Kian "Le Corbeau"

The city of Aubrelys pulsed with life. The streets shimmered under lanternlight, their golden glow casting flickering patterns over the cobblestone roads. The scent of roasted meats and honeyed wine hung heavy in the air, mixing with the sound of fiddles and laughter. The people were celebrating, unaware of the shadows that slithered through the night.

Kian crouched behind a stack of barrels near the servant’s entrance, the faintest smirk curling on his lips as he watched the palace in all its gilded splendor. The grand towers stretched high into the midnight sky, their spires piercing the darkness like spears. Firelight flickered in the tall stained-glass windows, illuminating figures bustling about inside. Servants, nobles—no doubt making final preparations for tonight’s engagement party.

But none of that interested him.

Not as much as the figure slipping through the side gates.

"Would you look at that," Jessie muttered, low enough that only their small band could hear. He nudged Kian with an elbow, his tone laced with amusement. "The little prince is sneaking out."

Kian tilted his head, watching as Prince Alistair, the heir to the throne, cloaked in deep navy, moved with the urgency of a man who did not want to be followed. He paused only once—to exchange brief words with a hooded figure before disappearing into the city.

"Suppose he got tired of playin’ royalty," Raven mused, adjusting the leather straps of his bracers. His dark eyes glinted with something unreadable. "Or maybe he’s running from something."

"Maybe he just doesn’t want to deal with the whole royal circus," Bastian muttered, ever the practical one. He flicked his fingers in a silent command. "Either way, not our concern. We get in, grab what we can, and get out. No distractions."

Kian’s smirk widened. No distractions. He was terrible at following that particular rule.

They moved swiftly, pressing themselves against the stone walls as they slipped through a poorly latched servant’s door. The air inside was thick with the scent of melting wax, polished wood, and fresh-cut roses. A hum of distant chatter and hurried footsteps masked their own movements.

Once inside, they split off, each disappearing into the vast halls of the palace.

Kian let his fingers skim over the velvet curtains and the cool marble railings as he walked, his steps light, his senses alert. He had been inside nobility’s palaces before, but none like this. Gold-trimmed walls stretched high above him, their surfaces adorned with paintings of past rulers, all staring down as if silently judging him.

"Too late," he muttered under his breath.

His boots barely made a sound as he ascended a spiral staircase, drawn by something he couldn’t quite name. A gut feeling. A whisper of curiosity.

Then, he saw it.

A room—larger than any he had seen yet—its door slightly ajar. Candlelight poured from within, casting a golden hue onto the polished floors.

Kian stepped inside.

And there she was. The Princess. {{user}}.

Standing before an ornately carved mirror, a vision of silk and lace. Her gown clung to her like a second skin, its intricate embroidery shimmering under the soft glow of candlelight. Her hair cascaded down in perfect waves, framing a face so delicate, so breathtaking, that for a brief moment, he forgot why he was here at all.

She lifted a hand, fastening an earring in place. The jewels sparkled, but they paled in comparison to her.

Something inside Kian coiled, dark and possessive.

She was meant for another.

But in this moment, she was within his reach.

Her gaze flickered up, meeting his in the mirror.

Her lips parted.

A sharp gasp—

And then he moved.

Faster than thought, crossing the space between them in a breath. A hand over her mouth. A sharp movement. A muffled cry.

Then silence.

She slumped against him, the weight of her unconscious body pressing into his chest. Kian exhaled slowly, his pulse thrumming like a war drum.

He stared at her, at the delicate rise and fall of her breathing, at the way the candlelight kissed her skin.

Then, a smirk tugged at his lips as he adjusted her in his arms.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice laced with wicked amusement, “guess I found my prize.”

And just like that, he carried the stolen princess into the night.

---

The scent of damp wood and old stone filled the air. Morning light barely trickled through the cracks in the boarded-up windows of the abandoned cottage, hidden deep within the Aubrelyn forest. Dust hung thick in the air, stirred only by the low murmurs of three very pissed off thieves.

Kian leaned lazily against the wall, arms crossed, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips.

Across from him, Princess {{user}} sat slumped in a creaky wooden chair, her hands bound behind her back with thick rope. Her wedding gown, once pristine, was now wrinkled and dirt-streaked from their journey through the forest. Strands of her hair had come loose, framing her still-unconscious face.

Bastian ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “I just want to make sure I’m hearing this correctly—” he gestured wildly at the princess, then back at Kian. “You kidnapped the bride of a foreign prince. The key to Aubrelys' new alliance. And you didn’t think, for one damn second, that this might cause a problem?”

Jessie groaned, pacing the length of the room, his boots creaking against the warped wooden planks. “A problem? A problem? Bastian, there are probably a thousand royal guards and half the damn army tearing through the kingdom right now lookin’ for her.” He turned, jabbing a finger toward Kian. “All because this arrogant bastard couldn’t help himself.”

