Married To Darkness-Chapter 381: A Decree and Bounty

Run?

The word struck like a cold knife, chilling them all to the bone.

Sarah took a step forward, her expression wary. "Run? Why?"

"They intend to kill us," Heappal said grimly. "We’re as good as dead if we stay."

A heavy silence filled the room.

Emma swallowed hard. "Who?"

"The royal family," Samion answered. "They’re blaming Lord Alaric and Lady Salviana for Jaron’s death. And to make matters worse, they’re spreading rumors—twisting the truth to turn the whole castle against them. Against us."

Jaefel clenched his jaw. "The guards are under orders. They’re rounding up everyone connected to them—maids, knights, servants. If we don’t leave now, we won’t get another chance."

Emma felt her stomach drop. They were really going to die if they stayed.

Thalia sucked in a sharp breath. "Then where do we go? How do we find them?"

Emma’s eyes flickered with realization. "I think they left a map." She remembered seeing something.

Samion straightened. "Then let’s go."

There was no time for hesitation.

They were running for their lives.

The air in the servant’s quarters was thick with urgency as Emma, Thalia, Sarah, and the knights moved quickly, grabbing what little they could.

They didn’t have the luxury of carrying much—just small cloth bags filled with necessities: extra clothes, water pouches, a bit of dried food.

Anything more would slow them down, and speed was everything.

Emma’s hands trembled as she tied her small bundle, her mind racing.

Sarah, meanwhile, **talked—**which was no surprise.

"I can’t believe this is happening. I mean, I can believe it, but also, what the hell?! I knew the castle politics were bad, but this is next-level murder spree! And why do they always blame women first? Salviana literally almost died, and yet—"

"Sarah." Heappal’s voice was a quiet warning.

"Right, right," she huffed. "I’ll shut up. For now."

Thalia, the fastest among them, was already at the doorway, her eyes sharp, her body tense like a cat ready to pounce. "We need to get the map. It’s the only thing that will lead us to Lord Alaric and Lady Salviana."

Emma inhaled deeply. "Their chambers?"

Jaefel nodded. "Let’s go."

Inside the Lord and Lady’s ChambersThe grand room was eerily silent, as if holding its breath. It felt strange to be inside without their lord and lady. The scent of Salviana’s lavender perfume still lingered, mixing with Alaric’s more crisp, earthy scent.

Emma shivered. They had been here just days ago. Now, they were fugitives.

"There," Samion whispered, pointing to the large wooden desk near the window. "That has to be it."

Jaefel reached for the map, carefully unfolding it. It was detailed—clearly marked with the places their lord and lady had planned to visit.

"This is good," Heappal muttered, scanning it quickly. "Now we just have to get out of here alive."

Sarah let out a short, nervous laugh. "Easy, right?"

No one answered.

The Great EscapeThe hallways were no longer safe. The guards could be anywhere.

So they did the only thing they could—they climbed the fence.

Thalia was the fastest, scaling it like a wildcat. Sarah, despite her nonstop commentary, was surprisingly good at following.

Emma... was another story.

She hesitated at the top, clutching the rough stone edge for dear life.

"Emma, move!" Samion hissed, already on the other side, holding his arms out in case she fell.

"I’m trying," she snapped, attempting to shift her weight over.

But the moment she tried to jump down, her foot slipped.

A soft squeal escaped her lips before Jaefel grabbed her waist mid-fall, breaking her descent.

She gasped, blinking up at him, and for a moment, their faces were too close.

He smirked. "You really are a damsel, huh?"

Emma scowled, stepping out of his hold. "You didn’t have to catch me."

"You would’ve eaten dirt," he pointed out.

"Whatever." She dusted off her dress and pretended her face wasn’t hot.

Meanwhile, Heappal was already signaling them to keep quiet. The castle guards were on patrol nearby. freēwēbnovel.com

They covered their mouths, hearts pounding, as heavy footsteps echoed dangerously close.

One wrong move, one loud breath—and it was all over.

The cold night air pressed against them as they crouched against the stone fence, their breaths shallow. The guards were close—too close.

A torchlight flickered on the path just ahead.

"Move, move!" Heappal whispered urgently.

But just as Sarah was about to climb over, her foot slipped against the damp stone.

A loud crack! sounded as a loose brick fell to the ground.

The guards stopped talking.

Silence.

Then—footsteps. Rushing footsteps.

"Shit," Jaefel cursed under his breath. "We have to go now."

