I run with all my strength, faster than I ever have before. I don't look back. The forest blurs around me as I rush between the trees, my breath burning in my chest.
Suddenly, a powerful grip clamps around my arm. Barely a minute has passed since I started running, and I am already caught.
I don't need to turn around to know who it is.
I lower my head and turn back silently, letting him lead me toward the hut.
"I told you not to run, don't you—"
"Sorry," I cut him off. I already knew escape won't be easy but I had to try.
We reach the hut, and he hands me a bowl filled with herbal paste and few leaves on side, along with a clean cloth.
I sit in the warm sunlight and dab the herbal paste onto the wound on my arm using a leaf. The paste is thick and cool, and it smells sharp and earthy. As it touches my skin, a faint sting spreads through the cut, followed by a slow, soothing numbness.
When I finish applying it, I pick up the clean cloth and try to wrap it around my arm. I manage one turn, but as soon as I begin the second, the first loop slips loose and falls apart.
I try again. It fails again.
He is still standing beside me, watching silently as I struggle.
I am not going to ask for his help.
Lets start over once more.
I lift my arm parallel to the ground and place the cloth carefully over the wound. I complete the first wrap, then slowly make the second, holding it in place with my fingers.
Now… how do I tie it?I stare at the loose ends of the cloth, trying to figure out how to secure it with only one hand.
He Sighs and steps forward to tie the knot for me, but I immediately lean back.
"I can do it on my own," I say.
He raises one eyebrow and tilts his head a little . Then he folds his arms across his chest and leans against the wall, one shoulder resting lazily against it. His posture looks relaxed, but his eyes challenge me, as if he is silently daring me to prove it.
What is he thinking, I cant do it? Fine. I grab one end of the cloth with my teeth, holding it tightly. With my free hand, I pull the other end around and twist it into a knot. Then I tighten it. Once more, just to be sure, I tie another knot on top of it.
There.I dit it . I lift my arm and look at the bandage, then tilt my chin up and glance at him with quiet pride. A small, satisfied smile curves on my lips.
From inside, Richard's voice suddenly calls out, "Come, food is ready!"
"Go inside," Arthur says sharply.
"Why have you taken me captive?" I ask. "I already told you, I don't know anything about my father's business or his affairs."
"I did not tell you to talk," he says coldly. "I told you to walk inside."
His voice is sharp and firm, like a blade cutting through the air. Every word sounds like an order. There is no anger in it—just control. The kind that expects obedience.
Why does he always give commands like this? Can't he say normally ! What does he think he is… some kind of king?
At worst, he could be an ally of King Gabriel —the man who wants to take over the world.
Is he a commander in his army?
But, what kind of commander lives in a broken shed in the middle of a forest?
A spy?
No… he has far too much audacity for a spy.
And far too much controlling .
"Are you deaf now?" he snaps. "I told you to go inside. Will you walk on your own, or should I throw you in myself?"
"What do you mean, throw me?" I shoot back, matching his tone. "I am not an object."
His eyes darken instantly. His jaw tightens.
I messed up.
"Sorry," I say quickly, lowering my voice. "Look… keeping me here is pointless. It won't benefit you in any way. I am of no use."
"I know exactly what you are worth," he says. "And ,what you will be used for."
" Your use ? From today onward, you will work here. You will serve me . You will do every task in this place. And if you serve well…" he pauses deliberately, "…then maybe, in a month or two, I will consider letting you go."
My eyes widen. My jaw falls open.
"A month?" My voice breaks. "I can't stay here for a month. Let me go."
"I already told you," he says sharply, "drop that princess attitude. You are no longer in King George's palace."
He steps closer, towering over me.
"I am in charge here. And you will serve me. You will do all those things, that your servents used to do for you "
Before I can react, he grabs my arm and pulls me back inside.
I resist, twisting my arm and trying to pull free, but his grip is unbreakable.
" What are you doing, Leave me " I said while trying to get out of his grip .
He drags me inside. I reach for the door handle and clutch it, using all my strength to pull myself back.
"Don't make things more difficult for you . Let go—"He turns sharply and rips my hand away from the handle.
I stumble as he pulls me across the room and throws me onto the thin mattress.
I glare up at him, my chest rising fast with anger and fear.He kneels down to my level and reaches for the rope again.
"No—" I jerk my hands toward my stomach, curling into myself so he cannot grab them.
He leaned closer and seizes both my wrists in one strong hand.
I twist suddenly, slipping my left wrist out of his grip. I swing that arm behind my back, trying to protect it.
But my right wrist is still trapped in his hand.
I turn my body sideways, struggling to keep the other arm out of his reach.
