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The cloister was nearly empty at this hour, the echo of the day gone but not forgotten. The air still smelled faintly of roasted meat from the evening feast, carried in drafts that slipped between the arches. Moonlight lay in broken strips across the flagstones, silvering the tips of Elena’s hair as she walked. Above, the banners of her father’s house hung heavy in the stillness, their gold embroidery catching the torchlight when the wind stirred them.
She had chosen this place carefully, not so far from the hall that it looked suspicious, but quiet enough that only the occasional guard would pass. And even then, the guards rarely paid mind to two noblewomen talking.
Rebekah was waiting, leaning against a carved pillar whose base was worn smooth by centuries of feet. Her gown was the pale blue she favored, though the torchlight turned it to grey. There was no impatience in her stance, but her arms were folded across her chest, her fair hair gathered in braids that gleamed like polished metal.
“You sent word you needed to speak with me,” Rebekah said, her voice low, steady. “And that it was urgent.”
Elena stopped a few paces away, drawing in the sight of her as though memorizing it. She had been preparing these words all evening, but now her mouth felt dry. “It isn’t something I could say in the hall.”
Rebekah’s brow creased slightly. “You’re worrying me.”
Elena glanced over her shoulder, no one. She took one step forward. “I’m leaving.”
Rebekah straightened from the pillar, her arms dropping to her sides. “Leaving? For where?”
“My father has fixed my marriage,” Elena said, the words coming out more sharply than she intended. She watched Rebekah’s face closely. “A fortnight from now.”
For a moment, Rebekah’s features didn’t move, as though she hadn’t understood. Then the change came, the faint tightening around her mouth, the way her eyes flicked away to the shadowed arch behind Elena before returning. Her chin lifted almost imperceptibly, but her voice betrayed the effort it cost her. “To whom?”
“It does not matter,” Elena said. She took another step closer, her skirts brushing Rebekah’s. “What matters is… I cannot leave without telling you-” Her voice caught for half a beat, then steadied. “I’ve wanted to do this for months.”
Rebekah’s lips parted, confusion still in her eyes, but before she could speak, Elena closed the last of the distance. She raised a hand to Rebekah’s face, her palm warm against cool skin, thumb tracing the faint curve of her cheekbone. And then she kissed her.
It was not tentative. Elena’s mouth pressed to hers with the sureness of someone who had already made peace with the risk. She felt the brief stiffening of surprise in Rebekah’s shoulders, the slight intake of breath. The torchlight flickered against the pale braid at her temple, casting gold into the corner of her eye.
When Elena drew back, she did not remove her hand. “Now you know,” she said softly.
Rebekah was still catching her breath. Her eyes searched Elena’s face, not angrily, but as though she were trying to reconcile the woman she knew with the one who had just kissed her in plain sight of God and the court. “Do you have any idea what-”
The quick, steady rhythm of approaching footsteps cut her off.
Elena’s gaze snapped toward the sound. “Come.” Without waiting for agreement, she caught Rebekah’s wrist and pulled her into motion. Their slippers struck the flagstones in sharp, uneven beats as they darted between the arches, skirts tangling.
“Wait!” a man’s voice called, the echo carrying in the hollow space.
They didn’t stop until the figure rounded the corner, a young court scribe, breathless from chasing them. His ink-stained fingers were clenched around a rolled parchment. “I apologies my ladies. I thought heard shouting-”
Elena turned to him at once, her hand still wrapped around Rebekah’s. She smiled with sudden brightness, catching Rebekah’s other hand and spinning her in a small, mock dance. “I was telling her about my marriage,” she said, letting a little breathlessness into her tone. “She was so happy for me she nearly screamed.”
Rebekah, catching on instantly, let out a warm laugh, even lifting her hand to dab at the corner of her eye as though wiping away tears. “I could hardly contain myself.”
The scribe’s expression softened into awkward relief. “Ah. Well- congratulations, my lady.”
Elena inclined her head graciously, keeping Rebekah’s hands in hers until he moved on, his footsteps fading into the night. Only then did she let go.
The silence that followed was heavier than before. Rebekah’s gaze lingered on her, unreadable now, though a faint flush still colored her cheek.
