The evening was velvet and wind. Stars were hung like scattered diamonds in the sky above the capital, unblemished by the fire that grew beneath their heaven.
Isla clenched her teeth as she pulled open the creaky servant's corridor. Her hands shook, not out of fear, but the crushing burden of what they had done. Next to her, Tristan leaned hard, blood seeping through his ripped shirt, breathing shallow.
But he lived.
And he was with her.
That was enough.
They stumbled through the forgotten tunnel system, lit only by the flickering flame of her lantern. The smell of mildew and old stone wrapped around them like a ghost of the past. This path had once been used by royal children playing hide and seek—now it was an escape route for two fugitives branded traitors by the crown.
"Still think I'm crazy?" she whispered, half a smile curving her lips.
Tristan let out a gasping laugh, though pain flashed across his face. "I think I'm in love with the kingdom's most deadly woman."
"You had awful taste even back then."
He drew her closer with what strength he possessed, his fingers touching hers as they moved. "I have perfect taste. I just didn't realize it would be at a kingdom's price."
She stopped at an intersection and glanced up at him. "Would you take it back? Any of it?"
He met her eyes—bloodied, tired, but unwavering. "Not for all the thrones in the world."
The air passed between them, thick with something more than danger. More than fear. They came to a halt, their breathing commingling in the stagnant tunnel air. His fingers touched the curve of her jaw, tracing it softly, reverently, as if grabbing onto something solid against her.
Then he kissed her.
It hadn't been desperate this time. It had been slow. On purpose. Like they had forever to do this—even though the reality was that the whole kingdom would be searching for them by dawn.
As they broke apart, her forehead was against his. Their fingers were still interlocked like lifelines.
"We have to keep going," she whispered.
"I know."
"But gods, I didn't want that to end."
Tristan grinned. "It won't. I promise."
They arrived at the city wall to the south just at dawn. Beyond it, the city spread into lowlands and fields—and farther, the river, the woods, and the outlying provinces.
The idea was straightforward: cross to the river, meet with the smuggler's contact in the town of Ellesmere, and disappear into the lands where the crown had no reach.
Nothing was ever so simple.
As they edged out of the mouth of the tunnel behind a tumbledown vineyard wall, Isla tugged up her hood. Tristan followed suit, wincing with each movement.
The streets were deserted. But banners with her name and likeness flew from iron posts like a benediction. The kingdom had proclaimed her missing.
No… wanted.
As they moved along the outskirts, Isla halted. At the end of the alley, a procession of palace guards marched in line. One of them turned their way.
Tristan's hand on hers.
She grabbed the dagger hidden beneath her cloak. "If we run, they'll chase."
"We can't outrun them."
She looked at him, racing heart. "Then we hide in plain sight."
"What?
She yanked him quickly into a shadowed alcove beside a linen stall, pressed tight against him as the guards approached. Her hands tightened into his cloak, and before he could utter a word, her lips were on his.
A quiet gasp left him—not because of pain, but because he hadn't been expecting it—and then he let go into it, his body sagging into the kiss.
It was hot, desperate, crazy.
And it worked.
The guards went by without even looking.
When at last they pulled away, Tristan was panting. "That was the greatest distraction you've ever invented."
Isla grinned. "I have a whole lot more where that's come from."
He kissed her cheek, lips brushing against her ear. "I require you to demonstrate that later."
By dusk, they'd arrived at the bank of the river where willows leaned in close and stars were back in the sky.
An elderly ferryman stood at the bend, lantern swinging in his hand.
"You the ones running from love or law?" he said without raising his eyes.
"Both," said Isla.
The old man grunted. "Then board. Love is heavier.
The boat groaned beneath their weight as they climbed aboard. As the current swept them from the city lights, from the backbreak kingdom that sought to cage and shatter their hearts, the quiet that remained between them was holy.
Isla sat close beside him, their shoulders brushing. His head lay lightly against hers. The bruises remained, the wounds still unhealed. But in the quiet of the river's lullaby, they didn't feel like outlaws.
They felt free.
And for the first time in days, Isla was brave enough to hope.
"We made it," she whispered.
Tristan turned his head to her. "No. You made it. You kept me safe, Isla."
She gazed at him, eyes glinting. "We saved each other."
He leaned in again, and this time, their kiss was a vow of forever—not merely survival.
Whatever the future held, whatever challenges lay beyond the curve of the river—they would meet them. Together.
Under the same stars.