But Viktor made it hard.
The clock on my nightstand read half past eleven. The palace had settled into its nighttime rhythm. Distant conversations from guards changing shifts. The creak of old wood. The whisper of rain against stone.
And somewhere in this maze of corridors, Viktor was probably doing another patrol he didn't need to do, maintaining distance I suddenly wanted to close even though I knew better.
Even though I knew that wanting was weakness. That caring was a knife you handed to someone and hoped they wouldn't use.
I pressed my palms against my eyes until I saw stars.
This was why I needed to go out tonight. Needed to move. To hunt. To pour all this restless, dangerous energy into something that made sense. Arrow and target. Predator and prey. Violence I could control instead of feelings I couldn't.
Viktor would be furious if he found out. Would probably make good on his threat to tell my father. Would look at me with that cold disappointment that somehow hurt more than anger.
Apollo lifted his head from where he was sprawled at the foot of my bed, ears perked.
“Can't sleep either?” I asked him.
His tail thumped once against the duvet.
I stood, pacing to the window. Lightning split the horizon, turningLondon into a photograph of itself. Thunder followed, rattling the gold frames that caged my entire life.
I needed to move. Needed to do something other than lie here drowning in thoughts I couldn't control. The palace felt suffocating tonight. Too quiet. Too still. Like it was holding its breath waiting for something to break.
I made the decision without really making it. Just turned from the window and started moving.
I moved to my door first, pressing my ear against the wood. Stone was cold against my cheek. The faint smell of beeswax polish lingered from the morning cleaning. I held my breath, listening past my own heartbeat for the telltale rhythm of Viktor's boots.
Nothing.
I cracked the door open. The corridor stretched empty in both directions, lit by sconces that turned shadows into living things. The guard at the far end was facing away, shoulders slumped with boredom.
Viktor wasn't at his usual post.
The absence carved something hollow in my chest. I pushed it down and slipped back inside, turning the lock with a soft click that sounded too loud.
Apollo watched me from the bed, head resting on his paws. His amber eyes tracked my movement to the wardrobe, and his ears flattened. He knew.
“Stay,” I whispered, even though he always did. “I'll be back.”
His tail didn't move.
I pressed the hidden panel, and the door swung open on hinges I'd oiled myself last month. The servant stairs yawned dark and narrow, smelling like century-old stone and the earth pressing in from all sides. I pulled the door shut and descended.
The darkness swallowed me whole. My fingers found the wall, trailing along rough stone worn smooth in places by generations of servants who'd used this route. Seventeen steps down. Turn. Twenty-three more. Another turn. Each footfall quiet on worn wood that creaked if you didn't know where to step.
I knew.
The air changed at the bottom. Opened up. Smelled like motor oil and leather and the ghost of gasoline. The hidden garage was smaller than most people's closets, carved out of foundation stone that had held this palace up for three hundred years.
My motorcycle sat in the center like a patient predator.
I moved to the weapons locker I'd built into the wall. Steel. Fireproof. Hidden behind a false panel that looked like structural support. My fingers worked the combination lock in darkness, muscle memory guiding each turn.
The door swung open, and I breathed in the familiar scent. Gun oil. Treated leather. The faint metallic tang of broadheads.
I changed quickly, efficiently, folding my civilian clothes and stashing them in the locker. The transformation felt physical. Like shedding skin. Like becoming something that made more sense than prince ever had.
The bow case was in the motorcycle's storage compartment. I pulled it out, ran my hands over the dark wood. The limbs were cold to touch. The string had perfect tension when I tested it. My mother's necklace caught the faint light from the exit indicator, silver glinting like a promise I kept failing to keep.
