The search spread quickly through the festival.
Every alley. Every street. Every carriage.
Then—
A guard came running back breathless.
"My lord!"
Soren turned sharply.
The gaurd was holding something in trembling hands.
"We found this near one of the back alleys."
He held up a torn scrap of dark fabric.
Silver-threaded midnight cloth.
Freya's dress.
Soren froze.
His eyes locked onto it.
Then Eugene stepped closer, face paling.
"That's—"
"Yes," Soren said quietly.
Then another guard rushed forward.
"Witnesses reported seeing two hooded figures dragging a struggling woman into the alley!"
Silence.
Soren's gaze snapped toward him.
"A woman?" Eugene asked quickly.
The guard swallowed.
"Yes, sir—but no one got close enough to identify her."
Soren's jaw tightened.
No one knew for certain.
No proof it was Freya.
No proof it wasn't.
But the torn fabric in his hand—
and the fact she was nowhere to be found—
left no better explanation.
No other leads.
No other answers.
Only possibilities.
And every single one of them made something dark twist violently inside him.
Soren stared at the torn fabric.
At the frayed edge.
At the evidence she had not left willingly.
And very slowly—
his entire expression emptied.
Just terrifying stillness.
"She didn't run…" Eugene whispered.
Soren's voice came out low.
"No."
His crimson eyes darkened into something monstrous.
The lantern shattered in his hand.
Glass exploded against the stone.
Everyone nearby jumped.
Soren dropped the broken remains without looking.
Then stepped forward.
His voice came out ice cold.
"Lock down the city."
Immediate chaos erupted.
"No one enters." "No one leaves."
His gaze burned with murderous fury.
"Find whoever touched my wife."
Then quieter—
more terrifying—
"…before I burn this kingdom to the ground looking for her myself."
***
Meanwhile — In the Carriage
Freya's wrists ached where the rope bit into them.
She sat crammed into the back of a rattling carriage, hands bound tightly behind her back, tears burning in her eyes as every bump in the road jolted her bruised body.
Across from her sat Elora and Liora.
Still hidden beneath dark cloaks.
Still watching her like vultures.
Freya's breathing was uneven.
Panicked.
"You can't do this," she whispered.
"Soren will find me."
Liora barked out a cruel laugh.
"Oh, will he?"
Elora's lips curved slightly.
"He may not even realize anything happened yet."
Freya froze.
"What?"
Liora leaned forward, eyes sharp with satisfaction.
"You disappeared in the middle of a crowded festival."
Elora tilted her head.
"For all he knows… you simply slipped away."
Freya's stomach dropped.
No, that couldn't be right.
Soren noticed everything.
He always noticed everything.
But—
What if he hadn't seen her being taken?
What if he thought she had just… left?
What if he thought she ran?
The thought struck harder than she expected.
A painful knot twisted in her chest.
Not because she feared his anger—
but because she feared something worse.
That he might think she chose to leave him.
That he might think she wanted to escape him.
That he might feel… betrayed.
Her throat tightened.
"No…" she whispered quietly.
"He would look for me."
But even as she said it—
uncertainty crept in.
Because she had seen how he looked at her.
Possessive. Intense. Unforgiving.
What would he think if she simply vanished in the middle of a festival crowd?
Elora watched her closely.
"And if he does look?" she asked softly.
Her smile sharpened.
"He won't find you in time."
Freya's chest tightened painfully.
No one knew where she was.
No one knew she hadn't chosen this.
And the worst part—
the part she didn't want to admit even to herself—
was that she didn't know if Soren would believe she stayed or left.
Then Elora spoke again.
"Do you want to know something interesting, Freya?"
Freya didn't answer.
Liora scoffed from across the carriage.
"Don't bother talking to her like she matters."
Elora ignored her.
Her eyes stayed on Freya.
Elora leaned back against the carriage wall, exhaling slowly.
"This."
A pause.
"All of this. Us being here. Being forced into this trade. Running like criminals in the night."
Freya's stomach tightened.
Liora's voice cut in sharply.
"It's your fault."
Freya froze.
"…What?"
Elora's smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Our house is in ruins because of you."
Freya stared at her.
"That's not— I didn't—"
"You did," Liora snapped.
Her voice was suddenly raw with anger.
"You exist."
That hit harder than anything else.
Liora continued, leaning forward.
"Our father is locked away. Our alliances destroyed. Everything we built—gone."
Freya shook her head slightly, confused.
"I didn't do any of that…"
Elora's voice turned colder.
"No," she agreed.
Then, after a pause—
"You didn't personally."
Freya's heart pounded.
Elora continued.
