The wind whipped past them as the horses galloped across the open fields, far from the estate, far from the weight of gold-trimmed gowns and broken trust. Elvira's heart beat like a war drum—too fast, too loud—but she didn't look back. Not once.
Ronin hadn't asked questions. Not when he caught her mid-sprint, not when she could barely speak past the tears, and not even when they had ridden into the unknown for hours, the forest gradually swallowing them whole.
Now, as the sun began to dip beneath the horizon, Ronin finally slowed his horse. They came to a stop near a quiet stream, surrounded by wildflowers and tall trees that swayed like old guardians. He dismounted easily, then turned to help her down, his hands gentle but sure.
"You alright?" he asked softly, eyes scanning her face like he was trying to read a language written in pain.
Elvira hesitated. The storm inside her hadn't passed, but being here—away from the lies, the staring guests, the aching questions—gave her a moment to breathe.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I think I broke something back there."
Ronin's brow furrowed. "You didn't break anything, El."
She shook her head, fingers gripping the reins like they could anchor her. "No, not something. Me. I let someone in again. I started to believe it was safe. And now…"
Her voice cracked.
Ronin stepped closer. He didn't speak, didn't try to fix it. He just stood beside her, close enough that his presence felt like a shield.
"I've always been afraid of being replaced," she continued, her voice low. "Of people finding something better, shinier, easier. I thought if I stayed guarded, I'd stay safe. But I let him in, Ronin. And now I feel... stupid."
He turned to face her fully, reaching out slowly—giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn't. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, warm and grounding.
"You're not stupid," he said. "You're just... human."
Elvira looked up at him, her eyes still glossy. "I hate being human sometimes."
Ronin smiled—small, sad, understanding. "Yeah. Me too."
They stood there for a moment in silence, broken only by the soft rustling of leaves and the sound of the stream nearby. It wasn't perfect. But it was honest.
And maybe that was the start of something she hadn't had in a long time: trust without expectations. Safety without masks.
"You cold?" he asked gently.
She didn't answer, just folded her arms over herself and stared off at the moonlit canopy.
Ronin didn't push. He walked to the saddlebag, pulled something out, and came back with a bundle of dark fabric—his spare clothes. Worn leather, scuffed but clean, smelling faintly of firewood and sage.
"Here," he said, handing it over without looking at her too long. "They might be a little big. But they're warm."
She blinked at the bundle. "Thanks," she muttered, eyes flicking up to his for a second. The look they exchanged—brief, hesitant—carried more weight than anything she could've said aloud.
She disappeared behind a tree to change. A few moments later, she emerged…
And the forest paused.
She stood beneath the hush of leaves and moonlight like something elemental. His jacket, too broad at the shoulders and heavy with memory, hung off her like second skin. The sleeves slipped over her hands, the leather dark against the pale curve of her arms. She'd cinched the belt tight at her waist, giving the illusion of structure, but everything else about her said wild.
Ronin's breath caught. Not because she looked pretty. Not because she looked soft.
Because she looked powerful.
She caught his gaze and suddenly turned shy, fingers tugging at the sleeve like she regretted stepping into view. "Does it look stupid?" she asked quietly.
He blinked. "No."
Still staring.
"Elvira," he said after a beat, voice low. "You could walk into a war like that and make kings kneel."
She laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're just saying that."
"No," he said, taking a step closer. "I'm not."
Something shifted in the air between them—quiet. Charged.
Later that night, after the horses were tied and the fire crackled low, Elvira found herself lying on her back in the grass, her borrowed jacket pulled tight around her. The stars above were impossibly bright—like they were strung up just for her. A silver trail of clouds stretched across the sky, soft and slow, like even the heavens were catching their breath.
Ronin lay beside her, arms behind his head, eyes focused on the stars like they might speak to him if he stared long enough.
"You ever wonder," Elvira started, voice quiet, "if the stars remember the people who used to look up at them?"
Ronin tilted his head toward her. "You mean like ghosts?"
"No, like... memories. Like if someone once stood here and made a wish, and now the stars carry it. Even if the person's gone."
He didn't answer right away. "That's kind of beautiful," he finally said. "I usually just try to guess which one's a planet."
