That evening, as twilight bled into night, I stood before my mirror in the quiet privacy of my chambers. The dress lay before me—a gift from the king's wife, wrapped in delicate silk dyed the deepest shade of midnight blue. Its fabric shimmered faintly under the candlelight, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light like stars scattered across the night sky.
I slipped into the gown, feeling the smooth fabric embrace my skin. The dress hugged my slender frame perfectly, flowing down in soft, cascading waves that whispered as I moved. For once, I saw not the scarred, battle-worn girl in the glass, but someone poised, regal—commanding attention without even trying.
My reflection met my eyes, and I surprised myself. There was power in this guise, a weapon just as sharp as any blade. The neckline revealed a hint of collarbone, and the delicate sleeves framed my arms, softening the strength within. I gathered my dark hair in a loose braid, letting a few strands fall around my face to soften the fierce set of my jaw.
When I entered the grand hall, the whispers began immediately. Heads turned, noblewomen exchanged quiet glances, and even the men gave subtle nods of approval. I could feel the weight of their gazes, the tension mingling with curiosity. I was a blade hidden in silk, striking fear beneath elegance.
The king's wife entered moments later, gliding like a shadow wrapped in velvet, her smile cold and measured. She came bearing more gifts—a delicate fan carved from ivory, perfumed oils, and jeweled trinkets, all meant to charm and disarm. She paused before me, presenting the offerings with an unnatural sweetness, her eyes searching mine.
I accepted the gifts with a polite nod, my gaze steady and unreadable. There was no warmth in our exchange, only a silent acknowledgment that we were players on the same dangerous board—each waiting for the other to make a fatal mistake.
Dinner was served under flickering chandeliers, golden goblets clinking softly. The musicians played a haunting melody that seemed to crawl beneath the skin, weaving unease through the crowd.
I moved through the feast with calculated grace, careful to keep Ilyra and Maren close. They, too, wore fine gowns, but their eyes never wavered from scanning the crowd, the flicker of steel hidden beneath their skirts a promise of deadly loyalty.
Then, like the snap of a brittle branch, the calm shattered.
Five figures detached from the shadows near the dais, moving with deadly purpose—the Silver Daggers.
My pulse surged as my instincts flared. I slipped away from the table with a fluid step, feeling the weight of my dress but not letting it slow me. The silk rustled softly, a ghost among the clamor.
In a heartbeat, I was at a guard's side—his hand steady on the hilt of his sword. I seized the blade, feeling its cold steel pulse with promise.
The first assassin lunged, a wicked curved dagger aimed at my throat. I twisted beneath the strike, the blade whistling past my skin. The fabric of my gown caught a scratch, but I cared nothing for cloth.
Steel rang against steel as I parried, my sword carving arcs of silver in the candlelit air. Each movement was precise, born of relentless training and raw will.
The hall erupted into chaos—the gasps, the cries, the clash of arms echoing against marble walls.
Another attacker pressed from my side, fast and vicious. I ducked low, the hem of my dress brushing the floor, and swept my blade in a wide arc. The assassin's breath hitched as the steel nicked his thigh.
Pain flared in my arm where a hidden dagger grazed me, but I willed it away, focusing on the fight.
The king's wife watched from the dais, her smile vanishing as her allies fell one by one.
Maren and Ilyra moved like shadows themselves, cutting down enemies with silent fury, protecting my flank.
The last assassin charged, desperate, wild. I met him head-on, sword meeting blade in a shower of sparks. Our blades locked, eyes burning with the promise of death.
With a fierce push, I broke free, driving him backward until he stumbled and collapsed, defeated.
Breath ragged, muscles screaming, I stood amidst the fallen.
The hall was silent but for the heavy breaths of survivors.
I looked to the king's wife once more. Her face was pale, lips pressed thin.
The game had only just begun.