He looks down .I cannot tell what he feels—disappointment, exhaustion, or anger.
"You are making this harder for yourself," he says when he lifts his gaze again. Anger is already slipping into his voice.
He raises his right hand toward me, palm open, demanding.
"Give me your hand. While I am asking calmly. "
I press my left arm tighter behind my back, my fingers digging into my own clothes.
His jaw tightens. Then he move forward to take it himself.
He suddenly moves.
His left hand slams my right wrist against the wall behind me, pinning it there.
Before I can pull away, his other arm slides around my waist from behind—not holding me, but trapping me in place. His forearm presses hard against my back as his hand reaches for my left wrist.
I twist and struggle, keeping my arm tight against my spine. My shoulder burns as I strain to hold it there.
"No—" I gasp, trying to turn away, but there is nowhere to go.
My wrist writhes in his grip, turning and slipping, my fingers clawing at empty air as I fight to keep it out of his reach.
His grip tightens.
I am trapped between the wall and his strength, twisting and struggling, but every movement only presses me harder into the wood.
Only then do I realize how close he is.
His face is barely an inch from mine—so close I can feel his breath brush against my cheek. I freeze, I hadn't noticed in all my struggle that he is so close to me till now .
No man has ever been this close to me. My back presses harder into the wall as I instinctively try to pull away, but there is nowhere to go.
I can see everything— the hard line of his jaw, the tension in his clenched teeth, the sharp focus in his eyes. There is no softness there.
My pulse races, loud and frantic. My hands tremble, not from weakness, but from the sudden awareness of how trapped I am—how easily he dominates .
I swallow, my throat dry.
As I realised how close he is to me, My body stopped struggling without meaning to.
My stillness makes him pause. He looks at me, clearly surprised, and for a moment we just stare at each other.
His face is still close to mine. I can see my own reflection trembling in his dark eyes. His fingers remain curled tightly around my wrist, and I trapped , pinned against the wall between his two arms .
I forget how to breathe. My chest rises in shallow, uneven breaths, and my throat tightens as though the words inside me are trapped.
I don't move.Not because I've given up…
but because fear has rooted me in place.
For a moment, the world narrowed to that single point — his face inches from mine, his gaze sharp and unreadable. I could see my own reflection trapped inside his eyes.
I felt awkward and looked away first, breaking the eye contact.
His grip on my wrist loosened .He yanked both my arms forward and forced them together. His hand closed around both my wrists at once. With his other hand, he grabbed the rope and began winding it around my wrists.
"Let me go!" I screamed, pulling with every bit of strength left in my body.
It was useless. My pleas sounded weak even to my own ears. My struggling did nothing.No matter how hard I pulled, nothing shifted.
Not the rope.
Not his grip.
As he ties my wrists, he pauses for a moment. Then, this time, he leaves my fingers free.
Last time, the rope had trapped even my fingers—I could barely move them at all.
When he finishes with my hands, he moves toward my legs.
I try to bend my knees in resistance, but the moment I do, his hand clamps around my ankles. His grip is firm, unyielding. Before I can pull away, he binds them too, wrapping the rope tightly until escape becomes impossible.
When he is done, he straightens up and runs a hand through his hair, fixing the strands that have fallen loose during the struggle.
Only then does he look toward Richard, who has been watching us the entire time without saying a word.
"Let's eat," he says coldly, turning away and walking toward the wooden shelves where the plates are kept.
He grabs three plates and glasses and places them in front of Richard.
Richard fills them with food. The delicious aroma of the food spread all over the room .
Richard gestures toward Arthur, signaling him to give me mine.
But Arthur whispers, "You do it."
Huh. He even bosses his own friend around. How did Richard manages to live with this guy . He is so rude , so bossy , always angry .
Richard walks toward me and sets the plate and water in front of me—food I have no intention of touching. Although it was looking and swelling delicious but I dont want to eat anything that Arthur provides.
He leaves without another word. The last time I ate was yesterday morning.I am hungry… but I will never , never eat anything he gives me. I thought while looking at Arthur .
My stomach betrays me with a low growl.
I press my hand against it, trying to silence the sound before it reaches them.
It growls again.I quickly cover it with a cough.
Which make them to look at me . I start pretending to clear my throat ...Ahem Ahem. Arthur glaced at my plate which I haven't touched, than his glace shifted at me .
I could sense anger in his eyes , he turns without saying anything and start eating.
From across the room, I can hear them chewing. The sound pulls my eyes toward the plate beside me.
It holds a bowl of thick porridge. I have never eaten something like this in the palace.
That simple dish, sitting there so plainly… feels strangely intimidating.
