The Queen's Flight

She ducked me. My hand brushed her sleeve, silk tearing beneath my fingers, and she slipped from my grasp like smoke. For a heartbeat, I saw her eyes. Fear and defiance burning side by side. Then she ran. I lunged after her, my boots striking the marble with the weight of the sea itself. The corridors trembled with each step. Tapestries fluttered as if even the air feared me. She darted toward the staircase, skirts in her fists, hair wild, moving faster than I remembered she could.

“You can’t run from me, Isabella!” I bellowed, the sound ripping through the silence.

She fled down the grand stairs, her bare feet slapping stone, her breath a desperate song. I slowed, watching her for a moment, the woman who had betrayed me. The mother of my son. The thief of my soul. I could almost laugh. The queen running from her pirate. At the base of the stairs stood a man. A knight, armor dented, sword half-drawn. He clutched a small bundle to his chest, the child. The babe’s faint cry carried up the staircase, piercing through the din of the burning castle. The sound crawled beneath my skin, stirring something old and cruel in my chest.

“Your Majesty!” the knight called to her. “This way!”

She reached him, breathless, trembling. He handed her the child, drew his blade, and turned toward me like a man facing down death itself. Brave fool.

“He’s behind me,” Isabella gasped, clutching the child close.

The knight barked an order, something about the chapel, and they ran. I followed. Slowly. Let them run. Let them feel the chase, the weight of my shadow on their heels. There was nowhere in this castle they could hide that I didn’t already own.

“You can run to the ends of the world, Isabella,” I called, my voice echoing through the hall. “The sea always takes back what’s hers.”

The chase led us through the lower corridors, the air thick with smoke and iron. Men screamed somewhere far behind; fire licked the edges of my vision. They burst through a pair of ornate doors at the end of the hall. I followed, pushing them open with one shove. The chapel. It was smaller than I remembered from my first visit to Vespera, years ago when I’d come as a guest rather than a ghost. Candles lined the walls, melting into pools of wax. Stained glass spilled fractured colors across the marble floor. She was there, halfway across the room, clutching the child while the knight tore at a section of the wall behind the altar.

“Here,” he panted. “The passage.”

I could hear the scrape of stone. The sound of desperation. For a moment, I simply watched. Her shoulders rose and fell with each breath. Her hands trembled where they held the child. That tiny, fragile life, born of betrayal and blood, rested in her arms. James’s daughter. I stepped into the chapel. The sound of my boots filled the room, steady and calm. I saw the way her back stiffened, how she turned toward me with that same stubborness.

“Well,” I said, letting my voice fill the silence, “isn’t this familiar.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came. My gaze dropped to the child. She tried to hide her behind her arm.

“Give her to me,” I said.
The knight moved to stand between us, sword raised. “Over my dead body.”
I smiled. “That can be arranged.”

He came at me first, brave and stupid. His blade rang against mine, sparks lighting the air. I pushed him back with a single strike, my strength still pulsing with the Heart’s black magic. He stumbled, his defense breaking, and I could have ended him then, but I wanted him to feel it. The hopelessness. The fear.

“Run,” he hissed to her, without taking his eyes off me.
She hesitated. “Rowan”
“Go!” he shouted.

She went. I watched her duck into the tunnel he’d revealed behind the altar, her skirts vanishing into the dark, the baby pressed to her chest. The knight swung at me again. I caught his blade on mine and shoved forward until our faces were inches apart. His breath stank of blood and fear.

“She’ll get away,” he growled.

I drove my sword through his gut.

“No,” I said softly. “She won’t.”

He collapsed to the floor, choking on his own blood, and I stepped over him without another glance. The tunnel was narrow and reeked of salt. My torch sputtered, shadows crawling over the walls like ink. Her footprints marked the dust on the stone, small, desperate, fresh. I followed them.

“You were never meant to be a queen, Isabella,” I said, letting my voice carry down the passage. “You were meant to rule beside me. To watch the world bow beneath our flag.”

My words echoed off the stone, taunting her. I could hear her quickening steps, the scrape of her shoes, the faint cry of the child.

I smiled. “Do you remember what I told you the night we found the Heart of Shadows? The sea always takes back what’s hers.”

The tunnel opened to the cliffs. Moonlight spilled across the stone, and I stepped out into the cold night air. The harbor below burned, a fitting tribute. There she was.
Isabella stood at the cliff’s edge, wind whipping her hair, the child clutched tight to her breast. She turned when she heard me, eyes wide but no longer afraid.

“Please,” she whispered. “She’s just a child.”

I took a step forward. The night was so still I could hear the sea breathing.

“Do you know why I came back?” I asked. “For revenge.”
“She’s not yours,” Isabella said.

Her voice was soft but sure. It cut deeper than any blade. For a moment, I didn’t move. The waves crashed below us. The moon painted her face in pale light. She backed away, the cliff crumbling beneath her heel. The child whimpered.

“Hand her over,” I said. “Or I’ll take her myself.”
“Then take me first,” she said.
“Captain!”
A shout from the tunnel behind me. One of my men, breathless, eyes wide. “The king he’s alive! The boy’s still breathing!”

When I looked back, Isabella was already moving. A guard had appeared on the cliff path, hand outstretched. She ran to him, clutching the child tight.

“No,” I growled, stepping forward.

The wind stole the word from my mouth. They fled into the dark, disappearing along the cliffside. I stood there, blade trembling in my hand, the sea roaring below. Then the rage came. I let it out, a sound that tore through the night and made even the waves recoil. The chase wasn’t over. Not yet. The sea would have what was hers. I would have what was mine.