Cowards, she thought. These men, these guards who could stare down armed orcs, trembled at the idea of upsetting a maid. Their armor was nothing more than decoration. They weren’t worthy of serving Esther.
They whimpered before scampering down the hall, boots squeaking on polished marble.
Pathetic. Lucy wanted to spit on the floor after them, but the maid in her wouldn’t allow it. She settled on something better: sneaking into their quarters later to rub peppers into their undergarments during training.
Her knees nearly buckled once they turned the corner. The lantern light from their retreating steps dimmed, leaving the corridor cold and empty. Her breath rushed out in a shaky gust.
She had bought Esther minutes. Maybe hours. No more.
Lucy slipped back into Esther’s room and collapsed onto the enormous bed. The blankets—soft as rose petals, warm as summer—wrapped around her like a memory. Here, there were no roles, no duty, no palace politics. They were simply best friends in the rawest sense.
What was she supposed to do now?
Esther had always been stubborn, sarcastic, quick-witted… but never defiant. Never reckless enough to flee the palace. From the outside, she looked like a porcelain doll on display—quiet, graceful, demure. The perfect curated princess.
But Lucy knew the truth.
Esther was a butterfly encased in amber. Beautiful. Unbreathing.
Dying slowly in stillness.
Watching her live like that ate away at Lucy, and she hated herself for not having enough power to save her.
The guards compared her to a canary in a gilded cage. They were wrong. A canary could at least sing.
Lucy remembered the first time she saw Esther cry—not the polite, quiet tears of a princess, but a full, terrified sob when she accidentally singed her own eyebrows during a lesson. Lucy had marched right up, stolen a pastry off a silver tray, and shoved it into Esther’s hands.
“Eat. Sadness burns calories,” she’d said.
Esther laughed through her tears.
Lucy had been loyal ever since.
Lucy’s gaze drifted to the note on the vanity — the ink barely dry. Esther’s handwriting was messy where the strokes had trembled.
Lucy,
If I die, burn my extra secret books — you know where they are. If I live, I’m bringing back a man. Love you forever.
— Esther
P.S. You’d be a male knight, just to gloat about having the biggest sword. Very important.
Lucy’s throat tightened. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Probably both. Esther always wrote like her emotions were on fire.
If Esther lived, she promised to bring home a man.
If she died… she asked Lucy to burn the smut library.
Lucy chuckled weakly through her tears. It was such an Esther specific worry to have when running away without a plan. Lucy clutched the letter to her chest, tears prickling her eyes again. She had introduced Esther to smut in the first place.The Forbidden Foresthad been their downfall. There was no going back after that. They had since become obsessed with books. It was the perfect getaway for their loneliest moments.
She curled deeper into the bed. The scent of jasmine oil still clung to the pillows, soft and soothing—a ghost of the girl who had lain here hours ago.
Bang.
The door slammed open.
Lucy jolted, her heart clawing at her ribs. She yanked the blankets over her head, willing herself into the shadows. Moonlight flickered faintly across the floor, too dim to give away her hiding spot.