They stood in the shadow of the cloister, the night air cool against the heat still lingering between them.
Rebekah was the first to speak, though her voice was quieter than before. “Do you have any idea what you’ve risked? If anyone had come sooner-”
“I don’t care,” Elena cut in, her tone steady, almost casual. “You deserved to know. And I wasn’t about to leave without giving you something to remember.”
Rebekah’s lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes didn’t leave Elena’s.
Elena stepped closer again, her voice dropping until it was nearly a whisper. “If you dare,” she said, her mouth curving into the faintest smile, “we might get to be one another’s… just for tonight.” She let the pause hang, just long enough for the meaning to settle.
Then she turned and walked away, her stride unhurried, every line of her back daring Rebekah to follow.
Rebekah remained where she was for a moment, her pulse loud in her ears. Her mind flooded with all the rules she’d been raised with, the customs drilled into her since she could walk: a lady’s honor, her family’s name, the swift ruin of scandal.
She should leave. She should turn back toward her own rooms and pretend this night never happened.
Her feet shifted, one step away, before she stopped, her jaw tightening. “Damn it,” she breathed.
The next moment, she was moving in the opposite direction, following the fading sound of Elena’s steps through the corridor. The sconces thinned as the halls narrowed, the stones beneath her slippers growing warmer near the wing of the private chambers.
By the time she reached Elena’s door, the torchlight pooled over the carved wood, the iron latch glinting faintly. She hesitated only long enough to hear the faint click of it opening from the inside.
Elena stood there, framed in candlelight, that same knowing curve still at the corner of her mouth.
The chamber was warmer than the corridors, the air thick with the faint sweetness of burning beeswax. Candles crowded the table near the window, their flames bending with each draft that slipped in through the narrow glass slit. The bed stood at the far wall, canopied and shadowed, the dark velvet folds catching the glow in deep, uneven reds.
Elena did not move aside immediately. She stood in the doorway, close enough that Rebekah could feel the faint heat radiating from her. Her eyes roamed over Rebekah’s face, pausing at her mouth before returning to her gaze.
“You came,” Elena said, not as a question but as a fact she had been certain of.
Rebekah held her head high. “Don’t think you can-”
Elena stepped closer, closing the door behind her with a quiet, deliberate click. “I think I can,” she said, her voice low, threaded with quiet confidence.
Rebekah’s pulse stumbled. She wanted to speak, to remind Elena of the danger, but the other woman was already moving past her, crossing the room with a surety that left no space for hesitation. She stopped near the table, the candlelight catching on the curve of her cheek and the line of her neck as she turned slightly, as if expecting Rebekah to follow.
And she did.
The faint rustle of their skirts was loud in the otherwise still room. Elena reached out when Rebekah drew near, catching the edge of her sleeve and tugging her forward until there was barely a breath between them.
Rebekah’s hand twitched at her side, wanting to lift, to touch, but Elena’s fingers were already at her wrist, guiding it upward. The contact was deceptively gentle, the pad of her thumb brushing across Rebekah’s knuckles before letting go.
“Tell me you didn’t think about this,” Elena murmured. “Even once.”
The question hung between them, dangerous and soft at the same time. Rebekah didn’t answer, but her eyes betrayed her.
Elena leaned in, her breath brushing Rebekah’s ear. “Then don’t waste what’s left of the night.”
She stepped back only far enough to lead her toward the bed, her hand finding the small of Rebekah’s back in a touch that was both a guide and a claim. The canopy loomed above them, shadows dancing in the folds.
Rebekah’s resolve faltered entirely when Elena’s fingers brushed hers again, not quite a hold, but enough to tether her there. And as the candles hissed in the draft, the rest of the keep might as well have been a world away.
The hearth had burned down to embers, a faint orange glow trembling in the ash. The heavy drapes over the arrow slits kept out most of the early light, so the chamber felt suspended in a kind of muted twilight. Somewhere beyond the thick stone walls, the castle was waking, the distant creak of gates, the muffled calls of kitchen boys fetching water, but in here, it was still.
Rebekah stirred first. The heat between them was the first thing she noticed, the kind that comes only from hours spent in the same small space, breath mingling. Her cheek rested against the smooth curve of Elena’s shoulder, the skin warm even in the chill. Her leg was thrown across Elena’s thigh, tangled in the folds of the heavy velvet coverlet.
