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I pace, treading back and forth in front of the twisted vines, one eye on the door that leads upstairs.

Over the phone, the background quiets. “Okay, Ver, what’s going on? Have you heard something about Stella?”

My heart twists at the hope in her voice. “No, it’s the Princes. They’re planning on running away—leaving Forsyth—and taking me with them.”

“Slow down,” she hisses. “They’re running? Why would they do that?”

I didn’t ask that question myself, but I know in my bones. The dungeon. That was the last straw. It was one thing for Ashby to take out his twisted rage on them, but something else for him to take it out on me—and our son.

“It’s complicated,” I say, eyes jerking toward the windows, “and I think they’re trying to do the right thing, but you and I both know Sy won’t see it that way. Neither will Killian.” I take a deep breath, trying to calm the raging wildfire within. “The point is, I need somewhere to go until we figure this out.”

There’s her soft curse, and then a beat of silence. “Do you remember the plan we came up with after the cleansing?”

Frowning, I answer, “Yes.” They’d set it up in the winter, a solid plan to get me out of this place. But once the pregnancy test came back with two blue lines, I’d refused. I look toward the tree line, nodding. “There’s a path that leads from the woods down to the river.”

Lavinia’s voice is crisp. “We’ll meet you there and get you somewhere safe.”

“Okay,” I say. “But Lav, don’t tell the Dukes. Not yet. The guys….” I bite my lip, stomach clenching at the thought of them up there, ready to flee. “They’re trying to protect me, I just… I have things to do in Forsyth.”

I have to find Stella, I don’t say.

Lavinia knows. “We’ll need twenty minutes.”

I grimace, estimating that I’ll only have ten before the guys come looking. “I’m on my way.”

The back garden is dark in the dusk, the hem of my dress catching on thorny rose vines as I make my way toward the tree line. I’m not wearing the dress I originally intended to, and the thought has sat sourly in my gut all day, but right now, I’m almost grateful. It was chosen by Stella herself for me to wear at Lex’s side, dark and painfully delicate.

The thorns would have torn it to shreds.

I pass the tombs on my way, only sparing them a quick glance before disappearing into the woods. The dense canopy of ancient trees blocks out most of the fading light, leaving the forest floor shrouded in twilight. I can’t count how many spiderwebs I almost run into, having to divert my course because of undergrowth that’s too thick, or fallen limbs, the branches brittle beneath my shoes. The ground is soft with old, damp, musty leaves, and my heels constantly sink into the forest bed, forcing me to jerk a knee upward to free my feet. Above me, the limbs rattle their leaves in a passing breeze, the glow of the rising moon creeping through the canopy like thin fingers, casting ominous shadows everywhere.

The woods are alive with unsettling sounds—the rustle of hidden creatures, the mournful cry of the wind through the leaves, the echo of my own uncertain footsteps. The distant hoot of an owl startles me, but once it’s gone, I pause, breathing heavily.

For a hair-raising moment, all the sounds are gone.

No cicadas.

No birds.

No breeze.

It’s as if the forest is holding its breath and I’m suspended inside its chattering inhale, peering around me through the trees.

Trees that suddenly seem twisted and grotesque, their limbs spreading outward like skeletal arms. My heart races with each slow, wary step, and I can’t explain why. From the mossy undergrowth to the gnarled branches, something about this place just feels… sick.

Diseased.

That’s when I hear it.

Somewhere to my right, a branch snaps.

I gasp, whirling toward the sound, but all I can see is an inky abyss. It’d be just like Pace to follow me out here, his eyes watching me as I push further toward the river. Because that’s exactly how it feels—like I’m being watched.

Turning back to the east, I push onward, determined not to let it get to me. That’s what months of being Princess has instilled in me. Paranoia. Fear. Anxiety. The men I’ve come to care for are the same men I’m scared of finding me. Suddenly, I feel like a mouse caught in a trap. Prey for a predator.

The unsettling feeling ratchets up when a gust of wind shakes the branches, and I whirl at the sound, half expecting to see Pace behind me.

But there’s nothing there.