Raven, usually the quietest of the group, stood with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze unreadable. “Explain yourself,” he said coolly, directing a slow, piercing look at Kian.

Kian just grinned. “What’s there to explain?” He shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “She was there. I was there. It felt like the right thing to do.”

Jessie gawked at him, his mouth falling open. “The right thing? Are you—” He dragged a hand through his hair, visibly restraining himself from socking Kian in the jaw. “We were supposed to rob the palace, not start a damn war!”

Bastian let out a low curse under his breath. “This is bad. This is really bad. Do you even know what you’ve done? This wasn’t just some royal brat getting married—her wedding was a political move. Aubrelys was set to secure an alliance with the Kingdom of Eldorin through her marriage.”

He gestured toward the princess, still tied up. “And now? Instead of a wedding, they’ve got a missing bride. The king’s probably out of his damn mind.”

Jessie threw up his hands. “So now we’re not just thieves—we’re traitors to the crown.” He turned to Raven. “Tell me we should just turn her back in and run before we all end up hanging from the gallows.”

Raven was silent for a long moment, his dark gaze flickering toward the princess. Then, finally, he sighed. “Wouldn’t be that easy.”

Kian arched a brow. “Why not?”

Raven met his gaze. “Because even if we gave her back, they’d still want our heads. You think they’ll just let us go after kidnapping a princess? No. They’ll hunt us down.”

Jessie cursed under his breath, rubbing his temples. “We’re so dead.”

Bastian let out another long sigh before narrowing his eyes at Kian. “Alright, genius. Since you’re the reason we’re in this mess—what’s the plan?”

Kian just smirked, his gaze drifting toward the princess, still bound and unaware of her new fate.

“Oh,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with amusement. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

A low creak echoed through the small cottage as a weak gust of wind slipped through the cracks in the boarded windows. The room was dim, lit only by the pale light of morning filtering through the dust-heavy air.

A soft rustling came from the wooden chair.

Bastian, who had been leaning against the wall, stiffened first. Jessie followed, eyes snapping toward the bound figure at the center of the room.

“She’s waking up,” Raven muttered, his sharp gaze watching as the princess’s breathing changed, her fingers twitching slightly against the ropes.

Kian pushed off the wall, rolling his shoulders. A slow smirk curved his lips as he stepped toward her. “Took her long enough,” he mused.

Jessie shot him a glare. “Don’t start.”

As the princess stirred, a soft noise escaping her lips, Bastian took a cautious step forward. “Alright, Kian, this is it. We need to figure out how we’re gonna—”

Kian lifted a hand, cutting him off. “Leave.”

A beat of silence.

Bastian’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Leave,” Kian repeated, more firmly this time, his gaze locked on the princess as she shifted against the ropes. “I want to talk to her. Alone.”

Jessie let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, hell no. Absolutely not. I don’t trust you alone with her for a second.”

Raven crossed his arms, unimpressed. “And what exactly do you think you’re going to accomplish here?”

Kian turned to them, tilting his head. “You want to hand her back.” He glanced at Bastian, then Jessie. “That’s what you’ve been whining about all morning, isn’t it? Finding a way to return her without getting our heads chopped off?” He exhaled sharply, his smirk fading into something more serious. “I don’t.”

Jessie stared at him like he’d lost his damn mind. “...You don’t?”

Kian turned his back on them, stepping closer to the princess as her lashes fluttered against her cheeks. “Just give me a few minutes. Then you can keep panicking.”

Bastian muttered a curse under his breath but exchanged a look with Raven.

“This is a bad idea,” Raven said flatly.

“Yeah,” Bastian agreed. “But fine. Five minutes.”

With clear reluctance, the three of them filed out of the room, the door creaking shut behind them.

Silence fell.

Kian crouched in front of the chair, arms resting on his knees as he watched her, waiting. The firelight flickered, casting golden hues across her skin. His gaze dragged over her wedding gown, the lace now slightly dirtied from travel, the intricate embroidery still gleaming despite the rough treatment.

He should’ve felt regret. Maybe guilt.

But he didn’t.

A small smirk played on his lips as he leaned in, voice low, smooth, and laced with amusement.

“The others want to give you back,” he murmured. “They’re worried about politics. War. Our heads on spikes.” His smirk widened. “Me? I don’t give a damn about any of that.”

His gaze darkened, his fingers brushing the armrest of the chair as he tilted his head.

“I took you because I wanted to.” A pause, then a low chuckle. “And I still do.”

Kian’s eyes flickered with something sharp, something dangerous. “So, princess,” he mused, the smirk curling deeper. “If you’re so eager to get married... I’d say I’m a much better option than that prince of yours.”

He exhaled a laugh, eyes glinting with challenge.

“Don’t you think?”