The forest was dense, the moonlight barely filtering through the canopy, casting eerie shadows on the ground. Each crack of a branch or rustle of leaves sent Meerab’s heart into overdrive. Her breaths came in sharp gasps as she ran, the heavy fabric of her once regal gown snagging on every thorn and branch. She was no longer Princess Meerab of Seravia, heir to the kingdom her father had once ruled. Now, she was just a fugitive, an exile fleeing the ruin of her homeland, the last of her royal blood.
The sound of hooves thundering not too far behind chilled her bones. The enemy soldiers were relentless, hunting her like prey since they stormed the castle and slaughtered her family. Her father’s final words echoed in her ears, urging her to escape, to survive. She had barely made it out, her crown left behind, now only a woman in tattered clothes with nothing to her name but the weight of her kingdom’s fall.
She stumbled forward, her legs weak from exhaustion, her throat dry. Suddenly, she heard a different noise—a slow, lazy whistle, the kind that didn’t belong to the chaos of a battlefield or the cold efficiency of trained killers. Meerab froze, her eyes scanning the darkness.
Then he appeared—a shadow at first, stepping out from behind a tree, tall and broad-shouldered. He had a roguish smirk plastered across his face, his hair disheveled, his tunic slightly undone, as if he cared little for appearances. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief as they scanned her from head to toe.
"Well, well, what have we here?" he drawled, crossing his arms, his tone dripping with amusement. "A damsel in distress?"
Meerab's grip tightened on the small dagger she had hidden in her skirts, her instincts telling her to trust no one. Especially not this stranger, who seemed far too relaxed in such a dangerous situation. She straightened, trying to mask her fear with defiance.
"I don't need help," she snapped, stepping back. "Leave me be."
He chuckled, clearly not taking her seriously. "Oh, but that wouldn't be very chivalrous of me, now would it? A lovely creature like you, alone in these woods, running from…who, exactly? Goons? Bandits? Dacoits? Must be a real nasty bunch for you to be in such a hurry."
Meerab’s lips thinned. She couldn’t afford to give away her identity, not to someone as unpredictable as him. "None of your business."
He stepped closer, his smile never fading, but there was something sharp in his gaze now, as if he could see through her bravado. "Not my business, sure. But if you're fleeing for your life, it’d be a shame to just let you stumble around out here, waiting to get caught." His eyes raked over her, lingering on the torn gown that still clung to the elegance of royalty. "Besides, you don’t exactly look like someone used to fending off trouble."
Before she could protest, she heard the distant shouts of the soldiers. They were getting closer. Panic surged in her chest.
He heard them too, his expression shifting from amusement to calculation. Without warning, he grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the cover of the trees. "Come on, sweetheart, unless you want to meet whoever’s looking for you."
Meerab struggled in his grip, but he was stronger than her, and at this moment, she couldn’t afford to fight him. Reluctantly, she let him pull her deeper into the forest. They ducked behind a large tree, the bark rough against her back as she pressed herself against it, trying to quiet her breathing.
The enemy soldiers galloped past, shouting orders to each other, their horses kicking up dirt and leaves. It wasn’t until their voices faded into the distance that she allowed herself to exhale.
The man released her and leaned casually against the tree next to her, his arms crossed again as if this whole ordeal was nothing more than a game to him. "See? You’re safer with me."
Meerab glared at him, rubbing her wrist where his grip had been. "I didn’t ask for your help."
He shrugged. "No, but you needed it. Besides," he tilted his head, eyeing her with a roguish grin, "I can’t just leave a beautiful woman like you to fend off danger all by herself."
She narrowed her eyes, trying to ignore the flutter of unease—and something else—his words stirred in her. "You’re not exactly the hero type."
He barked out a laugh. "A hero? No. But I’m no villain either. Call me...a rogue with a heart." His grin widened as he added, "And a soft spot for pretty damsels."
Meerab rolled her eyes, refusing to play into his flirtatious banter. "I don’t need a rogue, a heart, or anything from you."
"Oh, you wound me, darling," he said, feigning hurt. "At least tell me your name."
She hesitated, her mind racing. Giving her real name would be a death sentence if word spread that the princess of Seravia still lived. "Meera," she finally said, settling on something close enough to her own but common enough to avoid suspicion.
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it. "Meera. Pretty name." He paused, his eyes lingering on her face, softening just a fraction. "Look, you’re clearly in some trouble, and it’s none of my business what that is. But the woods aren’t safe tonight. I’ve seen soldiers roaming around, and not the friendly kind. Stick with me, and I’ll make sure you don’t get caught. After that, you’re free to go wherever you like."
Meerab wanted to argue, to tell him that she could manage on her own, but the truth was, she didn’t know these woods, and she was exhausted. The enemy soldiers wouldn’t stop hunting her, and as much as she hated to admit it, this rogue might be her only chance at survival.
"Fine," she muttered, "but no more of your suggestive comments."
He grinned, a glint of wickedness returning to his eyes. "No promises, sweetheart. But I’ll try to behave. For now."
As they walked deeper into the forest, Meerab couldn’t shake the feeling that this man, for all his charm and rakish bravado, was dangerous. But for the moment, she had no choice but to trust him, even if he was a rake and she was a princess in disguise.
She would just have to make sure he never found out the truth. At least until she can safely get to her father's trusted men.
