The first time Hyacinth Dumont tried to run away, she was thirteen.

Perhaps her father shouldn’t have introduced her to all of those wonderful books that went on forever about young women that went out on their own, only to become the most influential people in all of history.

Her thought process? Flawless.

Her execution? Not so much.

Unfortunately for Hyacinth Dumont, she was the daughter of the most powerful woman in the country - the queen turned army general herself, Camellia “Camille” Dumont – a woman who commanded entire legions with a single word. And when it’s your own mother that is feared by enemies across the entire nation, one could bet she had plenty of skilled soldiers and hunters at her disposal to drag you right back to the palace.

Rowan Castenne was sixteen, the first time he caught her escaping and dragged her back. She had sworn to never forgive him for this. He took it with a grain of salt.

The queens-men had quite literally cackled in his face when he was the one bestowed with the title of “the huntsman that brings back Hyacinth Dumont.”
Oh, how they cackled with all of the worldly amusements crinkling at the edges of their usually stern faces.

They studied together a long time ago. Perhaps the queen had decided it would be easier on the princess if she knew the huntsman.

She was but a child – a harmless little princess playing pretend – trying to disappear into the night as if the entire royal army weren’t hired to watch every movement within the castle walls. They knew she would never survive outside on her own, just like how they knew she’d never make it past the gates.

Rowan hadn’t been amused with this title.


At sixteen, he had already been conscripted into the royal guard—forced to trade his future for steel and duty, to swear his loyalty to a crown that had never once given him the option of freedom.

He bore the punishment his father should’ve faced for treason.

And so, every time he looked at the Dumont crest—at the royal banners billowing in the wind, at the people who called their Queen a savior and the harbinger of freedom—he resented it.

The irony wasn’t lost on him that he was the one meant to stop her from running.

The first time Rowan caught her was the night she tried to climb down from her chamber window with a make-shift blanket rope.
Hyacinth Dumont—princess of the realm, heir to the bloodiest dynasty in history—had managed to tie herself into a knot.
Rowan found her dangling in the lower branches of a tree, her auburn curls whipping in the wind, arms flailing as she struggled to untangle herself.
He didn’t rush to help.

Instead, he crossed his arms, leaned against the trunk, and arched an eyebrow.
"Having trouble, princess?"

She flinched, scrambling higher like a startled squirrel. “I will not be caught by someone who may as well be a cactus.”

Rowan tilted his head, unimpressed. "A Cactus?" he asked, as he had watched the princess struggle to untangle herself.

Hyacinth shot him a sharp glare, as she dangled upside down for a moment, almost giving up. “Someone who may as well be a million pricks put in one,” she sneered, sticking her tongue out at him.

“You have your fathers’ way with words, princess,” he said, biting back a smirk and stepping away from the tree. “But unfortunately for you,” he tugged at the makeshift blanket rope hard, earning a squeal from the Princess as she fell, “I don’t think you have your mothers’ dexterity.” Rowan’s arms opened wide, as Hyacinth fell in them.

“Feeling better?” he had asked, still annoyed at this whole operation.

"Put me down," she snapped, squirming in his arms.

"Gladly." He dropped her right into the mud. He had been assigned to bring her back safely. Not clean.

She gasped, scrambling upright, eyes blazing. "You absolute—"

"Careful, princess," he said, cutting her off. "Wouldn’t want you to say something unbecoming of royalty."

Hyacinth scowled.

And as Rowan dragged her back to the palace, that was the first time Hyacinth Dumont cursed at him.

All the years had done was increase Hyacinth’s ability to hide. But, she had been no match for Rowan’s seeking. So, eight years down the lane, when Rowan had matured from his wee boyhood to a mature man, he extended his arm out to the annoyed princess on the ground, dress dirty in the mud she fell in, but now, a beautiful woman.

Still trapped. But beautiful.

The infuriating part? He never gloated or mocked her.

He just stood there, arms crossed, unimpressed, as if he had no personal stake in keeping her trapped.

But she knew better.

Rowan Castenne had no choice in his service to the crown.

Just like she had no choice in wearing it.

And perhaps that was why, over the years, she had stopped fighting him with pure rage—

And started fighting him with something far more dangerous.

Understanding.

Rowan on the other side, had spent his entire childhood tracking wolves through the forest, reading the wind, following trails even ghosts would have trouble finding with his late father.

The princess, for all her fire and cleverness, had no chance.

Hyacinth was twenty one years old when she almost made it past the gates for the first time.

She had made it through the servant tunnels, out into the courtyard, and right past all those sentries who had known her since birth. She had slithered through the shadows of her own godforsaken palace with the ease of someone who had tried too many times before.

And yet, she had barely made it ten feet into the treeline before—

"You're getting better," Rowan mused, stepping into her path, one hand resting lazily on the hilt of his sword.

