LIGHTNOVELONLINE Chapter Two
{Cateline}
I rushed from the confines of the banquet hall, through the corridors that the eternally brisk winter air poisoned—the wind cutting through my gown like a blade. Gooseflesh raced across my forearms, above my elbow and up my bicep. I was trembling, head to toe, but nothing could chill the searing pain in my finger.
There were guards everywhere. A few guests who had arrived late halted at the sight of me, stepping aside to let me race down toward the library. Their chatters, although quiet, were this echoing roar of judgment that weighed me down. That dared me to fall. I almost choked on a cry before breaching the large wooden doors—and, to my delight, the halls of books and warm candlelight was empty.
Just breathe, I told myself. In, and out. Only, breathing wasn’t working, and I had to focus on not suffocating on the air getting trapped in my lungs as I hunched over the back of a intricately crafted chair. The corset of my crimson dress was pinching each bone of my ribcage, and the soft fabric somehow poked into the skin of my thighs like a needle. I tugged at the ring on my finger, but it had thorns digging into my skin.
Thorns so deep that I did cry out.
“Are you alright?” came a quiet, deep voice.
My head whipped toward the doors, finding a gentleman in a deep green jacket, gold epaulets woven on his shoulder into decorative, swirling knots, frayed edges draping down his upper arm. He looked both regal and mighty, like a general in the guise of a prince with his blond hair and glistening green eyes.
I sucked in a breath and nodded, twisting away to find refuge between two aisles of bookshelves. “You should not be here,” I hissed.
I wanted to be left alone.
“Apologies, Your Grace,” he said, but despite my statement, he moved beyond the threshold and let the doors close behind him. “I arrived late to the celebration and saw you rushing off in distress. It is not my goal to intrude.”
I ground my jaw together and dragged a trembling finger over the spine of a leatherbound book, the ring still burning into the skin. “Your eyes deceive you. I am not in distress.”
The man chuckled. I stiffened, twisting to face him and frowned. His laughter was cut short, and he bowed his head out of respect. It was a small gesture, but one that made me smile softly. The ghost of joy.
I twisted the ring on my finger, the pain slowly fading into the numbest of stings. If I did not get it off my hand soon, though, I’d lose my mind.
I was certain.
“What is your name?” I said quietly and slowly walked to the sitting area that separated us. He had no crest embroidered into his jacket. No decree of his home.
The man inched away from the doors and rested his hands on the border of a chair, fingers curling over the shape. “My name is Prince Roen Grettlestone, Your Grace.”
“A prince?” I asked with raised brows, cupping my hand over the finger with the ring so the trembling was less evident. Despite it, his eyes trailed to my hands at my abdomen and parted his mouth in silent question. I didn’t let him inquire. “A prince of what, exactly?”
Prince Roen’s lips thinned into a small smirk, head cocking to the side. “Is a bit of mystery not exciting, Princess?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. I wasn’t at all surprised he knew who I was, but as he turned the corner of that chair and approached, every bone in my body turned to mush. He could have been lying to me—there was no proof that he was a prince. But as he stopped in front of me, shoulders pulled back and hair tousled in a boyishly charming way, I had no reason to think he was anything but regal.
Instead of holding my wide-eyed stare, he tilted his chin down and grabbed hold of my hand. I let out the smallest gasp, a sting of anxiety turning my blood cold. Nobody touched me—even my handmaidens hesitated at the thought of contact.
More so after my accident.
“Forgive the vagueness of it all, Princess, but I do not know if I am welcome here.”
“You do not know?” I whispered, blood coloring my cheeks red hot. “What do you mean, you do not know?”
That smirk quirked onto his lips again. He lifted my hand up higher by the finger with the ring on it, observing it carefully. The way the skin was raw beneath the metal thorns, the way blood pricked just beneath the surface.
“I was raised to speak politely. You’ll have to forgive me, for it makes me seem far less certain than I am. Your Grace, I should say I am certain I am unwelcome here. As unwelcome as you.”
The breath caught in my throat, and I blinked away the terror that was bubbling within my chest. Stinging the tear ducts of my eyes.
“I beg your pardon. Who are you?” I asked, trying to tug my hand back, but his hold on me tightened.
“But, what if you were brought to a place where you were accepted, Your Grace?” he asked, his stare lifting from my finger to the spot on my neck covered by the obnoxious collar. With his other hand, he tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear, then pulled the frills aside. The symbol of heretical magic was burning on my skin. Burning beneath his regard.
“Let me go,” I hissed, yanking back hard enough that I broke free of his hold. I backed away from him, his broad frame blocking me from the only exit in this dusty library. My back was to a wall, and though I reached in search of anything I could make a weapon, my fingers found nothing.
All the while, Prince Roen lurked after me. Step by step, I counted my breaths.
My final breaths, I feared.
“You are Runed, my dear. Ruined by magic, but this mark implies power. Allow me to help you, Princess. Allow me to set you free.”
His hands, they were glistening like a star. Subtle, but bright enough that my eyes could not leave them. He was a magic wielder—that was why he was not welcome. Hells, he couldn’t be a prince after all. No guard would permit him into the castle. I was certain.
“You do not have the power to set me free. Leave, before I scream. Leave me be and you can return home safely.”
Roen cocked his head, tutting at me like I was a pathetic mutt on the street. Just as the rage blossomed into this unfathomable tempest—at the sight of this man who sought to free me, as if he had that power—my hands found something slender and hard. The base of a…a…
I wasn’t really sure before I swung my arm forward, aiming for the side of his head but somehow hitting him in the side of the neck instead. The hard bookend clattered onto the ground, chipping into a dozen or so pieces as he howled out in shock, pain…hopefully both.
I lunged forward to try and make it past him, but he grabbed hold of me and yanked me back. I could smell the cologne that seeped into the luxury, soft threads of his jacket. Oak, firewood, and sea mist.
It was almost comforting as he smashed me so hard against the skinny table, the mirror behind it immediately cracked.
“Forgive me, Princess,” he hissed with bared teeth, venom leaking between his words. “For I wanted to make this a choice. It seems you Bennett royals love to make peaceful exchanges all but impossible, though.”
I thrashed my legs toward him, trying to kick him away, but he shoved me by the shoulders backward. At first, I was confused—too far from the wall to be concerned for head trauma, but he was so rough and certain.
But there was no mirror behind me.
I could feel the mist of rain. The smell of petrichor hit me in the face as the pitter-patter of rain hit the soft, lush forest leaves dampening the ground.
“We will meet soon, Cateline.”
I screamed when he shoved me further back, until I was falling through the wall, where the mirror should be, arms and legs flailing until my body thudded onto the wet grass.
Louder than the ringing in my ears was a thunderous clap, and as I lifted my head, I saw the misty haze of storms and endless forest before me.
No longer was I home, where the men hated me and the women wished me dead.
No longer was I in Axulran, a place free of magic and full of scorn.
When the soft whisper of a voice caressed my ear, I knew both of those things were true.
Run, Cateline, it sang to me. Run and be free…
Lightning struck into the ground immediately behind my feet.
Run before the gods grow tired of you.