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“What’s this?” Albrecht jabs a finger at a mold of geometric shapes on my work bench.
I try to pout. “You’re spoiling all the surprises, Your Highness. That’s for my jewelry.”
“You’re supposed to be making gold for me, woman. Not messing about prettifying yourself.” He sounds like a toddler who’s been told he has to wait to play with his favorite toy.
“I will, Your Highness. All the gold you want. I just want to look my best for you first.”
I unspool the finished thread from the spindle right there in front of him, though he has no idea what he’s looking at. It’s nearly thick as cord, but not as useful at first glance, too heavy and too weak. I couldn’t make a ladder from it, or a proper rope, but I’ve decided I could use its weight to my advantage.
If I could get them to leave me alone completely, I could make something genuinely useful—but the king has me watched too closely for that. Everything I make must be gold, or the guards would grow suspicious. Gold weapons just aren’t practical—its softness means they blunt quickly. But luckily, I don’t need the dagger I made—with the mold he’s just looked at—to last. It only needs to hold together long enough for me to break my way free.
He steps back, seeming appeased, and I can tell he’s bored enough now to leave me alone. For a brief moment I consider asking him about my father. Albrecht has ignored my requests to see him so far. But maybe it’s better this way. I trust Thatch, who took his freedom without looking back, will have at least told Dad that I’m safe. And though part of me longs to see him, I think that now, this close to the wedding, actually seeing him in person might take all the fight out of me. It’s easy to remember how vulnerable you are when you look a person you love in the eyes. At least, I’ve always felt that way with Dad.
If my plan works, I’ll be seeing him soon enough. And if it doesn’t… I can’t let myself think about that. It has to work. It has to.
I wait until the early hours of the morning and then call out to the guards posted in the corridor beyond my workshop door—I’ve insisted on having a bed made up there so I can “focus on my creations.” Their footsteps soon approach.
I step back into the corner behind the door and pick up the cord of woven gold. The door swings open, the guards push inside, and I wait patiently for the last one to clear the frame before I yank as hard as I can.
The large net I’ve spent days weaving crashes to the ground, flooring the men underneath it. I snatch up my things and leap over the guards fruitlessly trying to claw their way out from under the heavy net. The thing is probably worth a fortune. If it buys me my freedom, it’s priceless.
Quickly and quietly as possible I shut the door behind me, the thick wood muffling the guards’ groans and shouts as I’d hoped. I silently thank the castle’s top-notch carpenters as I sprint down the corridor, checking my right and taking the second left.
I’ve figured out the guard rotations and know that at this time of night, most of them are posted outside, at the perimeter. If I can just keep to the east wing, my path should be clear all the way down to the kitchens—deserted at this hour—where I’ve learned there’s a back exit that no one ever bothers to lock.
I know I’m close when the perennial smell of cooked food beckons. But I’m just feet from the kitchen’s doors when two guards stumble through them.
Damn.
They pull up short when they spot me, for a moment looking worried, and I see they’re clutching apples and an iced bun. The idiots have shirked off their duty to steal a midnight snack, and I happened to catch them.
I adapt quickly.
“There’s an intruder,” I gasp, using my genuine fear to feed my performance. “In my workshop. He got the guards.” I point a shaking finger in the direction I came and the guards drop their food.
“You stay here and keep her safe,” says one to his colleague and goes running off.
Damn again.
I have no choice but to try to make break for it. I pretend to see something over the remaining guard’s shoulder and scream, then bolt through the kitchen doors when he’s looking in the other direction. Not the cleverest trick; it’s all I can think of now that my original plan of slipping out quietly has failed. If I can get outside into the darkness, though, I might still stand a chance.
But the kitchens are bigger than I expect, and the back exit one of the servants mentioned in passing isn’t immediately obvious. I flounder, feeling my panic build, which only leads to me taking a wrong turn and winding up in another corridor.
The guard is faster than me and knows the castle better, and soon his footsteps are thundering on my heels. The chase gives him time to call for backup, and now there’s a host of guards in pursuit. My lungs begin to burn as I veer wildly through strange halls and rooms, utterly disoriented.
You’re lost, Eleanor, I tell myself. Time to stop running.
My hand finds the golden dagger hidden beneath my skirts. I pull it out, spinning on my heel and holding it before me. The guards screech to a halt at its point, eyeing the knife glinting in the torchlight.
“Stay back,” I say, trying to make it sound like a legitimate threat, as if I have any idea how to properly wield it. I risk a wild slash outwards and the guards jump back rather than blocking it. It seems they might be reluctant to damage the king’s prized possession.
I press my advantage, trying to drive them back again. But this time they’re ready. The front guard swings his blade and cuffs the edge of my dagger, sending it spinning across the floor.
I don’t think, don’t hesitate. I simply seize the nearest door handle and dive through it, relieved when I find a latch on the other side and slam it shut across the doorframe.
The banging starts immediately, the iron latch rattling as the soldiers set about breaking the door down. Their pummeling fists and feet echo the frantic beating of my heart. I failed. I’m not getting out. They’ll be through the door in a minute and will drag me back to my prison.
Get a grip, Eleanor.