Saliva floods my mouth, and I swallow hard, quickly looking away. My mind was full of thoughts saying ,Eat something, look at the plate , the food looks amazing.
But i keep facing away from plate , resisting my thoughts .
They finish eating. Arthur stands and says to Richard,"I'll go and prepare things for practice."Then he leaves.
Richard gathers the plates and moves to wash them.In one corner of the hut, there is a small square washing area—down about a foot from the ground. Ash and water are kept there for cleaning utensils, and a small hole in the wall lets the dirty water drain outside.
After he finishes, he walks toward me and speaks gently,
"Have some food. It may not be to your taste, but try it… it's edible. And tell me if you need anything."
Richard is kind, after all. He always speaks to me calmly.
"Thank you," I say softly, "but I don't need food. I want to go. Please… let me go."
He sighs lightly.
"That, That is the only thing I cant do," he replies. "Tell me if you need anything else—except that."
Just then, Arthur returns.
He is carrying a bag having swords, bows, and arrows.
He glances at me once, than at my plate. He sighs and turns to Richard. "Let's go."
Richard follows him outside.
Arthur pauses at the doorway. His fierce eyes settle on me for a moment—cold, unreadable.
Then he bangs the door shut . As the door closes, I immediately twist toward my ankles and begin working at the rope.
This time, my fingers are completely free.
I dig them into the tight knots, forcing them between the rough strands, trying to create even the smallest gap—anything that might loosen it.
Then I hear the sharp sounds of metal striking metal outside.
Clang.
Clash.
Swords.
They are practicing nearby.
The sound makes my heart race, but I do not stop. I keep pulling, scraping, twisting my fingers deeper into the rope. The coarse fibers burn my skin. My fingertips start to ache, then throb with pain.
Still, I do not give up. Even as my fingers sting and my hands begin to shake, I continue working at the knot—slowly, stubbornly—refusing to stop.
After what feels like an hour of painful effort, the rope around my ankles finally loosens.
One last pull—and it slips free.
I do not celebrate. I do not even breathe properly.
I rise slowly, my stiff legs trembling beneath me. Aish My feet started tingling. I shake my feet and move toward the door on silent feet.
I place my hand on handle of the door and try to open it.
It does not move.
Locked.
I tug again—just a little.
The door creaks.The sound feels thunderous in the quiet room.
I freeze instantly. My hand drops from the handle. Even my breathing stops as I stand there, listening, waiting to hear footsteps rushing toward me.
Nothing.They are still outside. I cannot pull it again. One more loud sound , and it would be my end.
Arthur already carrying a sword right now. If he catches me now… he will not drag me back.This time, he will kill me.
I notice a narrow gap beside the door, where the wooden planks do not meet properly. A thin line of daylight slips through.
Slowly, carefully, I lean closer and peer outside.
Arthur and Richard are some distance away, standing in an open patch near the forest.
Their swords flash as they clash against each other.
Steel strikes steel. Their movements are fast, sharp, deadly.
They are practicing.They fight like men trained for war. Richard lunges first, his sword slicing through the air with deadly speed. Arthur twists aside at the last second, the blade missing him by barely an inch. In the same motion, Arthur plants one foot on the ground and flips backward, landing smoothly as if gravity itself obeys him.
Steel clashes again.
Richard attacks from the side, then from above. Arthur blocks both strikes, sparks flashing where their swords collide. Their movements are sharp and fluid—no wasted steps, no hesitation. Each strike is meant to kill, not merely to touch.
Arthur spins, his cloak sweeping the dust as he counters with a powerful swing. Richard ducks and rolls across the ground, coming up on one knee before slashing upward again. Arthur jumps back, narrowly escaping, then drives forward with a fierce thrust that forces Richard to retreat.
I stare in disbelief. No one in my entire kingdom can fight like this. Not even Prince William.
They move like warriors born for battle—fast, fearless, merciless.
My heart pounds harder. If they can fight like this, what chance do I have against them?
But I cannot stay here.
A small wooden window stands opposite the door, letting in a thin strip of sunlight. It is narrow and barred with iron rods.
I step closer and grip one of the rods, pulling hard. It doesn't budge. The stone wall holds it firm, unyielding, making it painfully clear—escape is impossible.
My stomach growls again.
I turn to the plate of pottage on the floor. It is cold now, yet still I want to eat it.
The sharp clash of swords echoes outside, snapping me out of my thoughts.
No. I can't eat this. I have said it with such confidence—I wouldn't touch it. If I eat it now, I can already picture his raised eyebrow… his mocking stare.
No. I shook my shoulders trying to remove that picture of him mocking . I won't eat it. Not at all.
But.... My stomach growls again.