The woods swallowed her whole.

  Branches clawed at her as she darted between trees, heart pounding like a war drum. Somewhere behind her, boots hit the earth in rhythm—calm, deliberate, like he wasn’t even trying. Like he was giving her a head start.

  She didn’t like that.

  “You know,” a voice called out, maddeningly casual, “for someone who claims to be royalty, you’re not very good at running.”

  Elysia skidded to a stop behind a thick trunk and turned. “And you’re not very good at catching me. I guess we’re both disappointments.”

  He stepped into view, the morning sun cutting across his dark cloak. His hood had slipped, revealing dark hair, tousled like he didn’t care, and a face entirely too smug for someone actively trying to murder her.

  “I’m just being polite,” he said, voice smooth. “Wouldn’t want the princess to trip and ruin those delicate little noble ankles.”

  “Oh, how kind of you,” she snapped, backing away. “Is this what passes for charm in Virelya?”

  He tilted his head. “Where I come from, we usually skip the conversation part.”

  “And where I come from,” she retorted, “we don’t send cowards with bows to do our dirty work.”

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  He blinked once. Then grinned. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to insult people holding knives?”

  “She’s dead,” Elysia said, flatly. “But if she were alive, I’m sure she’d say something like, don’t let boys with pointy toys get too close, or they might trip over their egos.”

  He laughed. Laughed. Not a cruel laugh—genuine. Which somehow made it worse.

  “What’s your name?” she asked suddenly, still watching his hands. “Or should I just call you ‘moron’?”

  “Call me whatever helps you sleep tonight,” he said. “Though I do like ‘moron.’ Has a royal ring to it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you ever shut up?”

  “I’m multitasking. Chasing and bantering. I’m talented like that.”

  Elysia didn’t wait for another comeback. She lunged to the side, grabbing a hanging vine and swinging low over the creek that divided the woods. He followed—but not fast enough. Her foot hit the other bank just as she snatched a branch and snapped it toward him mid-air.

  He flinched. That was all she needed.

  In the moment he landed, she threw the branch directly at his head. Not to hurt him—just to annoy him. It worked.

  “Ow,” he said flatly, rubbing his temple. “Seriously?”

  “You tried to kill me!”

  “Technically, I didn’t.”

  “Well, technically, I’m not done with you yet.”

  She darted up the slope, weaving between trees until she spotted a break in the brush. Light. A path.

  And then—voices. Real ones. Familiar ones.

  She could hear guards shouting in the distance. Someone had noticed the broken balcony. She turned to glance behind her.

  The assassin stood at the edge of the trees, watching.

  Elysia locked eyes with him, lifted her chin, and said, “Next time, try aiming.”

  He raised a hand in mock salute, smirking. “Next time, try running faster.”

  Then he was gone—vanishing back into the woods like smoke.

  And Elysia?

  She smiled for the first time in weeks.