Chapter 3: A Reluctant Departure:

Eleanor's hand trembled as she clasped the cold iron of her carriage door, the metal biting into her flesh as if to remind her that her choice was no longer her own. With a deep breath scented by the impending dusk, she heaved the door open and hoisted herself into the opulent confines of the carriage that would take her away from everything familiar.

The interior of the carriage was cloaked in velvet darkness, save for the thin slivers of twilight that pierced through the curtained windows. She settled into the plush seat, her gaze catching on the intricate patterns woven into the fabric that lined the walls—a tapestry of her new life unfolding before her, each thread a promise or a warning she could not yet discern.

"Princess Eleanor," came the low, controlled voice of Commander Lucius from outside, his shadow falling across the window as he mounted his steed. "We must make haste."

"Of course, Commander," she replied, her voice betraying none of the tumultuous storm brewing within her chest. Duty called with an ironclad grip, and though her heart yearned to break free and chart its own course, she knew rebellion was a luxury she could ill afford.

As the carriage lurched forward, Eleanor peered out at the dwindling silhouette of her childhood home. The turrets and spires receded into the distance like the fading notes of a lullaby she'd never hear again. A silent vow to return under her terms alone formed on her lips, even as the pragmatist within her scoffed at such fanciful dreams.

Prince Drakon remained an enigma, a specter of obligation riding alongside them, yet unseen within the separate compartment befitting his station. Her future bound to his, Eleanor grappled with the weight of expectations and the whispers of a life unexplored.

The rhythmic cadence of hoofbeats provided a somber soundtrack to her departure. Beside the carriage, the figure of Commander Lucius was a constant, his presence both a safeguard and a reminder of the power that now dictated her path. The commander's loyalty to Prince Drakon was legendary—forged in battles and blood—and Eleanor knew that his watchful crimson eyes missed nothing. He rode with the grace of a predator, every fiber of his being attuned to potential threats, his purpose clear and unwavering.

Night began to drape itself across the sky, stars peeking through the veil of dusk, indifferent witnesses to her reluctant exodus. Eleanor leaned back against the cushions, closed her eyes, and let the darkness envelop her. As tradition required, she was to walk the rest of the forest alone till she reached the castle while the carriage stayed back, ensuring she doesn't escape. The carriage soon stops and she alights, ready for the journey. Duty might dictate her journey, but the quiet rebellion in her heart whispered of the freedom that lay just beyond reach.