The campsite by the stream was an idyllic scene as dusk settled around them. The gentle crackling of the fire mingled with the soothing murmur of the water flowing nearby. Shadows stretched long and twisted across the ground, dancing eerily with the flames that cast an orange glow on the trees surrounding them. Catria, absorbed in her duties, meticulously checked the horses' hooves for stones or injuries, her silhouette sharpened by the firelight. Her back was to Althea, her attention wholly focused on her task, her movements practiced and assured—a knight in her element.
Althea watched from the shadows, her heart pounding a frenetic rhythm against her ribs. Mixed emotions churned within her: the thrill of impending action mingled with a gnawing fear of the consequences. She observed Catria's every move, the knight's focus never wavering from her task. It was the perfect moment, the one Althea had been anxiously anticipating.
With a deep, steadying breath, she seized the opportunity. Rising silently from her seat by the fire, she moved with the stealth of a hunted animal. Her boots pressed softly against the moss-covered ground, leaving barely a trace as she edged toward the inviting darkness of the forest. Each step was measured and cautious, her senses acutely tuned to any sign of alert from Catria.
The edge of the forest, with its promise of concealment and freedom, beckoned. Althea's mind raced with plans and paths of escape, each more daring than the last. She imagined vanishing into the night, a ghost free from the chains of duty and expectation. The thrill of the escape filled her with a wild, intoxicating rush.
But the dream shattered as abruptly as it had formed. The sharp clatter of hoofbeats shattered the quiet evening, slicing through the sounds of the night with alarming clarity. Althea's head whipped around, her eyes wide as the stark realization set in—Catria had noticed.
Panic spiked through Althea, sharp and cold as ice. Her breath hitched in her throat, a stifled gasp lost in the wind. She couldn't hesitate; she couldn't afford to be caught—not now. With a burst of desperate energy, she sprinted towards the trees, branches reaching out to snag at her clothes, scratching her face and arms as she plunged through the underbrush.
The forest loomed before her, dark and dense. The sounds of pursuit grew louder, more insistent. Althea's lungs burned with the effort of her flight, each breath a ragged tear in the quiet of the night. The ground beneath her feet became uneven, roots and rocks hidden in the shadows making her stumble as she pushed her body to its limits.
For a fleeting moment, it felt as if she had lost Catria. The hoofbeats softened, swallowed by the dense undergrowth. Althea's heart pounded wildly—freedom was within reach. But then, the unmistakable crunch of leaves behind her made her stumble, and she knew, with a sick certainty, that the knight was still there—always there.
A fallen branch snagged at her cloak, jerking her backward. She ripped it free with a frantic tug, the scrape of wood against fabric loud in the night. She didn't dare look back, but the sound of hoofbeats grew impossibly close.
The knight's presence almost palpable behind her. The thought spurred Althea on, lending her waning strength a flare of renewed vigor. She was so close to the cover of the trees, to the dark safety of the forest where she could lose herself, disappear into the night.
But fate, it seemed, had other plans. Just as the tree line was within reach, a strong arm caught her around the waist, pulling her back with irresistible force. She hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from her lungs. Before she could react, Catria's weight pinned her, every shift deliberate, every movement calculated to trap.
"Get off!" Althea snarled, kicking and thrashing, her nails scraping against the cold steel of Catria's gauntlets. For a moment, she thought she might break free, felt the knight's grip falter—but it was an illusion. Catria shifted her weight smoothly, pressing Althea back into the dirt with unyielding strength.
"Stop fighting," Catria growled, her voice low and sharp.
But Althea didn't stop. The struggle was intense, Althea's body bucking under Catria's weight, desperately trying to find leverage. But Catria was a wall of strength, her hands gripping Althea's wrists, pinning them to the forest floor. One hand shifted, pressing against Althea's throat, just enough to make her still. The contact was electric.
Instead of fear, a wild exhilaration filled Althea. The weight of Catria against her, the firm pressure of her hand—every point of contact was a spark, igniting something reckless and raw within her. She met Catria's gaze, her own breath ragged, her body alive with a tumultuous mix of emotions.
"Afraid I'll get lost?" Althea hissed, breathless but defiant.
