken her will?
Was she safe?
He walked anyway.
---
Elara traveled in silence, hiding among merchants, widows, and refugees who moved eastward seeking land the nobles had deemed worthless. She cut her hair short and traded her remaining gown for trousers and boots. Each mile stripped another layer of her former life away.
For the first time, no one knew her name.
She liked it that way.
At night, she listened to stories around campfires—of people cast aside by power, of lovers torn apart, of survival earned with blood and resolve. She learned quickly how to bargain, how to sleep lightly, how to keep moving even when fear whispered that she should turn back.
She did not turn back.
---
Three weeks passed.
Luca collapsed near a shallow river one afternoon, his body finally betraying him. Fever returned with vengeance, blurring his vision and slowing his breath. He lay half-conscious, thinking absurdly of the Montclair gardens and how Elara once said flowers bloomed best when unrestrained.
Footsteps approached.
He forced his eyes open, expecting soldiers—or death.
Instead, he saw her.
"Elara?" he croaked.
She dropped to her knees beside him, laughter and tears breaking loose all at once. "You are impossible," she said. "Do you know that?"
He tried to sit up, failed, and laughed weakly. "You weren't supposed to follow."
"You weren't supposed to survive without me," she replied.
She tended to him with practiced hands now—no hesitation, no fear. She built a fire, boiled water, crushed herbs learned from strangers along the road. When he drifted in and out of sleep, she stayed awake, daring the world to take him again.
---
When Luca finally regained strength, they did not speak of the past.
There was only forward.
They followed the river east until the land softened slightly, where grass dared to grow and the wind eased its cruelty. They found an abandoned stone cottage—broken roof, fallen door, but walls that still stood.
"It's not much," Luca said.
Elara smiled. "It's ours."
They worked side by side, repairing what they could. Luca hunted. Elara planted seeds she'd carried hidden in her pockets—wheat, herbs, stubborn hope. Their hands blistered, their bodies ached, but laughter returned in small, sacred moments.
One night, beneath a sky heavy with stars, Luca finally spoke.
"You gave up everything."
Elara leaned against him. "I gained something truer."
"What if they find us?" he asked.
"They will," she said honestly. "But not today."
---
News traveled even here.
A bounty remained on Luca's name. Elara Montclair was officially declared lost—quietly erased to avoid scandal. The world had decided they no longer existed.
That suited them both.
Yet danger lingered like a shadow at dusk.
One evening, as Luca returned from the woods, he saw unfamiliar tracks near the cottage.
"Someone's been here," he warned.
Elara stiffened. "Hunters?"
"Or worse."
They packed essentials that night, preparing to run again if needed. But as dawn broke, the threat did not come.
Instead, a woman arrived—older, scarred, carrying a child on her back.
"We heard you help people," the woman said cautiously.
Elara exchanged a glance with Luca.
"We help each other," Elara replied.
And just like that, their solitude ended.
---
Weeks turned into months.
Others came—outcasts, the unwanted, the brave. Together, they built something fragile but real. A place without titles. Without chains.
One night, Luca took Elara's hands.
"I have nothing to give you," he said. "No name. No promise of safety."
She smiled softly. "Then give me tomorrow."
He did.
And beyond the border where fear once ruled, love—still forbidden—finally learned how to breathe.
---