The Flames Of The Red Saintess

The last moments of freedom

After being returned to his opulent yet suffocating chamber, Katsuki immediately felt the lingering effects of his heat cycle—a constant, uncomfortable reminder of his vulnerability and the critical eyes that awaited him. The room, with its heavy drapes and soft rugs, suffocated him, a stark reminder of the scrutiny that awaited beyond its walls. His skin itched against the fine linens, each fold of the fabric a reminder of his looming display before the king.

Pacing the length of the room, Katsuki assessed every potential route for escape. His eyes flicked to the balcony, where a sturdy tree branch came temptingly close—a possible path to freedom he had never dared alone without Izuku's steadying presence.

"Tree branch, maybe? No... too risky without Izuku. The pilgrimage... there has to be a moment, a crack in their vigilance," he muttered to himself, his voice a whisper against the oppressive silence of the room.

Another thought surfaced: the upcoming pilgrimage might provide a moment of chaos to slip away, a brief window to disappear into the wilderness.

"Perhaps during the confusion..." he whispered, plotting each step with meticulous care. Yet, doubts clouded his thoughts, the potential for disaster looming large.

Plan after plan swirled through his mind, each fraught with risk and uncertainty. He needed to speak with Izuku; there was no Katsuki without Izuku, no plan that didn't involve him by his side.

Amidst his strategizing, Katsuki's hand brushed against the small vial of remedies the healers had given him to suppress the more acute symptoms of his heat. They had cautioned him about the dosage, but the fear of his scent drawing unwanted attention was a risk he couldn't afford.

With a shaky breath, he drank the liquid from one vial, the bitter taste of herb a small price for a semblance of control.

"Just one more... it won't hurt. Better safe than... than caught," he mumbled, rationalizing the potential overdose.

Outside, the faint clatter of armor and distant laughter heightened his anxiety. He watched the shadows, half-expecting Izuku's timely intervention or the guards' dreaded arrival. Each creak of the floorboard, each whisper of the wind, seemed a herald of his fate—be it salvation or doom.

As the room's walls appeared to close in, his strategies unraveled into desperation. Disguises, hidden passages, even absurd thoughts of mimicking a dragon's call—his plans grew increasingly wild.

"Maybe... just maybe, if I..." he whispered to himself, running through a scenario where he scaled the palace walls with bedsheets knotted into ropes. "No, no, that's foolish, Katsuki, think!" His words were sharp whispers, a harsh scolding to his dwindling rationality. Each plan seemed to dissolve into the air as quickly as it formed, leaving a residue of despair.

But reality offered little solace, each tick of the clock a grim reminder of the impending ceremony that would seal his fate. With a deep breath, he steeled himself against the encroaching despair, his resolve hardening.

Suddenly, the subtle turn of the doorknob cut through his spiraling thoughts. His heart skipped as the door creaked open, revealing not the imagined specters of his fears but the actual figure of Izuku, stepping into the dim light of his chamber.

Izuku's presence marked by the soft sound of his steps and the subtle, familiar scent that accompanied him—earthy and reassuring. The comfort was brief, overshadowed quickly by a surge of anxiety as the reality of his situation pressed down.

"Saintess," Izuku began, his voice steady yet laden with an emotion he struggled to mask.

"Izuku, we need to leave," Katsuki cut in sharply, his voice a desperate whisper, his hands reaching out then retreating, embodying the tumult of his plea. "We can escape, now, together."