"You think this is a game, Princess?" Catria's grip tightened Around her throat. "You wouldn't survive an hour out there."
"Better than being traded like livestock!" Althea spat, the heat rising in her chest, hot and indignant. The words came faster now, unbidden. "I'm not some offering to hand over to save the kingdom!"
Above her, Catria loomed, a mix of anger and concern etched across her features. "You cannot run from who you are, Althea. Not from me, not from this." Her voice was a harsh whisper, strained with the exertion of the chase and the weight of her duty.
"Please, I don't want this." Althea whispered, something raw threading through the words.
For a moment, Catria froze, caught off-guard by the quiet admission. But the moment passed, and her control surged again.
Catria leaned in, her breath warm against Althea's ear. "Sacrifice is part of the deal. You're a princess. You don't get that choice."
So neither of us have one?
"So we're both prisoners," Althea said bitterly, her chest heaving as she glared up at the knight. "What's the difference between you and me, then?"
Catria's gaze darkened. Her hand shifted on Althea's throat—not squeezing, just pressing enough to remind her who's in control. The pulse beneath her fingers thudded against her palm, steady but rapid.
"The difference," Catria whispered, her voice low and dangerous, "is that I know when to stop fighting."
Althea's breath hitched, her pulse racing beneath Catria's hand. But instead of fear, she felt something wild stir inside her—a reckless exhilaration that made her dizzy.
"You could've fooled me," Althea whispered, her voice soft but laced with challenge. "Chains of my birth keep me bound to my duty. But I wonder, what chains bind you to yours?" she muttered, almost to herself. The silence stretched on, neither of them daring to move.
Then Althea suddenly twisted beneath Catria's grip, feeling a sliver of freedom as the knight's weight shifted. She wrenched her wrist free for a moment—just a moment—but that moment vanished as Catria moved with ruthless efficiency, her body pinning her down once more, as if the earth itself had conspired to trap her.
As Althea lay beneath Catria, pinned and breathless, the reality of her situation settled in. The forest around them was silent, a stark contrast to the chaos of her racing heart. Here, in the dirt and shadows, with the weight of Catria pressing down on her, Althea realized the true nature of her captivity—and the complicated bond that tethered her not just to her duty, but to the enigmatic knight who was both her jailer and her only ally.
"You get to leave when I hand you to your husband," Catria growled, the words catching at the edges as if they left a bitter taste. The weight of her duty—of what she must become—pressed harder than the armor on her skin.
Catria's hand lingered at Althea's throat, the pulse beneath her fingers steady but racing. Something wild flickered in the knight's gaze—something fragile and dangerous all at once. And then, as if scalded by the contact, Catria recoiled, scrambling off Althea with a sharp breath, like a dam breaking under the weight of too much pressure.
For a fleeting second, Althea saw it—a flicker of something fragile beneath the cold mask Catria wore. But it vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only the rigid lines of a knight struggling to contain something dangerous.
Althea lay on the forest floor, her breath ragged, her mind a tangle of thoughts she couldn't name. She felt the ache of her neck where Catria's grip had held, a phantom touch that wouldn't fade. When she sat up, Catria's back was already to her, the knight adjusting her bridle with rigid, mechanical movements. The tension between them stretched taut—an unspoken thing, sharp and dangerous, lingering in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Silently, they walked back to camp, each lost in their own tumultuous thoughts. The fire had dwindled to glowing embers, casting a soft, forgiving light over the campsite. They resumed their respective roles—knight and princess.
Guardian and ward.
Althea sat by the fire, her gaze flickering toward Catria without meaning to. The knight kept her back to her, but the tension was there—thick and heavy, threading between every unspoken word. Althea found herself tracing the faint ache at her wrist, feeling the ghost of Catria's touch long after it was gone.
Why did she feel more alive in those moments of resistance?
Neither spoke of the incident as they prepared for bed. The silence was a mutual agreement, a fragile veneer over the chaos of that moment.
Sleep didn't come easily. The weight of Catria's body, the intensity of her gaze, the way she'd whispered against her ear—it all swirled in Althea's mind, knotting her thoughts into something restless and unnameable.