She froze.

Damn all the seven hells.

“You’re like an arch nemesis I can’t seem to get rid of,” she grumbled.
Hyacinth exhaled a frustrated puff as she took a step back. “One of these days, huntsman” she muttered, pulling the leaves from her hair. “One of these damn days, you’re going to slip.”

Rowan tilted his head, watching her. The dim moonlight cast shadows across his sharp features, the silver of his armor gleaming faintly beneath his cloak.

“And on that day,” he mused, “you’ll run.”

Hyacinth arched an eyebrow. “And you won’t follow?”

Rowan’s expression remained unreadable as he studied her. “I didn’t say that.”

Her throat tightened.

Of course he wouldn’t.

She had spent years trying to flee, but Rowan Castenne had always been there, dragging her back.

And now, it seemed, she wouldn’t be escaping at all.

She should have known it would come to this.

The moment Rowan Castenne had her dragged back to the palace, her mother summoned her to the throne room. Her voice cold and gaze calculating, Hyacinth had felt the air shift in the room.

How did father fall for her? She’d often wonder.

She had always known that, one day, she’d be married off like a prized jewel. It’s part of why she had wanted to run off for so long – to avoid being bartered away for an alliance and for power – as if a marriage would account for peace.

But knowing when the day was coming didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

“You leave in the morning,” Queen Camille had said, the finality in her voice striking Hyacinth like a blade. “The emperor and empress of Kaelos and I have spoken. You are to wed their son – crown prince Aeron of Kaelos. You’ve been trained for this, Hyacinth. You’re to be their queen soon.”
Hyacinth had stood frozen, fingers clenched at her sides. Had her father agreed to this?

“I don’t even know him,” Hyacinth said, hating the way her voice wavered.

Camille’s gaze was unyielding. “You don’t have to. You have all of your lives after the wedding to get to know him.”

Hyacinth’s breath shuddered out. She knew arguing was pointless. Her mother would have the final word and unfortunately for her, it wasn’t intending on changing.

That was it, then.

And of course, the one who would be escorting her to this saddening series of events called her future—who would be driving her straight to Kaelos—was Rowan Castenne.

- - - - -

The roads stretched endlessly before them, a yellow brick path that cut through dense forest. The carriage rattled as its wheels hit a deep rut, the horses grunting in protest.

Hyacinth sat stiffly inside, staring out the window. She had barely spoken since they’d left the palace. Quite the number of thoughts. But, her silence seemed to simmer like a low flame.

“Even the horses don’t seem to want to go…” she thought to herself.

Rowan, of course, had taken the lead on horseback as his dark cloak billowed slightly behind him with the motion. She knew he could feel her glare boring into his back.

He always did.

“Princess, glaring at me with such blood lust won’t change facts,” he called without turning. “You’re still getting married.”

Hyacinth bared her teeth in a humorless grin. “You sound thrilled,” she said through the window.

“I am thrilled,” Rowan deadpanned. “No more chasing after you. No more late-night escapes. No more dragging you back through the mud.” A pause, then, “Maybe I’ll finally get the best sleep I’ve had in 8 years.”

She huffed. “And maybe I’ll gut you in your sleep.”

Rowan smirked. “There’s the princess I know. Too bad you’ll be in Kaelos”

The carriage jostled suddenly, hitting another rut. Hyacinth barely had a moment to brace herself before—

An arrow slammed through the window. She sat wide-eyed, as she watched it inches away from her face.

The driver shouted in alarm. The horses reared. The entire vehicle lurched violently to the side.

And then, all at once—chaos.

Hyacinth barely had time to react before Rowan was there, yanking the carriage door open. “Stay inside—”

But she was already moving.

Another arrow shot past, embedding itself into the wooden frame inches from Rowan’s head. He cursed, drawing his sword as figures emerged from
the trees, masked and armed.

A trap.

Hyacinth’s heart pounded.

The bandits moved fast—too fast. They knew the route, knew the carriage, knew what they were after.

She barely registered Rowan, cutting down the first attacker before another came barreling toward her.

And then—she moved.

Not like a princess.

Not like the sheltered royal girl everyone had spent years underestimating.

She moved like the huntsmen.

Hyacinth opened the door, grabbing the closest blade from a fallen soldier.

“I told you to stay inside,” Rowan Castenne yelled.

“When have I ever listened to what you have to say, Castenne?”

She twisted, ducking under a swinging blade, driving her knee into a man’s gut before slashing upward with lethal precision. An arrow flew past her right towards Rowan Castenne. Almost instinctively, she swung her blade at it, cutting it mid air.

Perhaps all those hours she spent watching the sentries amidst her escapes had some worth.

Rowan saw it.

