Shadows in the Halls
Two days after the poisoned garden party, the invitations arrived.
The palace was to host a grand banquet — a celebration of the empire's victory over the northern rebels. Every noble house, every merchant prince, every ambitious schemer would be in attendance.
Selene sat in her study, turning the gilded invitation between her fingers.
A perfect hunting ground.
And a perfect trap.
Elena paced nervously across the room. "My lady, are you certain you should attend? You humiliated Lady Amelia. There could be... consequences."
Selene smiled faintly.
"There will be consequences whether I act or not," she said. "The only choice is who strikes first."
She rose, her mind already calculating.
If they wanted to kill her, they would try at the banquet. Public. Untraceable.
A staged accident, perhaps.
She had to be ready.
And more importantly, she had to send a message:
I am not so easily broken.
Dressing for Battle
On the night of the banquet, the Valmor carriage rolled through the palace gates under banners of silver and crimson.
Inside, Selene sat like a queen on a battlefield.
Her gown was deep midnight blue, nearly black, cut low at the back to reveal her slender spine, embroidered with thousands of tiny jet beads that caught the light like stars. Around her throat she wore a thin velvet choker — simple, severe.
Her hair was piled high, pinned with combs shaped like daggers.
An accident?
Perhaps.
Selene smiled to herself.
She wanted them to look at her and see not a broken girl... but a blade hidden in velvet.
The moment she entered the glittering hall, heads turned.
The emperor himself presided from a raised throne, his eyes sharp beneath his golden crown. Beside him, the empress — beautiful, cold, watching everything.
Selene made her obeisance, graceful and unhurried, feeling the weight of a hundred gazes.
Among the glittering crowd, she spotted familiar faces:
Lady Amelia, dressed in demure lavender, her smile brittle.
Duke Vance, whispering urgently to a group of minor lords.
Sir Gideon Blackthorn, Damon's loyal hound, standing like a statue by the far pillars.
Enemies, every one.
And somewhere among them... a killer.
The Banquet Begins
Tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, sugared fruits, gold-flecked pastries. Minstrels played soft music from a dais. The courtiers laughed too brightly, drank too deeply.
Selene navigated the banquet with precision.
Every smile was a weapon. Every toast a test.
She danced once with Lord Alaric, the widowed Earl of Westmere, who looked at her like a puzzle he intended to solve.
Twice she refused offers of wine from suspiciously eager servants.
Three times she caught Amelia watching her from across the room, her expression twisted with barely concealed rage.
The tension thickened with every passing moment.
Selene felt it coil tighter and tighter — a thread about to snap.
Blood and Roses
It happened during the third course.
As Selene turned from the dessert table, she caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye —
a blur of black cloth, a flash of steel.
Instinct screamed.
She dropped her goblet and spun, the blade meant for her heart slicing only the air.
A man in servant's livery lunged again, face hidden beneath a scarf.
The banquet exploded into chaos.
Ladies screamed. Men shouted. Guards surged forward.
Selene sidestepped the assassin's next blow, seized a heavy silver platter from the table, and slammed it into his arm. The knife clattered to the floor.
The assassin snarled, reaching for another hidden blade — but Selene was faster.
She grabbed a candlestick, swinging it with brutal precision. It struck the man's temple with a sickening crack.
He crumpled to the marble floor.
For a heartbeat, the world hung frozen.
Selene stood above him, chest heaving, candle wax dripping onto her gown. The crowd stared — horrified, fascinated.
A slow clap echoed through the hall.
The emperor.
He rose from his throne, descending the steps like a lion surveying prey.
"Well," he said, his voice carrying. "It seems Lady Selene Valmor is not as fragile as some would believe."
Laughter, sharp and uneasy, rippled through the room.
Selene sank into a low, perfect curtsy, hiding her racing heart.
"Your Majesty honors me," she said, her voice steady.
He smiled — a predator's smile.
"We honor strength," he said. "And cunning. Both of which you have demonstrated admirably tonight."
The empress, watching from behind her fan, said nothing.
But her eyes gleamed.
Selene knew then:
She had just drawn the attention of powers far more dangerous than Amelia.
The Aftermath
The assassin was dragged away by palace guards.
Selene remained in the hall, wine staining her skirts, blood spattering her gloves.
Amelia rushed to her side, voice high with feigned concern.
"My dear Selene! How horrible! Are you hurt?"
Selene looked at her — really looked.
Amelia's hands trembled slightly.
Not with fear.
With rage.
She hadn't expected Selene to survive.
Selene smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of her lips.
"I'm quite unharmed, Lady Amelia," she said sweetly. "Thank you for your... concern."
And then, very softly so only Amelia could hear:
"You'll have to try harder next time."
Amelia recoiled, her face draining of color.
Selene turned away before she could reply.
Already, whispers filled the hall:
"Who sent the assassin?"
"Was it political? A family feud?"
"Could it be... jealousy?"
Selene let the rumors grow.
They would find their own victims.
Tonight, Selene had survived.
Tomorrow, she would begin to strike back.
Harder.
Faster.
Without mercy.
A New Player
Later that night, as Selene changed out of her ruined gown, a small note was delivered by a maid who refused to meet her eyes.
No seal. No signature.
Only six words, written in a spidery hand:
"You are not alone. - V"
Selene stared at the message, her heart pounding.
An ally?
Or another trap?
Either way, she smiled.
The game had just gotten even more interesting.
And she intended to win.