She had been alone in the dark for what felt like an eon when she gained feeling in her arms and legs. At first, she could only lift a finger. Soon her whole hand became free and inch by inch, she slowly melted from her statue.

When she could finally move, she lifted the dusty panel beside her bed. It detached from the wall. Her kingly father forced her to never disclose this particular passageway to anyone, not even loved ones. She had kept her promise and could now see why. She crawled through the passageway like a scurrying mouse, tears streaming down her cheeks. It’s not true, she kept telling herself as she crawled over dust and rodent droppings. He’s lying! That couldn’t have been Dorian. Dorian would never hurt me.

As Rosamund crawled further into the passage and away from her bedchamber’s light, darkness began to surround her again. She could not see, only feeling squishy and dusty substances cover her hands as she pushed herself forward. Her head hit against plaster and a sudden slit of light slashed across her face. She pushed the block in front of her and crawled out into the light. She was in one of the many palace corridors. She could not say which, perhaps a few turnings away from her guarded room. She ran. I have to find father before they get to him…

She gingerly peaked around the corner into another hallway. There were men in demon masks, just like the one that attacked her and Duke Hugo, just like the ones described in the papers. They stalked the halls, kicking down doors, abducting chambermaids and servants from their rooms. She could hear screaming and begging beaming through the walls. The place she had always sought sanctuary in had become her nightmare. She turned back and ran down another corridor.

This one was empty, with hanging portraits of past monarchs. Ghosts of her family hanging from both sides. A dozen regal eyes watched her as she bolted past.

A door flung open in front of her. A watchman staggered out. This one looked familiar to Rosamund. His black moustache was thick and bushy, his lips permanently curled into a smirk. His eyes locked onto the Princess, and he smiled. Malborne, that was his name! He had seemed trusting to Elizabeth and Athena. Her racing heart started to ease. She was panting heavily from all the running. She just wanted to stop. To rest and weep.

The moustached watchman took a step closer. He grinned, watching Rosamund as if she were a scared deer that would bolt at any moment. “You’re supposed to be in your bedchamber, Your Highness.”

“Dorian’s… alive,” she panted. Her heart was frantically bashing in and out against her ribs. She started coughing uncontrollably. She had run so fast for so long.

“Aye,” Malborne agreed with a smirk and another cautious step. “He is, and I believe he told you to remain in your bedchamber.” He withdrew a knife from his belt.

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Rosamund would have screamed if there were anyone around to save her. Only demons lurked around every corner. She turned and sprang forward. Her family linage watched her from their portraits with uncaring eyes as she heard Malborne’s boots stomping closer to her. She tripped over the edges of a royal rug and her nose hit the ground first. She felt Malborne’s black gloves grab her legs and dragged her back. She kicked him below the moustache. He looked back, his grin the same, but bloody. His eyes broadened as he clawed into her arm and raised the knife. She struggled and kicked, but his thick hands and heavy armour overpowered her. She felt the cold, curved edge of the blade press against the side of her neck.

A silver flash almost blindsided her. She felt the blade withdraw. The watchman’s iron grip loosened away from her. She scurried away like a mouse fleeing from a cat. She stumbled over the rug, tripping again but managing to balance herself to stand. She saw Athena pinning Malborne into a portrait of Galahad Greenfire, his painted face watching the two law officers disapprovingly as the portrait tilted down to one side after the crash.

“Not you,” she heard Athena hiss. Her voice broke and her eyes watered. “Please, tell me, you bastard! Not you!”

Malborne spat at the Deputy in response and flung himself into her. They crashed into the opposite wall, knocking down a portrait of Queen Sona that crashed beside them. Rosamund stood there, frozen in shock as she saw Malborne knee the Deputy below her stomach. Athena grunted in pain as the large man threw her to the ground and crashed on top of her. Rosamund’s skin felt like ice, unmoveable and cold as she watched Malborne wrap his hands around Athena’s throat.

She heard her choking, gargling. She broke from her icy cage and stepped closer towards them. The Deputy’s eyes were turning red, her dark hair sweaty, with pained tears streaking down the sides of her bruised face as she gasped for air. Her kicks were less fierce, meek, and slow, along with her arms which thrashed limply against the rug.

Rosamund picked up the discarded knife by the fallen portrait of Sona. She pulled at Malborne’s kettle-hat until it flung away and rolled across the floor with an unpleasant rattle. Malborne did not care. He did not even bother to look up at the Princess. He was too absorbed with choking the life out of the Deputy. Rosamund could see Athena’s eyes begin to roll, fading away from the light, just like Anastasia’s had, back at the pavilion. She plunged the knife into the back of Malborne’s head. Blood spurted into Rosamund’s eyes. She shut them, still hearing the gravelly scream. The noise stabbed into her ears. She ignored it and pulled the blade out, plunging it again. Above the deep screams, she heard Athena gasping frantically for life again. Rosamund dropped the blade and fell against the wall. Her hands were covered in red and sticky tar. She wiped the blood from her eyes and saw Malborne laying lifeless, his face dug into the rug. Athena was standing to her feet, panting heavily.

I did this…

She sat there, covered in blood, staring at the dead body. “Rosamund, we need to leave.” She looked up to see Athena standing over her.

There was blood on her bronze star badge, dripping down across her silver breastplate. Rosamund snapped away and ran. She couldn’t trust Malborne. She couldn’t trust Dorian. I can’t trust father… Why would Athena be any different?