Chapter 4: Flight from Fate
Dinner in the palace proceeded as usual, and I attended as I always did. Around the table, some spoke of news from the borders, while others discussed arrangements for the next banquet. I sat beside my father, joining none of their conversations. I excused myself slightly earlier than usual, claiming I felt unwell. I kissed my father's cheek, and he noticed nothing amiss, simply bidding me goodnight.
After returning to my chambers, I dismissed my ladies-in-waiting and began to pack.
I reorganized the cloth bundle once more—nothing of real importance inside. Apart from my notes and food, I had packed rather haphazardly. Time was running short; I needed to slip out of the city during the changing of the guard. As for weapons, I took only a dagger. I had never been skilled with a sword, and such a thing would only burden me.
Once everything was ready, I wrapped myself in my cloak and knocked on Rendell's door.
When he opened it, he was already dressed in his outer robe, likely having been waiting for me. He must have heard about the council meeting long ago. He knew me well enough to understand I would not simply accept my fate.
"When were you planning to tell me?" I said, not in accusation—I understood his position. His first duty was to my father, then to me. "I saw the stable hands loading the carriages. Is Father planning to bring me and every knight in the kingdom to the Rift?"
"No, Mia. Tonight, I... I was going to tell you tonight."
The corridor lamplight fell across his profile, making him appear far older than his years. My mind flashed suddenly to when we were seven—the first day he was formally assigned as my knight. That day, there had been a grand ceremony in the court. He had stood there, face solemn, posture exceedingly dignified, like a miniature adult, almost comical in his seriousness.
After the ceremony ended, I grew bored and dragged him over the back courtyard wall to find the cat in the stables. He followed me in terror, wanting to stop me but not daring to. I teased him, saying he was just like that cat. His face flushed red, his cheeks puffing out indignantly.
Sure enough, the two of us got lost in the vast palace grounds, wandering the storage district for nearly three hours before finding our way out. But I did see that cat—it walked gracefully along a low wall, then vanished the moment it heard my excited squeal.
Later, I asked him what that day had felt like. His answer was amusing: he said it had been a very serious day.
I asked if he remembered the cat. He thought for a moment, then said, "Of course. That cat only had three legs."
Thirteen years.
"I'm leaving," I said. "You can't follow."
"I know what you're going to say—"
"You can't follow," I repeated, with more force this time. "Someone doesn't want the prophecy to happen. Whatever plans existed before can no longer be carried out. The curse is placed on me. Anyone close to me—"
"I can protect myself."
"Rendell."
His jaw tightened. I knew this was no small thing for him. His entire life had been spent learning how to protect me. What it meant for me to leave now—we both understood it perfectly.
"I'll be careful," I said. "I'll take the notes with me. I know where to go first. The black mages have threatened me more than once, and they haven't succeeded yet."
Even as I finished speaking, I knew the argument was weak.
"You don't know what will happen this time," he said.
"I know more today than I did yesterday," I said. "If there's news, I'll send word."
He was silent for a long time. Both ends of the corridor stood empty.
"How long?" he finally asked.
"I don't know."
He exhaled slowly, looked down, then back up. "Make sure you have enough supplies. That tincture from last week is in your third drawer—"
"I know."
"The eastern woods are faster than taking the river, but the waterways are more—"
"Rendell."
He stopped.
I paused. "Make me some tea," I said. "I haven't eaten anything since this morning."
He looked at me.
"Please," I said, with unprecedented sincerity.
He bowed slightly and left.
I ground the sleeping powder into the teacup, measuring the dose precisely—no more, no less. He would wake six hours later with a headache, probably furious, but it would ensure he had no chance of catching up to me.
He had protected me for so long. I should do something for him too, even if it had to be this way.
I waited until I heard footsteps in the corridor, then placed the cup back in its original position.
He came in carrying the tea, handed me my cup, then poured his own. We sat down in the two chairs by the window. He seemed to sense something, hesitating as he brought the cup to his lips. My hand tightened around my own cup, but relaxed again when I saw his throat move as he swallowed.
"Mother asked me to send her regards," I said.
"She never asks me to send regards. I visit her more often than you do—she asks me directly."
"Well, she asked in spirit."
He made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh.
I sat with him patiently, waiting for his eyelids to grow heavy. He struggled to stand, stubbornly bracing himself against the table, refusing to give in long past the point he should have. But eventually he collapsed back into the chair, unconscious, his breathing deep and labored. His cup began to tilt, and I caught it before it could fall completely.
He slept heavily in the chair, breathing deeply, his head tilted at an angle that would worsen tomorrow's headache.
I watched for a while, confirming he wouldn't wake before hesitantly placing my hand on his hair. The touch was brief, like touching something you weren't sure you'd ever touch again. Then I jerked my hand back as if burned, grabbed my bundle, and left quickly. Before going, I made sure to restore everything to its original state and close the door properly, ensuring he wouldn't face any blame.
This might be the last time we spoke. I didn't let myself finish that thought.
The east gate was changing guards at this hour. The market streets below the royal city had already fallen quiet, with only occasional windows glowing with lamplight. Everything was so peaceful, yet none of it belonged to me anymore.
Before leaving the royal city completely, I looked back one last time at the distant palace. I couldn't articulate what I felt—for an instant, I wanted to run back, to watch Rendell sleeping in his chair, to kiss my mother's forehead, to drape a robe over my father's shoulders as he continued working through state affairs.
But in this moment, I stood here alone and motionless, carrying a bundle filled with herbs, dried provisions, and notebooks, the night wind lifting the edges of my cloak with its chill.
Then that instant passed.
I turned away. No, that's not right. I didn't turn away—I simply kept walking forward. From now on, this was the path I had chosen for myself.
I was no longer a princess, nor the savior of prophecy. I understood that to save people—especially those I loved deeply—I would need to be clever, to do things my own way.
The tree shadows ahead drew closer, swallowing my figure into darkness.