Page 15 of Iron Roses

“Here,” she mutters, reaching into the side pocket. “Shoes too. Your current pair makes too much noise.”

I hesitate, clutching the fabric against my chest.

Allegra watches me for a beat, then sighs. “I’ve seen so many women and men naked, Elaria. Don’t be shy.”

Still, she turns away, giving me her back.

Her arms fold neatly behind her. She looks outward, to the woods, as if guarding me from more than just eyes.

I change quickly, fingers fumbling over buttons, knots, and seams. The new clothes are loose, comforting in their anonymity. I cinch the scarf around my shoulders just as Allegra glances over again.

She nods once in approval, then holds out her hand. “Come.”

I place mine in hers.

Her grip tightens briefly. Then we move.

The darkness in the woods is complete now—no moonlight strong enough to cut through the canopy. I stumble more thanonce, my toes catching on roots and uneven earth. But Allegra never falters. Her hand never slips.

I can’t see her face, only feel the pull of her arm as she guides me.

Each step feels heavier than the last.

The forest feels like a closing throat. The cold settles deeper into my bones.

My heart is pounding. Not from fear—but from the terrible knowledge that there’s no going back. Not to the house. Not to the study. Not to my father.

Not to who I was this morning.

The trees begin to thin.

Ahead, a narrow road snakes through the hills, barely wide enough for a single car. And parked just off the shoulder, tucked behind the cover of low shrubs, is a black sedan.

It’s empty. She reaches into her coat and pulls out keys.

I freeze when I realize where she’s heading.

“What—where—?” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

She tosses the passenger door open. Then pops the trunk.

“Get in,” she says.

I stare at her.

The metal compartment gapes like an open mouth.

“What?” I whisper.

Allegra sighs and leans against the edge of the car. “Princess, don’t you understand?”

She points at the dark hills. Her voice drops.

“Every nobody has their eyes out for you right now. Syndicate spotters, street mercs, cops on payroll. Half the country wants to bag the Fontanesi girl who survived. And traffic cameras?” Her brows lift. “They don’t sleep.”

“I—can’t—I can’t ride in the—”

“You can,” she cuts in, tone hardening. “And you will.”

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