Saw the way she moved—swift, precise, merciless.
He had spent years dragging her back, spent years believing she was nothing more than a defiant, reckless girl who didn’t understand the weight of the world.

But this—

This was not a girl who needed saving.

This was a girl who had been waiting for war.

“Hyacinth!” he barked, cutting down another enemy.

She turned, breathless, curls whipping around her face as she met his gaze.

And gods—she was smiling.
Rowan didn’t have time to question it. But he was curious.

“Where did you learn to fight, princess?” he asked, dodging an attacker and elbowing him to the ground.

The next attacker lunged, and they moved—together.
Hyacinth ducked beneath his swing as Rowan brought his blade down over her shoulder, slicing through flesh and bone with practiced ease.

“I practice,” she laughed. “In my room when nobody’s watching. Didn’t realize I was any good.”

They spun, back-to-back, cutting through their enemies like a dance they had rehearsed a hundred times before.
It wasn’t until the last body hit the dirt that Rowan finally turned to her, chest heaving.

“You—” he started, then stopped, raking a hand through his hair. “You lied.”

Hyacinth arched a brow, wiping blood from her cheek. “About what?”

Rowan took a step closer. “About being helpless.”

She tilted her head, a wicked glint in her eye. “I never said I was helpless. You just assumed that – you know, with the dress and the curls.”

Rowan let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh. Silence settled over them, thick with something unspoken.

They rode hard through the night, pushing toward the nearest town.

Rowan kept his senses sharp, scanning the road, the trees, the darkness. Whoever had attacked them hadn’t just been common bandits. They had known what they were doing.

And that meant someone didn’t want Hyacinth making it to Kaelos.

“Who do you think sent them?” she asked, voice quiet in the still night air.

Rowan didn’t answer immediately.
There were too many possibilities. Rivals of the Kaelos empire, enemies of her mother, factions within the kingdom that wanted to disrupt the alliance.

But there was another thought gnawing at the back of his mind.

Someone from the palace.

Because Hyacinth was right.

Someone had known their route.

Which also means someone had figured out exactly when and where to strike.

And Rowan didn’t like the implications of that.
“We’ll figure it out soon,” he said finally, his grip tightening on the reins. “But we do need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

Hyacinth hummed softly, resting her chin in her hand. “I suppose I should thank you for saving me.” She was teasing. Even Rowan knew that.

Rowan scoffed. “You and I both know I didn’t do much saving.”

She laughed. A real laugh. Light and sharp all at once. Her first in so many years.

Rowan didn’t know why it made his chest ache – whether it was with sorrow or love.

By the time they had reached the closest town to them, dusk was breaking over the horizon, staining the sky in shades of pink and lavender.

“The Inn-door residence.” Hyacinth had read, as the duo stood before an inn. “Cute.”

The inn was quiet, the few early risers barely sparing them a glance as Rowan swung off the horse, reaching up to help Hyacinth off hers.

She deliberately ignored his offer, leaving him hanging, while she pet the sides of her horse.

Of course she did.

Rowan rolled his eyes as she slid off her saddle with graceful ease, her skirt swaying as she landed lightly on her feet.

She glanced up at him, bashing her eyes in amusement and tease. “Disappointed?”

Rowan snorted. “Please. The day you need my help is the day the sun falls out of the sky.”

Hyacinth grinned. “Good to know.”

They slipped inside the inn, taking a corner table away from prying eyes.

Rowan flagged down a serving girl, ordering food and drink before turning his attention back to Hyacinth.

“You’re not going to Kaelos,” he said, voice flat.

Hyacinth arched a brow. “A bold assumption, considering that’s exactly where we’re headed.”

“Someone wants you dead.”

“Someone always wants me dead.”

Rowan scowled. “That’s not funny.”

Hyacinth shrugged. “It’s true.”

He leaned forward, his expression hard. “This isn’t just politics, Hyacinth. This was an execution attempt. You think they won’t try again?”

She didn’t look away. “What do you propose, then? That I run? That I abandon everything?” For the first time, Hyacinth didn't want to run.

Rowan was silent.

Because yes. That was exactly what he wanted her to do.

But Hyacinth wasn’t that kind of girl.

She had never been that kind of girl.

Instead, she leaned back in her chair, fingers tracing idly along the rim of her goblet. “You said it yourself, Castenne. I’m not helpless.”

He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Gods-damned princess.”

Hyacinth smirked. “Gods-damned huntsman.”

Because for the first time in years, Rowan Castenne wasn’t trying to drag Hyacinth back.

He was standing at her side.

And that, he realized, was far more dangerous.

Perhaps they were arch-enemies no longer. Friends? Maybe.

Perhaps they’d discover their intertwined fates as they figured out what to do about the crown.