Elvira snorted—actually snorted—and immediately covered her face in embarrassment. "Gods, I sounded so poetic and you brought it back to science."
He laughed, a low, rumbling sound. "Hey, balance. You bring the poetry, I'll keep us grounded."
She turned her head toward him, resting her cheek against the grass. "What about you? Ever wish on one?"
Ronin was quiet for a long time. Then: "Once. When I was a kid. I asked the stars to let me protect someone. No idea who. I just didn't want to be useless, I guess."
Her heart squeezed. "Did it come true?"
His eyes met hers. "Ask me tomorrow."
Elvira didn't look away. The fire crackled nearby, the sound grounding them. She felt like she was floating—half in a dream, half in something realer than anything else in her life.
"Do you think we'll ever go back?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "To the palace. To... pretending."
Ronin didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out—slow, hesitant—and brushed his pinky against hers. A soft touch. A silent choice.
"If you go back," he said, "you won't be pretending anymore."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because whoever you were pretending to be... she wouldn't have run."
Her throat tightened.
He didn't press her. Just let the moment hang, honest and heavy and impossibly safe.
They lay like that for a while—shoulders almost touching, fingers barely linked, eyes on the sky.
And for once, Elvira wasn't afraid of being seen.
The night was still.
Too still.
Elvira had just closed her eyes, lulled by the rhythm of Ronin's breathing and the steady hum of the crickets around them, when the distant clatter of hooves shattered the quiet.
She sat bolt upright.
Ronin was already on his feet, eyes narrowing as he scanned the darkened tree line. "Stay low," he murmured, reaching for the sword he'd leaned against a nearby rock. His whole body had tensed like a coiled spring.
Elvira's heart hammered in her chest. "Is it—?"
"Guards," he confirmed grimly. "Palace ones."
The torchlight appeared a few seconds later—six riders, moving fast, weaving through the woods like hounds on a scent.
Elvira scrambled to her feet, the oversized jacket slipping off one shoulder. Her breath caught.
"They found me."
Ronin looked back at her, something fierce in his eyes. "No. They found us."
The horses stopped just before the clearing, hooves kicking up dirt. One of the guards, tall and clad in the black-gold of the royal watch, called out sharply:
"By order of Lord Victor, return the Lady Elvira at once!"
The air tightened like it couldn't breathe either.
Ronin stepped forward, not in front of her—but with her. "She's not property," he called back, voice like flint. "She's not yours to command."
"She is betrothed to the heir and missing from royal grounds," the guard snapped. "We are under direct order to retrieve her by force if necessary."
Elvira's blood ran cold. The words by force echoed like thunder in her head.
Ronin glanced at her—just once, his hand brushing hers, asking silently what she wanted.
Elvira squared her shoulders. She wasn't in silk now. No golden chains, no polished jewels. Just rough boots and a borrowed jacket, wild hair and trembling fists.
But gods, she felt alive.
"I'm not going with you," she said, voice clear despite the fear crawling down her spine. "Tell Victor if he wants a puppet, he can carve one from marble. I'm not his."
The guards moved.
Steel hissed.
Ronin was faster.
He stepped between them in a blur, blade drawn, face carved from fury. "You'll have to go through me."
Elvira backed up, heart pounding like a war drum, watching it unfold. And for a breathless moment, it looked like there'd be blood.
But the guard raised a hand to halt his men.
"This isn't over," he spat. "We'll return. With more."
"Then bring an army," Ronin growled, eyes burning. "Because she's not going anywhere unless she says so."
With that, the guards turned, retreating into the darkness—but the threat hung heavy in the air, thick and ugly.
When they were gone, Elvira finally exhaled, her hands still shaking.
Ronin turned to her, breath ragged.
"You okay?" he asked, reaching for her.
And for the first time, she didn't flinch.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But I'm done running scared."
Elvira stared at the spot where the guards had vanished, her fists still clenched.
"I don't want to be helpless next time," she said quietly, eyes fixed on the dark. "I want to fight back."
Ronin turned to her, brows lifting slightly.
"Teach me how to fight," she added, meeting his gaze. " I'm done waiting to be rescued."