“Nin!” Cedric yelled after her, but she couldn’t stop.
The edges of her vision blurred as she raced after the man shutting a service door behind him, her pulse echoing in her ears as she wrenched it open. He disappeared around a left corner, and as she hurried to follow, he veered right, his coattails flapping in the dim light.
A servant screamed, and glass shattered in the corridor as Otto shoved the young woman against the wall. Nin spared the servant an apologetic glance, leaping over the fragmented plates. Otto’s legs may be longer, his muscles stronger, but his life as an ambassador was no match for her years on the streets. He slowed a fraction after several minutes into the chase, giving her the opportunity to catch up to his long strides.
Her fingers whispered against his coat before he threw a door open in her face. Nin caught herself, slipping around the door and dashing into the kitchen courtyard. Rain whipped her faceas mud slicked beneath her boots. Otto darted right, but Nin calculated his destination.
Chickens burst from their covered coops, screeching and scattering, as she tore through the service yard. Sheep bleated inside the barn. Metal clanged up ahead, horses whinnied, and she pushed herself to race forward.
Nin slid into the stables just as Otto cut between a feed cart and a water barrel. Horses reared in their stalls and started for the end of the stable. Chest burning, legs aching, Nin ignored the discomfort begging her to slow down and hurtled over the cart. The momentum launched her forward, her arm reached out and grasped fabric. She twisted, yanking them both to the ground.
Her shoulder smashed into the compacted dirt. A silent cry wheezed from her chest, but she scrambled back to avoid the elbow slamming down on her. The world became a tangle of swinging limbs and grappling clothes.
Voices shouted outside the stables. An arm wrapped around her throat, but she dipped her chin, preventing the chokehold from squeezing. She bit, clamping as hard as she could into his sleeve.
Otto hollered, his cries competing with the thunder rumbling from above. A swift elbow met her ribs. She gasped, and a white-hot pain radiated through her like a scorching poker. Otto scrambled away, but she clutched his ankle, biting the inside of her cheeks through the flaring pain. He kicked and twisted, catching her shoulder. She lost her grip as she rolled over the straw strewn across the ground.
The pins came loose, scraping against her scalp.
Otto leapt to his feet, stumbling back into a stall door, his chest heaving. Nin wobbled on all fours. To her horror, her dirty blonde locks spilled around her, the cap sliding with a wet splat.
Nin scrambled for the hat, but a boot pinned it to the ground.
Every limb trembled as she peered up at his pale face. Neither of them moved. She didn’t dare to breathe.
For a fleeting moment, neither did he.
“You—” he rasped, and her stomach sank past her toes and into whatever empty void waited beneath the ground. “Princess… Marianne?”
She staggered to her feet, her ribcage and shoulder flaring with the movement. Stumbling, she clutched one arm around her aching side as he continued to assess her with furrowed brows.
How she drew herself up—her posture, the way she lowered her stance. Her pulse roared in her ears as she stood her ground.
The air hung thick with the scent of damp hay and something metallic. A low, guttural cough escaped him, a rasp against the thunder rumbling above them. Each passing second pounded against the dread eating through her core.
“That’s not possible,” he murmured. “You’re not…”
He fixated on every detail of her tattered clothes, up to her scowl. Nin’s instincts screamed the moment it clicked. His eyes narrowed as his body shifted forward. Not retreating, but recalculating.
Nin lunged.
Her foot slid forward between him, her body low as she hooked her leg around his. With a grunt, she launched his weight over her hip, sending him sprawling to the ground. Pouncing on him, she whipped a dagger from within her coat and held it up to his jugular.
Otto’s throat bobbed under the blade. He frantically searched her face before his features smoothed in revelation.
“No…” he whispered.
A slow smile crept across his thin lips.
“You move too well to be the princess.”
Nin pressed the blade against his neck, attempting to silence him, as blood trickled over the steel.
“You were sent to die in her place.”
The words struck deeper than the blade she held at his throat.
A small packet flashed in his hand. She jerked back, swiping it from his grip before he could tear it. It flopped to the ground, and they both moved. Nin lodged a heavy kick into his side, scooping up the delicate paper as she rolled. Before his hands could reach her neck, she crushed the packet against his chest.
