"Ah!"
Her hand shot out, catching the prince before his weight dragged them both to the ground. She scrambled upright, shaking his shoulder.
Your Highness! Your Highness!
But all that escaped were her broken sounds.
Your Highness, please…!
His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. His skin burned with fever. Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks, her pulse hammered against her ribs.
Yet, no matter how hard she tried, he wouldn't wake.
"Aah…" She sank to her knees.
Her breath hitched. Images slammed into her—the black-robed figures dragging her away, her mother lying helpless on the ground, the cold, dark cell…
What do I do…?
Numb static crawled over her limbs as tremors overtook her whole body.
What do I—she wrapped her arms around herself, nails digging into her skin, breath haggard.
What… what would happen to us…?
What if the cult came back?
What if… what if—
No—
Roschella shook her head, wiping tears and sweat from her face with trembling hands. Calm down! I need to calm down!
Swallowing hard, she steadied her breath and forced her mind to focus. As the tremor eased, her gaze flickered from Lucien's feverish face to the mist-choked forest around them. The woods stretched endlessly, cloaked in eerie shadows.
A faint sound carried through the trees—footsteps?
No, no, no—
Roschella shook her head sharply, shoving the thoughts away.
Shelter! I need shelter now!
Roschella took off her cloak and draped it over him for warmth, then used the leather vest to prop up his head. Tearing a long strip from her petticoat's hem, she wrapped it securely around Lucien's chest and her own torso, binding them together. With a grunt of effort, she dragged him across the thicket.
Shelter, shelter, shelter…
Minutes bled into one another. Her breath came in ragged gasps, searing her throat as sweat clung to her chemise. Pain throbbed through her limbs until they felt ready to tear apart.
She nearly collapsed—but a low, guttural snarl rolled through the mist. Roschella's blood ran cold. She instantly dropped flat to the ground, hands clamped over her mouth.
A monster!
Her pulse thundered in her ears; she didn't dare to breathe.
Lucien's uneven exhale brushed her cheek, and panic stabbed through her chest. She slid a trembling hand over his mouth to quiet him.
A faint vibration shivered through the earth, the beast drawing closer.
Through the brambles ahead, a hulking silhouette prowled past. Its matted fur bristled; its breath rasped wetly through the mist. The massive head swung side to side, sniffing at the damp air.
Roschella squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lower lip, her body shaking so violently she feared the beast might hear the rustle of her sleeves. Tears spilled down her face.
Please… please don't notice us…
After what felt like an eternity, the tremor faded, along with the beast's growl.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and peeked through the bushes. The creature was gone. A long, shaky breath escaped her lips.
Her gaze lifted to the pale grey sky above. Tears streaked her cheeks, and sobs slipped free despite herself. Fear, exhaustion, and relief tangled into a mess she couldn't name.
Wiping her face with the back of her hand, she forced herself upright and resumed dragging Lucien across the damp earth.
A deep rumble of thunder rolled overhead, snapping her head skyward. Something cool struck her cheek. She blinked. Another droplet followed, and another.
A drizzle.
Oh, no.
She pulled the cloak higher to shield Lucien's face and pushed forward. Her gaze darted through the trees.
Shelter. I need shelter…
A sharp gust tore through the canopy, bowing the branches with a groan. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth.
Lightning split the sky, casting the forest in blinding white. And there—a jagged rock face, a shallow recess beneath it.
A cave!
Using every ounce of her strength, she staggered uphill. The slope was slick, mud pulling at her boots with every step. Rain mingled with her ragged breathing as she forced her aching body onward.
One step. Another. Just a little more—
The shallow cave wasn't much, but it was enough to keep them from the rain.
Roschella's knees buckled the moment they crossed into the threshold. A broken wail tore from her throat as pain exploded through her body. Her limbs trembled uncontrollably.
It hurt so much she couldn't stop crying.
She bit back a sob and wiped her streaming eyes with the back of her hands. Her silk gloves—damp with sweat and tears—were useless. She peeled them off and tossed them aside.
Though her chest still hitched with silent sobs, she turned to Lucien and removed her cloak covering him. His shallow breathing and fever-hot skin spurred her into motion.
She removed his gloves and boots, then she gently rolled him onto his side, tugged the soaked cloak free, and eased him back down.
Her fingers fumbled with her dress until she freed the innermost petticoat—which was mostly dry—and spread it beneath him.
She tore another strip of fabric and split it into two before crawling toward the cave's edge. Stretching her hand into the drizzle, she let the cold rain soak the fabric, then hurried back. She wiped the sweat from Lucien's pale face and laid the damp strips across his forehead and neck.
Time blurred.
The drizzle deepened into a steady rain. Her dress clung damp against her skin, boots heavy with mud and water from each trip to re-soak the cloth until she discarded them entirely. Her body shivered from the cold; the wind slipping through the cave's mouth made it worse.
I need fire.
Her gaze swept the cave—nothing. Outside, the world dimmed into grey haze, the mist thickening until even the trees were little more than shadows.
Night was falling.
Her throat tightened as she looked at Lucien, his breathing shallow and strained.
Could we survive the night without fire…?
The cloth on his forehead slipped, Roschella's trembling hand reached out to fix it, but paused when his fevered heat met her cold skin. For a moment, her fingers lingered—longer than they should have. The warmth that seeped into her chilled hands felt strangely… comforting.
She drew a shaky breath and adjusted the cloth, though her hands refused to stop shaking. Roschella regarded Lucien in silence; the rhythmic patter of rain and his faint, uneven breaths filled the hollow.
Her brows furrowed. She bit her lower lip as a thought surfaced—one that clashed with everything she had ever been taught.
After a long battle with her pride, Roschella eventually relented.
Her hand hovered, then lowered, intertwining her fingers with his. The heat radiating from his palm burned against her frozen skin, yet she clung to it anyway.
Your Highness, I apologize…
It was improper. Shameful, even—
But I'm freezing…
Gathering what remained of the cloak, she lay down beside him, pulling it over them both. One arm looped gently over his chest as she tucked herself against his side.
His warmth seeped faintly through her damp fabric.
And as the night wore on, her shivering slowly eased.