The corridor was dark, the only light coming from the dim torches flickering on the walls. Dorian didn't speak as he led me through the labyrinthine passages of the palace, his hand gripping mine with a firm, steady pressure. I tried to focus on where we were going, but the adrenaline from moments earlier still coursed through me. My heart pounded in my chest as I kept pace with him, my thoughts racing.
I had barely taken in the fact that Dorian had just pulled me out of sight when everything felt like it was spinning out of control. Who was he to help me? What did he want from me? There was no way I could trust him—he was just another figure on the court, another player in this endless game of power. Wasn't he?
He glanced back, his eyes briefly meeting mine. The look in them was unreadable, but there was something in his expression that made me pause. For a brief moment, I didn't see the cold, calculated king—just a man, a man who somehow saw more in me than I had ever seen in myself.
"You don't trust me," Dorian said, his voice low as we reached a darkened passage. His words weren't a question but a statement of fact.
I hesitated, not knowing how to answer. There was so much at stake. How could I trust him when everything I knew had been based on lies? "I don't know if I can," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know why you're helping me."
"Because I've seen enough to know when someone deserves a chance," Dorian said, his tone steady and surprisingly warm for a man so used to being in control. "And because you're not the only one being trapped in this palace." He glanced back at me with a guarded expression. "There's more to the story than you know."
Before I could respond, he pulled me into another narrow hallway, and we stopped in front of an inconspicuous door. Dorian placed his hand against it, pausing as if listening for something. I held my breath, every muscle tense.
"Don't speak," he murmured. His gaze flickered to the door, his eyes sharp, alert. "We need to move quickly."
I nodded, trying to steady my racing heart. He pushed open the door slowly, revealing a small, dimly lit room beyond. The room was sparsely furnished, with only a few wooden chairs and a table in the centre, but I could tell it was used for secretive meetings—important ones.
Dorian motioned for me to enter, and I hesitated before stepping inside. The room was cooler than the hallways we'd just passed through, and it smelled faintly of old wood and ink. Everything about it felt temporary, like a safe house in the middle of a battlefield.
"Why are we here?" I asked quietly, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Because," Dorian said, his tone serious now, "you've been marked. By someone powerful."
I froze. The weight of his words sank in, and I felt the air in the room tighten around me. "Marked? By who?"
"You'll find out soon enough," he replied, crossing the room to the table. He rummaged through a drawer, his back turned to me. I wanted to ask more, to demand answers, but something in the way he moved made me hesitate.
He came back to the centre of the room with a small piece of parchment in his hand. His expression was grim as he handed it to me. "This," he said, "is part of the reason they're after you."
I took the parchment with trembling hands, slowly unrolling it. The writing was unfamiliar, elegant and fluid, written in a script I hadn't seen before. But it didn't take long for the meaning to hit me like a punch to the gut.
It was a royal decree—one that marked me as a traitor to the kingdom. The ink seemed to burn into my skin as I read the words: The daughter of a fallen king, to be eliminated at all costs.
I looked up at Dorian, my throat tight. "This... this can't be real."
"Oh, it's real," he said, his voice quieter now, darker. "And it's just the beginning."
The shock hit me like a wave crashing over the shore, pulling me under. A traitor? Me? It didn't make sense. My family had been all but erased from history. My father's name was spoken in whispers, barely remembered. How could I be a threat? And who would want me dead?
Dorian studied me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to weigh his next words carefully. "The palace isn't just a place of power and politics. It's a battleground. You're not the only one trying to survive here. But you're not alone, either." He paused, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something genuine in his eyes. "I've been watching, and I know you're more than what they say you are."
I tried to steady my breath, but it was difficult. "What do you want from me?" I asked, my voice wavering despite myself. "Why are you helping me?"
Dorian leaned closer, his gaze never leaving mine. There was something about the way he spoke—something that seemed to draw me in despite all my instincts telling me to stay distant. "You're not the only one who's trapped here," he said softly. "And sometimes, survival means trusting the people who can help you. Even if it's hard to believe."
His words lingered in the air between us, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. For a moment, I didn't know what to think. How could I trust him? He was a king, and kings didn't give help without a price. But for reasons I couldn't fully explain, there was something in the way he looked at me—something in the way he'd spoken—that made me wonder if he was telling the truth.
"I'll help you," Dorian continued, his voice quiet but resolute. "But I need you to trust me, just this once. We're both in danger now."
Before I could answer, the door creaked open behind us, and the sound of hurried footsteps broke the fragile silence. Dorian's eyes flickered to the door, his expression hardening.
"We don't have much time," he said. "Get ready."
The door slammed open, and a figure appeared in the doorway—a guard, his eyes wide with panic. "Your Majesty," the guard said urgently. "They're looking for her."
Dorian turned to me, his jaw tightening. Without another word, he grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the nearest hallway.
"This way," he whispered, his grip firm around my wrist.