Ariella wrapped herself in the robe she had been given, pulling the hood tightly over her head. As the sky darkened, the shadows offered her the perfect concealment. A perfect plan, she thought, a satisfied grin tugging at the corners of her lips. The disguise was clever — no one would recognize her now. She relished the feeling of triumph, but even as she embraced the thrill, she couldn't shake the thought that in another world, Cedric Ashford might not have let her go alone. But he understood the delicate nature of the situation and wisely chose not to press the matter.

  Despite her excitement, an undercurrent of anxiety gnawed at her. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm in her chest, each thump as loud as war drums. Nervously, she picked at her fingernails, fighting the urge to appear too unsettled. I can’t be seen, she reminded herself, I must see him. She couldn’t wait to feel his arms around her, the warmth of his embrace. She pictured them together by the glow of the blacksmith's furnace — just the thought of it brought comfort. She hated the cold, and his warmth was something she craved more than anything.

  As she descended into the city's lower quarters, the pungent stench of excrement and urine hit her with full force. She was almost there. The smell had become somewhat familiar by now, a reminder of how far she'd come. Ariella passed an alley that sent a shiver down her spine, its unsettling darkness making her skin crawl. She forced herself to keep walking, but her gaze couldn't help but linger on the chaotic scenes unfolding around her — strangers fornicating or fighting in the streets, people lost in a haze of cheap wine and mead.

  Her eyes flicked around, scanning her surroundings. She felt it then — the unmistakable sensation of being watched. She couldn’t tell who, nor could she explain why, but the feeling was there. This place... she thought, it’s terrifying and repulsive. Her grip tightened into a fist at her side, ready for anything. Her brother's lessons rang in her mind — be ready to fight, to protect herself when necessary.

  Drunken men and women staggered past, their words slurred and unintelligible. Whether they were being aggressive, flirtatious, or simply incoherent, Ariella couldn’t tell. She hastened her pace, unwilling to linger in the filth of the alley any longer.

  As she moved deeper, the sounds of scuffling reached her ears. A commotion. She followed the noise, and then she heard it — a woman’s voice, desperate and pleading. “Stop! Please, stop!”

  The cry pierced through the din of the alley, and Ariella’s eyes darted.

  “Stop squealing, you filthy pig! Shut your mouth!” the brutish man snarled.

  The scene unfolded in front of many, most of whom ignored it — such violence was all too common in Smuggler’s Alley, a grim spectacle that some had grown used to. In this place, desperation often overshadowed honour and dignity.

  Ariella’s eyes darted frantically, scanning her surroundings for anything she could use. Her gaze fell upon a loose brick from the crumbling structure nearby, weakened by years of neglect or shoddy construction. She picked it up, ready to strike — but then remembered the lessons her brother had taught her. Honor was everything. Striking from behind, in cowardice, was not the way. No, she would face him directly, challenge him, and show him that not everyone could be preyed upon. She wanted him to beg for mercy.

  Ariella straightened her back and whistled sharply. “That’s no way to treat a lady.”

  He rose, pants barely hanging on, and Ariella recoiled in disgust. His very presence made her stomach churn.

  “What do you want?” he muttered, his voice thick with ignorance.

  Ariella’s patience snapped in an instant. In the seconds she had spent in his foul presence, she had had enough. Without hesitation, she closed the distance between them and swung the brick with all her strength, landing a brutal blow to the side of his face. Though he was larger than her and didn’t fall, a deep gash split his cheek, sending shards of bone tumbling from his mouth. The watchers gasped and cheered as the melee unfolded, some hurling food and spitting as if they were in a brutal fighting pit or an arena match. The brutish man, blood dribbling from his mouth, clenched his fists, preparing for combat. His aimless swings effected by his drunken state, the cheap wine or mead he had consumed too liberally evident in his flailing movements, like a ragged piece of cloth caught in a storm.

  Ariella barely broke a sweat as she dodged his clumsy attempts to strike or tackle her. With a swift, calculated motion, she brought a rock crashing down onto his knee, eliciting a sickening crack that made him buckle. She followed up with a punch to the other side of his face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

  As the chaos around her escalated, she noticed civilians turning aggressive, likely fuelled by lost bets or the frenzy of the fight. Pushing and shoving erupted among the crowd, a burgeoning melee of violence. Spotting the woman on the ground, Ariella extended her hand, pulling her to her feet with urgency. “Quickly now, we must go!”

  “Bless you! Who are you?” the woman gasped, gratitude shining in her eyes as she realized she had been saved from a fate no one deserved. Ariella felt a surge of admiration from the woman, but their moment was fleeting; a squad of guards arrived to break up the brawl, giving Ariella and her newfound companion a chance to slip away unnoticed.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Ariella's mind raced as they fled. She had never ventured this way before; Darion had always known the path to Harian’s Smithy. Turning to the woman, she asked if she could guide her there, assuring her they would find safety and help. The woman, introducing herself as Meredith, smiled brightly. “I know where it is! Many of us seek refuge there during the winter, because of its warmth.”

  Hand in hand, they hurried toward the smithy, Ariella keenly observing their surroundings, ready to protect Meredith.

  Upon arriving, the city was dark, snow gently falling, the streets buried in ankle-deep snow. Only the flickering flames of the occasional torch provided light, a reminder of the late hour and the desire to keep crowds off the streets.