For a long time she didn’t move. She let herself look. Elena’s hair had come undone in sleep, strands splaying across the pillow in a dark fan. Her lips were softened, no trace of the firm, commanding set she usually carried. There was a shadow along her jaw from the tilt of her head, and Rebekah found herself staring at it longer than she should.
Her own throat felt tight. This was foolish. Dangerous. And yet, when rebekha realized elena was waking, the question slipped out before she could stop it.
“Why couldn’t you run away?” Her voice was low, the words almost blending into the sound of the embers cracking.
Elena’s lashes flickered, her eyes opening slowly, as though surfacing from a deep place. For a moment she simply looked at Rebekah, the quiet between them stretching. Then she spoke.
Elena stirred, opening her eyes slowly. “Because they would find me,” she said after a pause. Her tone was not resigne, just certain. “And anyone who helped me would pay for it.”
The words sat heavy between them. Rebekah drew back an inch, studying her with something sharper now, not just curiosity, but calculation.
“So you planned to go quietly?”
“I planned to survive.” Elena’s hand shifted under the blanket until her fingers found Rebekah’s and laced them together. “Even if it meant losing the rest.”
The press of her palm was warm, steady.
Rebekah turned onto her back, staring up at the canopy. The velvet folds were shadowed in the dim light, but she could picture them clearly, rich, imported, expensive enough to buy a small farm. This life was all Elena had ever known. To leave it…
She exhaled. “Then you won’t do it alone.”
Elena’s head tilted toward her, dark hair sliding across the pillow. “What do you mean darling." after a pause she said. "You don’t know what you’re promising.”
“I do,” Rebekah said, her voice tightening with certainty. “And I’ll still do it.” She didn’t look at her when she spoke, maybe because if she did, the weight of the duty she just took upon herself would land too hard.
Elena’s thumb brushed against her knuckles in a slow, deliberate stroke, a silent acknowledgement. They lay like that for a while, the sounds of the waking castle pressing faintly against the walls, both of them knowing they had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed.
By late morning, the keep was alive in a way it hadn’t been for months. The main hall had been swept clean and scattered with fresh rushes, their sharp green scent mixing with the lingering smell of pine. A line of servants carried crates of polished silver into the great chamber while others hauled armfuls of wildflowers for the long tables.
Elena sat in a tall-backed chair before the hearth, the carved wood rising high above her head like the throne of a smaller court. A pair of women worked with swift, practiced hands, weaving her hair into an intricate braid that crowned her head. The fine gold medallions threaded into the plaits caught the light every time one of them turned her head.
She kept her smile soft, polite, and entirely false. She had mastered the art of letting people think she was listening when her thoughts were elsewhere. Today, they were with the woman who had promised, recklessly, impossibly, to help her escape.
Every so often, her gaze slid to the doorway, watching for a flash of pale blue gown or a braid of bright hair.
Across the keep, Rebekah moved in a very different rhythm. She wore a guest’s easy expression, but beneath the folds of her gown, a small satchel pressed against her hip. She filled it in pieces: a narrow-bladed knife wrapped in linen, a strip of strong cloth, a small silver key she’d lifted from the steward’s table while he was distracted with a wine ledger.
She kept her pace slow, her head turning at each corner to take in the angles of the hallways, the placement of guards, the weight of each door. She passed through the outer courtyard twice, each time noting the stables, how many horses, which ones looked the strongest, when the stable boys changed shifts.
Snippets of overheard talk became part of her map: two guards would be posted at the west gate until midnight; the captain of the watch was to attend the feast, leaving his post to a younger man; the armoury door’s top hinge was loose.
By the time the sun dipped behind the outer walls, they had not exchanged a word all day. But when Rebekah entered the hall for the evening meal, she felt Elena’s eyes find her instantly. The moment they met, it was enough, the plan was already moving forward.
The keep was silent save for the restless hiss of the wind against the shutters. Midnight had long since passed, yet Rebekah’s heart refused to quiet. She moved like a shadow through the stone corridors, the cold seeping through the thin wool of her cloak, torchlight flickering across her face and catching the sharp glint of resolve in her eyes.
