The last day of Winter Ball was in full roar when Gerffron slipped away.
The grand ballroom blazed with silver chandeliers and thousands of white lanterns. Music thundered — deep strings and pounding drums — while nobles in furs and jewels spun across the black marble floor. Fireworks were scheduled for the final hour, the perfect distraction Remal had promised.
Gerffron danced one last time with Gorgina, her body pressed close, her golden-amber eyes searching his face as though she already knew something was wrong.
"Stay with me tonight," she whispered against his ear, fingers digging into his back.
He smiled the small, perfect consort smile. "As my wife wishes."
The moment the first fireworks exploded outside, painting the sky in crimson and gold, he moved.
He kissed her cheek, murmured something about needing air, and melted into the crowd. The Crown prince did not waste such opportunity and slid close to her. No one noticed. Everyone was watching the sky.
He ran.
Through side corridors, down servant stairs, out into the freezing night. Snow whipped his face as he sprinted toward the east wing wall. The servant tunnel grate was exactly where Remal's map had shown it. He yanked it open — the inside man had kept his word — and dropped into darkness.
The tunnel was narrow, damp, and pitch black. Gerffron lit the small hooded lantern and ran.
Twenty guards. Laundry grate. East wing lower cells.
He counted every turn.
The laundry room was empty. He slipped through, dagger in hand, heart hammering so hard it felt like it would crack his ribs. Two guards at the end of the corridor — he took the first with a silent strike to the temple, the second with the sleeping draught pressed over mouth and nose. Both dropped without a sound.
He reached the lower cells.
The iron door was locked, but the key Remal's man had left was in the lock. Gerffron turned it.
Styrmir was inside.
Chained to the wall, white silk robe torn and bloodstained, gold collar digging into his throat. His storm-gray eyes were half-open, dull with drugs and pain. He looked up at the sound of the door.
For one heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then Styrmir's cracked voice broke the silence.
"Gerf...fron…?"
Gerffron crossed the cell in two strides, dropping to his knees. His hands shook as he unlocked the collar and chains.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm getting you out. Now."
Styrmir's body was light — too light — when Gerffron lifted him. The boy's head lolled against his shoulder, breath shallow.
"I thought… you forgot me…"
"Never." Gerffron's voice cracked. "I could never forget you."
He carried Styrmir out of the cell and back through the tunnel. The fireworks were still exploding overhead — perfect cover. But the moment they emerged into the snow, alarms began to ring across the palace.
They had been discovered.
"Run!" Gerffron hissed.
He half-carried, half-dragged Styrmir through the forest. Behind them, hooves thundered. Teivel's personal guard — black cloaks, drawn swords — poured out of the palace.
"That's Southern Duke's husband. Find the consort!" a voice roared. "The boy is with him! Kill them both if you have to!"
The chase was on.
Gerffron ran like he had never ran in two lives. Snow stung his face. Styrmir's weight dragged at him, but he refused to let go. Branches whipped past. Behind them, lanterns swung wildly as the guards closed in.
A crossbow bolt whistled past Gerffron's ear and buried itself in a tree. Warmth trickled from his ear.
Another grazed his shoulder, drawing hot blood.
Styrmir whimpered against his neck. "Leave me… you'll die…"
"Shut up," Gerffron growled, running harder.
They burst out of the trees onto the southern road. Baron Acquikth's men were waiting exactly as promised — two fresh horses, dark cloaks, and a small wagon hidden in the trees.
"Get in!" the stead shouted.
Gerffron threw Styrmir into the wagon, leapt onto a horse, and kicked the mare into a dead gallop. Behind them, the guards' horses crashed through the underbrush.
The manhunt had begun.
They rode hard through the night. Snow flew. Arrows whistled. Twice Gerffron had to turn and fire back with the bow Remal had given him — one guard fell, screaming, another's horse went down in a tangle of legs and snow.
Acquikth's stead's voice cut through the wind. "The border crossing is two miles ahead! My other men are waiting! Get the boy across — I'll hold them here!"
Gerffron didn't argue. He grabbed Styrmir from the wagon, slung him over the horse's neck, and spurred the mare one final time.
The border river appeared — black water cutting through white snow. A small boat waited on the far side, oars already in the water. Acquikth's trusted acquaintance — a scarred exile from the neighbouring kingdom — stood ready.
Gerffron waded into the freezing water, Styrmir clutched against his chest.
The boy's voice was barely a whisper. "Don't… leave me…"
"I have to," Gerffron said, voice breaking for the first time. "If I disappear with you, they'll burn the entire south looking for us. Go. Live. Get strong. I'll find you when it's safe."
He pushed the boat off with his own hands. The current caught it immediately.
Styrmir reached out one last time, fingers brushing Gerffron's before the river pulled them apart.
"I'll wait for you," Styrmir whispered, tears freezing on his cheeks. "I swear it."
The boat vanished into the snowy darkness.
Gerffron turned back.
The guards were almost on him.
He mounted on the horse again and rode north — alone — straight into the teeth of the manhunt.
Behind him, the night exploded with shouts and torches.
The rescue was done.
Styrmir was free.
And Gerffron Wadee was now the most hunted man in the empire.