Genevieve

Prologue

It had been raining more than she had ever previously recalled. Her shoes hit the ground as she kept running away, running towards her freedom. 

The heavy rain covered her tears.

She had to do it.

For once in her life she wanted- no needed to be free. 

Free of the shackles of her perfect life. 

Her father would be mad when he would realize that she had ran. Soon he would enter room as usual and when he couldn't find his daughter anywhere he would be furious. 

She had broken his most important rule. She wasn't allowed leave the estate, ever.

Her dress, that every fairytale princess would be jealous of, was now ruined. The rain had made it heavy as mud covered the hem of it. The vein in her father's forehead would explode if he saw her now. It always pulsed when she did something that didn't please her father or when he was mad. 

The forest started to thicken as she ran faster. She was still too close to the estate for her liking. It wouldn't take too long for her father's men to find her if she kept hiding where she currently was. 

Her shoes were giving her blisters but she didn't care. The pain only made her more stubborn. What was little pain in the name of freedom?

Then she heard the sound of a horse. Of it running in the same mud as she was.

All the remaining color left her face as she tried to run faster. Her life would be over if they would catch her. 

In her mind, she could see them catching up to her. Yelling for her to stop until they would finally catch her. They wouldn't hurt her or touch her. Her father would kill them the second he would know of it. They would only touch her for what was necessary to catch and return her to her father.

And then the ground under her feet disappeared and she fell face first on to the mud. A small scream left her mouth before she managed to catch herself. 

The clatter of hoofs  kept coming closer. 

Is this it? Would this mean the end of her escape?

Evie tried to get off the mud and stand when she felt a presence close to her. 

A hand covered in black leather gloves came into her appearance. She stared at the hand. That definitely didn't belong to her father. He never wore gloves. 

She could see a horse's hoofs standing close to her vision.

With hesitation she took a hold of the hand covering the glove with a fresh layer of mud. The owner of the hand pulled her up and as she turned to look at him all air left her body. 

He was gorgeous. 

Perhaps not in the most common way. The people considered gorgeous in her circles were everything but him. Their hair was always styled into perfection without a single hair out of place. Their clothes were neat and tailored to perfection. Their clothes represented the newest trends and what was considered the most flattering to their skin tones. Their posture was as straight as a pole and every action and word was as if from the etiquette book. 

He was different.

Her mouth formed an o as she kept staring at him. His wet curly hair that was glued to his forehead as he looked at her with emotionless expression. His dark eyes that fascinated her more than she ever would admit. 

He was perfection. 

He was reeking of danger.

Then he let go of her hand and she stumbled.