Elysia hated mornings. They were too quiet now—too still, like the castle was holding its breath. Once, she would’ve woken to music drifting through the halls, her mother’s laughter, her father’s footsteps echoing down the marble floors. But those sounds had vanished years ago, leaving only silence—and the weight of remembering.

  The kingdom moved on. She wasn’t sure she had.

  She stepped out onto the palace balcony, hoping the morning air would shake off the ghosts. Below, the gardens sprawled in their usual perfect order—too perfect, almost. A bird called. A servant crossed the courtyard. And then—

  Thunk.

  A sharp sound, soft but wrong. It came from behind her.

  She turned, confused—then froze.

  An arrow was buried in the wooden frame of the balcony doors. Just inches from where her head had been.

  Her body locked. The world tilted slightly, like it was waiting for her to understand. She didn’t scream. Didn’t run. Just stared—until the weight of it crashed in. Her breath stuttered, shallow and sharp.

  She moved fast. Instinct more than thought. One step back, then another, until her heel hit the balcony wall. She dropped into a crouch, pressing herself into the stone, eyes scanning the rooftops, the trees, the tower windows. Everything was still.

  Too still.

  She wasn’t alone.

  And someone wanted her gone.

  A second arrow whizzed past her ear, embedding itself in the stone of the wall beside her. Her heart slammed into her chest, but she didn’t flinch. She couldn’t afford to. The castle was vast, but no part of it would protect her if she didn’t move.

  She was a princess, yes, but she knew how to survive.

  Her gaze flicked to the stairs leading back into the castle, but before she could move, the sound of footsteps caught her ear. Heavy boots on stone—someone was coming.

  Think.

  There wasn’t time for a plan, no time for anything but action. Elysia reached for the balcony’s edge, fingers brushing over the cool stone before locking on a heavy vase sitting in the corner. It was too heavy to throw far, but she had a feeling it would work just fine.

  She grabbed it with both hands, took one last look at the direction of the rooftops, and hurled it as hard as she could into the courtyard below. The crash echoed across the stillness.

  It wasn’t much, but it was enough. As the assassin shifted to follow the sound, Elysia bolted back toward the castle doors, but she wasn’t fast enough. A dark figure emerged from the shadows on the balcony, a hooded silhouette.

  She stopped cold. The assassin. There was no mistaking the gleam of steel in his hand.

  Elysia’s pulse pounded in her throat, but she didn’t hesitate. She darted toward the far side of the balcony, her feet light and quick, but the assassin moved just as fast—closing the gap, stepping into her path.

  He was taller than she expected, his presence swallowing the space between them. His eyes, dark as night, fixed on her with an intensity that made her freeze for a split second.

  The air felt thick—suffocating.

  Elysia’s hand shot out, grabbing the nearest thing—an old sword left on the balcony by a passing guard. It was nothing compared to the assassin’s blade, but it was something.

  She swung at him, aiming for his chest.

  He dodged effortlessly, his body a blur, and countered with a strike of his own. The clang of steel against steel rang out as their blades met.

  Elysia staggered back, the force of the blow rattling her, but her grip tightened on the hilt. She wasn’t giving up. She couldn’t.

  The assassin’s lip curled into a small smirk, his confidence palpable.

  “You should run,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

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  But Elysia didn’t run. Instead, she shifted her stance, ready to face him again.

  Her breath came in sharp bursts, but her hands were steady. She raised the sword, gripping it tighter. She had no formal training—at least, nothing past the dull, polite sort of lessons given to noble daughters—but her body remembered enough.

  The assassin struck again, fast and clean. She blocked, barely, the force of it sending a jolt through her arms. Her feet slid against the stone floor, but she didn’t fall. He pressed forward, another blow—she ducked. The blade grazed her shoulder, slicing through the silk of her nightdress. The sting came after.

  She hissed under her breath, adrenaline pushing back the pain.

  He wasn’t trying to kill her. Not yet. He was testing her.

  “Who sent you?” she snapped, circling him. Her voice surprised her—low, controlled. It didn’t match the chaos burning in her chest.

  The assassin didn’t answer. He moved with the silence of someone who had done this before—many times. A step forward. A faint shift of weight. A flick of the wrist—

  Elysia dropped low, the next strike sailing above her head. She slammed the hilt of her sword into his ribs. Not enough to knock him down, but enough to make him stumble.

  His breath hitched.

  She saw it then—the smallest hesitation in his eyes.

  Not because she’d hurt him.

  Because she’d surprised him.

  “Impressive, princess,” he muttered, taking a step back, eyes narrowing.

  Elysia smirked, her confidence growing. “What, did I catch you off guard? Or are you just that easy to outplay?”

  He straightened, his blade flicking through the air like a snake striking. “You’re quick, I’ll give you that. But you’re still a princess. Don’t fool yourself.”

  “Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “What’s your excuse? I thought Virelya sent their best assassin. I’m starting to wonder if I should just send you back with a ‘Return to Sender’ note.”

  The assassin’s lips twitched, but his eyes remained steely. “How cute. You think you’re funny.”

  “I think I’m hilarious,” she shot back. “And I’m about to prove it.”

  With a burst of speed, she swung at him again, more forcefully this time, aiming for his side. He parried, the clash of steel ringing through the air.

  “You’re still not getting it,” he said, his tone low. “You’re not funny—you’re reckless. You might get lucky for a while, but eventually... you’ll slip.”

  Elysia twirled the sword in her grip, matching his stare. “You know what they say—if I’m going to slip, I’ll take you down with me.”

  He growled, frustration flickering through his eyes. She was getting under his skin.

  “I thought I was here to kill you,” he said, stepping back slightly, “but now I think you might be more trouble than you’re worth.”

  “Really? You’re starting to sound like you’re having second thoughts,” she quipped, shifting into a more defensive stance. “Maybe I should charge you a fee for all this trouble.”

  For a brief moment, the assassin’s gaze softened—just a fraction of a second. Then, without warning, he lunged.

  This time, Elysia wasn’t quick enough. The edge of his blade grazed her arm, a sharp sting that sent her into a brief spin.

  But she didn’t cry out. Instead, she gritted her teeth, determined.

  “Oh, nice try,” she said, blood staining the sleeve of her nightdress. “But you’re really going to have to do better than that.”

  The assassin smirked, his amusement returning. “I could say the same to you, princess.”

  With that, he closed the distance, blade in hand, and they were at it again. But now, it was more than just a fight—it was a game. And Elysia was more than ready to win.