Elena’s chamber door loomed ahead, unguarded for once, the servants asleep, the hall empty. She hesitated for only a heartbeat before slipping inside, the wooden latch groaning softly under her touch.
The air in the room was warmer, scented faintly of beeswax and lavender. Moonlight spilled in through the narrow window, painting Elena’s sleeping form in silver. Her dark hair was scattered over the pillow, lips parted in soft, even breaths.
Rebekah stood there for a moment, barely breathing, letting her gaze take in what she knew she would never see again. Tomorrow, the sun would rise on a day that did not belong to them.
She stepped forward, each movement deliberate, until she was beside the bed. Elena stirred slightly, lashes fluttering, her eyes finding Rebekah’s shadowed figure.
“Bekah?” her voice was low, still heavy with sleep.
Rebekah didn’t answer. She reached out, cupping Elena’s cheek with a hand warmer than her own body. The gesture was gentle, but her eyes were fierce, as if she were memorizing the shape of her face through touch alone.
Before Elena could speak again, Rebekah leaned down and kissed her, not with the fire of stolen hours past, but with something slower, deeper, meant to anchor itself in memory. Elena’s fingers rose instinctively, catching at the edge of Rebekah’s sleeve, as if to keep her there.
When they parted, Rebekah’s breath was unsteady. She let her hand linger for a moment longer, thumb tracing the corner of Elena’s mouth.
“For courage,” she murmured, so soft it could have been mistaken for a thought rather than words.
Rebekah didn’t leave after the kiss. Her hand lingered on Elena’s cheek for a moment before she pulled back, straightening, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“Listen to me,” she said, glancing toward the door as if expecting it to swing open at any second. “Dress light in the morning. No silks, no jewels, only what you can run in. And pack nothing you can’t carry yourself.”
Elena blinked away the fog of sleep. “Run?”
“Money and a change of clothes, nothing more,” Rebekah pressed on. “I’ll come for you before the first bell. Be ready. We’re going to the west wing. The guards don’t patrol there at dawn.”
Elena pushed herself upright, heart already beginning to race. “Why-”
“No questions now,” Rebekah cut in softly, but there was steel beneath it. “Trust me, Elena. If we stay, it ends badly for both of us.”
Then she was gone, the door closing with barely a sound. Elena sat in the moonlight for a long time after, the weight of the instructions pressing in on her. She didn’t sleep again.
When the faintest gray began to touch the edges of the sky, she was already dressed in a plain wool gown, the hem falling just above her boots. Her satchel lay on the bed, inside, a small pouch of coins, a bundle of bread and cheese wrapped in cloth, and a spare shift. No more.
The castle was stirring faintly, a few servants carrying baskets to the kitchens, the far-off murmur of stable hands, but the air still had that fragile quiet that came before true morning. Elena tightened the strap of her satchel and waited.
A shadow appeared in her doorway without a knock. Rebekah stepped inside quickly, dressed in a dark riding coat, her hair braided tight. “Good. Let’s go.”
They didn’t run at first. Rebekah led her swiftly down the corridor, past rows of shuttered windows and cold, unlit sconces. Every creak of the floorboards seemed too loud. Twice, they pressed themselves into alcoves as a sleepy servant passed.
When they reached the west wing, the stone underfoot felt different, colder, older. The air smelled faintly of dust and damp. Here, the corridors narrowed, the tapestries hung faded, and the torchlight gave way to pale slits of dawn seeping through arrow loops.
“This way,” Rebekah murmured, leading her down a stairwell that spiraled sharply. The walls closed in, and Elena’s hand brushed cold stone as she steadied herself.
At the bottom, a wooden door stood half-rotted, the iron hinges rusted. Rebekah shoved it open just enough to squeeze through, and a gust of cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of wet grass and woodsmoke from the distant village.
Once outside, they moved faster, boots crunching lightly on frost-bitten grass, cloaks pulled tight against the wind. The keep loomed behind them, its towers pale in the early light, but no shout of alarm followed.
Rebekah glanced sideways at Elena, her lips curling into the faintest, breathless smile. “We’re not safe yet,” she said, “but we’re free of the walls.”
They didn’t slow until the trees swallowed them whole.