"But he did."
Freya frowned.
"He?"
Liora let out a bitter laugh.
"Soren Beaumont."
Freya went still.
The carriage jolted to a stop.
Freya flinched violently.
Elora smiled.
"We're here."
Fear surged through Freya like ice.
Liora yanked her roughly by the arm.
"Move."
Freya stumbled out into the dark clearing.
Men waited ahead beside wagons.
Their gazes immediately locked onto her.
Freya's breath caught.
One stepped forward.
Scarred. Broad. Grinning.
"Well now…"
His eyes dragged over her slowly.
"You weren't lying."
Freya's stomach twisted violently.
Elora shoved her forward.
"Careful," she warned coldly.
"She's worth more untouched."
The man lifted Freya's chin roughly, inspecting her like merchandise.
Freya trembled.
"Pretty," he muttered.
Then smiled.
"We'll pay well for her."
Freya's knees nearly gave out.
No.
No no no—
This was happening.
And all she could think—
all she could fear—
was that somewhere out there…
Soren might believe she had simply left him.
That she had chosen to run.
And that thought hurt more than anything else.
Freya sat on the wooden floor of the wagon, hands bound tightly again after her failed escape.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly.
She could still feel the echo of running.
Of air in her lungs.
Outside, the wagon rocked forward through the dark forest road.
Voices drifted in from the front.
"She's worth more than the others we've moved this month," one of the men said thoughtfully.
Another chuckled.
"Look at her. That kind of face sells fast in the right markets."
Freya kept her head down.
Listening.
Calculating.
They weren't rushing.
They weren't panicked.
They were careful.
That meant they wouldn't want her damaged.
That also meant—
she had to be even more careful.
The wagon slowed briefly as the guards shifted positions.
One of the men climbed into the back.
Freya tensed immediately.
Just enough to feel the change.
The man crouched nearby, studying her with open interest.
"Don't look so afraid," he said lightly.
Freya said nothing.
That earned a quiet laugh.
"Pretty thing like you," he continued, tilting his head,
"shouldn't waste that face on fear."
He reached out and lightly tipped her chin up with two fingers.
Freya stiffened instantly.
Not enough to react.
Not enough to trigger anything worse.
Just enough to make her pulse spike.
"Hmm," he murmured, almost to himself.
"She really is as good as they said."
Behind him, another man spoke sharply.
"Don't touch the merchandise."
The first man sighed but pulled his hand back.
"Relax. I know what she's worth."
He stood slowly.
But as he passed her—
his fingers brushed her shoulder again.
Lingering a fraction too long.
Testing.
Freya forced herself not to react.
Not to give them anything.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Nothing.
The man smirked slightly as he stepped back toward the front.
"Make sure she stays intact," he called over his shoulder. "We'll get double if she arrives untouched."
Freya's stomach twisted.
Like she wasn't a person.
Like she was a thing.
The wagon rolled on.
Night deepened.
The men grew more relaxed.
Less alert.
Laughing.
Drinking.
One mistake after another.
Freya watched them carefully through lowered lashes.
Her wrists flexed slightly behind her back.
The rope had loosened from the earlier struggle.
Just slightly.
Enough.
Her heart began to steady.
Because now she understood something clearly:
They didn't fear her.
They didn't think she could escape.
And that—
was their mistake.
Freya sat on the wooden floor of the wagon, hands bound tightly.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly.
She could still feel the echo of running.
Outside, the wagon rocked forward through the dark forest road.
***
The city had not recovered from the festival.
It was still lit with lanterns.
Still loud.
Still pretending nothing had gone wrong.
Soren stood in the center of it all like a storm that hadn't broken yet.
Eugene approached carefully.
"My lord… we've tracked the movement from the alley."
Soren didn't turn.
"Speak."
Eugene hesitated.
"…Two hooded figures were seen leaving the scene with a struggling woman. Witnesses confirmed she was alive when they left the festival district."
Soren's jaw tightened slightly.
That meant time.
That meant she could still be found.
"Continue."
Eugene swallowed.
"The trail splits outside the eastern road. But we found something else."
He handed over a small token.
A ring.
Cracked.
Elegant.
Soren stared at it.
His expression didn't change.
But the air around him did.
It darkened.
Because he recognized it.
Not Freya's.
Not his.
But connected to the family that had once ruled her life.
"…The Viermonts," Eugene said carefully.
Then—
Soren finally turned.
His crimson eyes were no longer calm.
"Find them," he said quietly.
Eugene nodded immediately.
"We are already—"
"No."
Soren interrupted.
A pause.
Then colder—
"I will find them."