The warm leather is draped heavily over her shoulders, the weight of it only a fraction less than her crown. The cloak carries with it the weight of a girl's death and the weight of her betrayal to not only her kingdom, but her family.
Despite that knowledge resting upon her shoulders, betrayal is indefinitely lighter than the weight of her responsibilities.
And so, as Milan sweeps through the hallways, ducking in and out of sight from various guards or party guests, she plans her escape route and seals her commitment to a new life.
The kitchen door creaks open and a barrage of smells; homely and sweet, hit her in the face. Multiple ovens are blasting heat into the room, an array of pastries baking inside each one. Spread around the room are delicate silver trays overflowing with roast, potatoes, salad, bread, cheeses or other various delicacies. The maids hardly notice her presence, and so she plans to make quick work of stealing a basket and stuffing it to the brim with food for the long journey ahead.
"Ma'am? Pardon my asking, but shouldn't you be with the guests or.. in the stables?" An elderly voice startles her, but Milan's head remains angled downwards, shadowed by her hood.
"No," she coughs, voice dropping an octave, "I'm delivering a basket to one of the Ladies, she felt ill upon arrival and sent me to bring her dinner."
"That is an awful lot for one lady," the woman croaks, gesturing to the basket.
"She and her husband wished to enjoy a meal together, they're hungry after a long journey," the princess lies through her teeth once more.
"Hmph, very well. Then hurry up and get out of my kitchen," the old hag snaps.
"Yes ma'am," Milan bows, fleeing the kitchen with the overflowing basket in hand.
As she bursts into the hallway, heart racing, she locks eyes with those of a young guard — likely just recruited. She smiles politely, turning the opposite direction and picking up the pace, all the while praying that the woolen leather cloak looks lower class enough that she shouldn't draw too much attention.
"Hey-" the young guard calls out, his heavy boots clanking against the ground as he jogs closer. Milan's eyes widen and she pulls the hood further over her face, smudging the tar substance on her eyelashes to the area under her eyes. She tries her best to remove the traces of noble beauty before he can catch up and expose her before her journey has even begun.
His footsteps stop directly behind her, his voice distrusting as he speaks.
"Where are you going with the basket, if I may, ma'am?" He asks, resting a hand on her shoulder and nudging it slightly, the signal for her to face him. She grits her teeth and turns slowly, offering a small, crooked smile.
"Jus' to deliver some food to a sick couple, nothin' much," she drawls out. "See?"
The basket cracks open, and he peeks inside before leaning back and offering a smile. "I see, you better be on your way then - have a pleasant evening ma'am."
A short curtsey later, and she pivots on her heel before he can spark any further conversation. His boots shuffle along the floor as he retreats, and she dashes around the corner, heart beating in her throat.
Twice.
Inspected twice in only a matter of minutes, and the hallway is only going to grow while the guard count continues doubling.
The reality of her actions has only just begun to sink in as she scours the corridor, searching desperately for a way out of the mess she has been blindly succumbing herself to.
YOU ARE READING
The Point Of Exile
Fantasy"You'll never know what it's like to go from a pit of vipers to a den of bloodthirsty wolves," she snaps. "Believe me Princess, I know." . . . From the day she recognized the significance of her life, she recognized also the critical gazes ready...