Sarah panicked. "I can’t—I’m stuck—"

Before she could finish, Samion grabbed her by the waist and hauled her over.

"Hey!" she yelped.

"Shhh!" He landed with her on the other side, her feet barely touching the ground before he pulled her into a sprint.

Thalia had already slipped over like a shadow, and Emma—who had nearly fallen again—was saved by Jaefel for the second time that night.

"Careful, damsel," he teased, smirking.

Emma glared at him but held onto his hand as they made a break for it.

The knights had planned ahead.

Their horses—three strong, dark steeds—were already waiting outside the castle walls. They had been hidden away earlier that day, anticipating trouble.

No time to waste. They leaped onto the saddles.

Samion pulled Sarah onto his horse with ease.

"Hold on," he murmured.

She barely had time to grab onto him before he kicked the horse into a sprint.

Heappal reached down for Thalia, pulling her up behind him as she clung to his waist.

Jaefel turned to Emma. "Think you can ride?"

Emma swallowed hard. "Nope."

"Too bad." Before she could protest, he pulled her up with him.

Her arms instinctively wrapped around him as the horse bolted forward.

The sound of galloping hooves filled the air as they sped away from the castle—leaving behind everything they had ever known.

The night swallowed them whole.

They were fugitives now.

And they had only one mission—to find their lord and lady.

Meanwhile,

The grand courtyard of the royal palace buzzed with an eerie anticipation.

It was not yet noon, but the skies were moody—heavy clouds looming as if the heavens themselves knew something dark was about to be spoken.

Town criers had been shouting all morning, summoning citizens to gather by the palace square. Murmurs spread like wildfire.

Something big was happening.

The courtyard gates creaked open, and dozens of soldiers flooded out in formation, lining the cobblestone edges with shields upright and spears grounded. Horns blared.

The royal flag of House Velthorne fluttered ominously in the sharp wind. Then, from the raised stone balcony that faced the crowd, King Gideon stepped out.

He was pale, tired—aged in a matter of days. But his voice thundered with rehearsed authority.

"People of Wyfn-Garde," he began, his tone solemn and weighty. "We face a grievous betrayal. A stain upon the honor of our court. A royal has been murdered. The dungeon defiled. Blood spilled without justice."

Gasps rippled through the crowd like an electric wave.

Behind the king, the royal announcer unraveled a long scroll, and with steady cadence, he read aloud:

"By decree of His Majesty King Gideon Velthorne, the following individuals are hereby declared traitors to the crown and enemies of the kingdom."

The announcer paused as several guards unfurled large canvases depicting detailed charcoal portraits of the accused.

Citizens leaned in. Some covered their mouths. Some whispered, others simply stared.

"The Third Prince, Alaric Velthorne," the announcer called, voice echoing.

A collective gasp. The Third Prince? The Phantom General himself?

"His wife, the Seventh Princess Salviana Velthorne,"

The Divine Lady? The king’s daughter-in-law?

"Lucius Drake right hand man or whatever he is."

The Silent Wolf of the Court.

"Jeannette Goliath the seventh princesses lady in waiting"

A noble scholar and archaeologist.

"Jaefel of House Trevane, Samion of High Crag, and Heappal of the Eastern Ridges."

The king took a deep breath, "And the three worthless maids; Emeline, Thalia and Sara!"

Their images were pinned up with steel bolts along the walls. Their descriptions were read aloud—skill sets, notable achievements, and most importantly, the ransom:

"Each head is worth five thousand gold wyfins. Bring them in dead or alive."

That last part ignited the courtyard.

A roar exploded from the gathered citizens. Cheers, claps, gasps. The greedy gleam of gold in people’s eyes overtook their sense of reason.

"Five thousand!"

"For each? That’s a fortune!"

"I trained with Samion and Jaefel once—he’s strong, but not invincible!"

"They’ll head to the coast. Someone saddle my horse!"

Vendors dropped their stalls. Mercenaries smiled behind thick beards. Even local guards began murmuring to one another.

From the shadows of the courtyard, Irene—Jaron’s grieving widow—watched with bloodshot eyes, clutching her shawl tightly as she whispered to Audrey, "Let the hunt begin. Let them feel fear."

Audrey smiled coldly. "They’ll find no safe harbor."

Back in the crowd, people climbed barrels for a better look at the faces. A child asked his mother if catching a prince meant he could be a prince too.

No one knew what to believe anymore—but one thing was certain:

The kingdom had turned into a den of wolves.

And the prey? Once noble, once beloved, now hunted.