  Ariella knocked softly on the wooden door of the smithy, both women shivering as they rubbed their arms for warmth. Jaxton opened the door, freshly finished with his work, cleaner than earlier that day, but shirtless and still damp. Ariella found herself momentarily speechless, caught in the sight of his bare chest and muscular stomach.

  “Ella, what are you doing here? And who is this?” Jaxton asked in a hushed tone, scanning the street before ushering them inside and closing the door quickly.

  He led them to his small living quarters in the back, where a modest fire crackled, casting a warm glow. The room was simple — just enough space for a rough bed of hay, a small table, and chairs. Ariella’s brow furrowed with confusion.

  “Where do you bathe?” she inquired, noting his wet state.

  Jaxton chuckled lightly. “Communal bath, Ella. Just out back and down the street.”

  Ariella’s gaze lingered on his chiselled chest, droplets of water glistening on his skin as they raced down.

  “I’m Meredith,” the woman said, stepping forward. “This lady saved my life. I owe her everything.”

  “Don’t we both?” Jaxton replied, admiration in his voice.

  Meredith glanced around the cramped quarters, realizing there wasn’t enough space for all three of them. “I’ll go to the inn down the road. There’s not much here for me, and you’ve done enough,” she said, holding Ariella’s hands tightly.

  Ariella felt concerned, wanting to plead with Meredith to stay, to keep her safe. But Meredith had been alone before and could do so again. Ariella nodded, offering a warm smile. “I understand. Be well, Meredith. Perhaps we’ll cross paths again.”

  “Hold just a moment, Meredith,” Jaxton said, moving to the smithy counter. He returned with five gold gryphon coins, a small fortune he had earned recently. “I don’t have much but take this. There are good people in Smuggler’s Alley.”

  Meredith’s face lit up with gratitude as she accepted the coins, thanking Jaxton for his kindness before stepping out into the night.

  Once again, Ariella and Jaxton were alone, the air thick with unspoken tension reminiscent of their earlier embrace. Without hesitation, Ariella rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest.

  “Are you all right, Ella?” Jaxton asked, pulling back to meet her gaze.

  “It’s been… quite a day since I saw you,” she admitted. They settled onto the hay bed, Ariella recounting the dire bear, Darion’s impressive melee with it, and the snowball contest she had won, and the terrible outcome that had come after.

  Jaxton listened intently, his eyes never leaving her sparkling emerald ones. He held her close, brushing his hands against her cheek before leaning in to kiss her. This time, it was slow and tender, unlike their hurried morning encounter. This was how it felt whenever they were able to sneak off alone and bide time together.

  Ariella melted into the kiss, her heart racing as they shared a passionate embrace. His lips trailed down her neck. He lifted her shirt, exposing her soft skin, he kissed her stomach and between her thighs with his tongue, twirling his tongue in a rhythm, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. She gripped his blonde hair tighter, her body succumbed to his every kiss.

  As he entered her slowly, she gasped, wrapping her legs around him, nails digging into his muscular back as he would thrust, the harder she dug, the harder he would thrust. Together, they let out joyous moans, their bodies entwined in passion.

  Afterward, Jaxton held her close and kissed her gently, stroking her cheek. Ariella nestled her head on his chest, feeling safe and content for the first time that day.

  The small flames from the cooking fire flickered, casting some warmth over them. Jaxton glanced at her with a smile, “Are you hungry?”.

  “Absolutely,” she replied, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm.

  Jaxton chuckled, handing her a bowl of soup he had prepared earlier.

  “It’s not a feast from your palace cooks, but it’ll do for me.”

  Ariella cradled the warm bowl in her hands, the rich aroma of the soup rising to meet her. She took a sip, savouring the flavour before looking up at him with calm, appreciative eyes.

  “This is delicious,” she said, her voice soft.

  Jaxton grinned, clearly amused and assuming she was being polite.

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “I know so, Jax,” she replied, her tone tinged with playful sass.

  Jaxton sat beside her, his hand resting gently on her thigh.

  “Do you remember a few moons ago, when I snuck into your chambers pretending to be a guard?” He laughed at the memory.

  Ariella’s cheeks flushed at the thought. Of course she remembered. Their secret meetings had been rare, but she cherished every moment.

  “Of course,” she said, her voice warm as she continued sipping her soup.

  Jaxton chuckled. “I bumped into Aerimus that night, he was so drunk, he believed every word I said.”

  Ariella smirked, the memory bringing a smile to her face.

  “That sounds like him. His drunkenness does have its uses, I suppose.”

  The soft hooting of owls drifted in from outside, and Ariella glanced up at the sky. The night had grown late, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before her absence was noticed. Her handmaids would soon alert her father, and before long, the city would be locked down in search of her.

  “I don’t want to go, but I must,” she said reluctantly, her gaze softening.

  Jaxton’s hand found hers, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “I understand, my princess.”

  Ariella rose to her feet and dressed quickly. As Jaxton escorted her to the door, he wrapped his arms around her once more.

  “My heart will always choose you, Jaxton,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

  “And mine will always be yours, Princess Ariella,” he replied, his smile warm and genuine.

  With a final, lingering glance, Ariella pulled her hood over her head and left the smithy, hurrying into the night.