The palace held its breath.
By morning, the news had spread like wildfire. The ghost princess had declared war without lifting a single blade. The court's silence had cracked open—now filled with gossip, threats, and secret alliances. Every whispered word held a blade.
Liana stood before her mirror, clad in a dress as sharp as her resolve. Midnight velvet hugged her frame, the neckline cut to reveal a delicate scar near her collarbone—one she no longer hid. Her maid tried to argue for softer colors, something more palatable.
But Liana refused to soften herself.
Tonight, the court held its Harvest Ball—a gilded masquerade meant to flaunt wealth, power, and alliances. The perfect place for enemies to dance in circles while plotting each other's downfall.
And for her… the perfect stage.
She fastened her black mask, feathered like a raven's wing, then turned from the mirror and walked out.
---
The ballroom shimmered in gold.
Chandeliers blazed overhead. Music spilled from the string quartet in the corner. Nobles twirled in circles like painted figurines, their laughter too loud, their masks too polished.
Liana descended the staircase slowly, like a queen in exile reclaiming her crown.
All eyes turned.
Whispers swirled.
Her presence was a challenge.
A reminder.
That no one in this room was safe.
Not with her back in the game.
She recognized faces behind jeweled masks—House Merrow, the traitorous lords who signed her father's death warrant. House Arvel, who gained land after her exile. And sitting like a spider in silk near the dais—Queen Ilyana, in a gown of blood red.
The Queen smiled when she saw her.
Liana returned it with razor sweetness.
Let the games begin.
---
An hour into the masquerade, Liana had already danced with three nobles and declined four offers of alliance disguised as flattery. Each conversation left her colder.
Everyone wanted to use her.
No one truly believed in her.
Until him.
Leonidas.
He emerged from the crowd like sin dressed in black. His mask was simple, sharp-edged. His presence parted the nobles like waves—some in fear, others in hunger.
He stopped in front of her, and extended a hand.
Liana arched a brow. "You don't strike me as the dancing type."
"I'm not," he said. "But I needed a reason to speak with you… without tongues wagging."
She hesitated.
Then placed her gloved hand in his.
The music shifted.
They glided into the dance, a dangerous rhythm between predator and prey.
"You've made quite the impression," Leonidas murmured, his hand firm at her waist.
"That was the point."
"Careful. You're gathering enemies faster than allies."
"I've never feared enemies. Only silence."
His lips curved. "You're not silent, Princess. You're a storm in velvet."
She tilted her head. "Are you here to warn me or seduce me?"
He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Why not both?"
Liana's heartbeat stuttered—but she didn't let it show. He was too dangerous. Too unreadable. Yet something about him drew her like a moth to the edge of a knife.
"What do you want, Leonidas?"
"I want to know what you're planning."
"And if I told you?"
"I'd help you burn them all."
She looked up sharply. For a moment, the world blurred. The music, the nobles, the lies. All that remained was the shadow of a man whose loyalty wasn't promised—but whose fire matched her own.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because they've worn their crowns too long," he said darkly. "And because I know what it's like to be cast aside."
A slow realization bloomed.
Leonidas wasn't just a rogue captain or a mercenary with a pretty face. He had his own past. His own vengeance.
She wasn't alone in her war.
Not anymore.
The dance ended.
But neither of them let go.
---
Later, after the final toast and the last lie, Liana slipped away from the ball into the lower halls of the palace—toward the restricted archives.
She had one goal tonight beyond survival: evidence.
Proof that her uncle had orchestrated the massacre of her family.
There was a ledger. An old record sealed behind wards only a royal could unlock. She had waited years to reach it.
She passed two sleeping guards and murmured the incantation.
The heavy door creaked open.
Inside, dust cloaked the shelves like ghosts. Scrolls lined the walls. Books with iron clasps lay chained to desks. And in the far corner—a box of records bound in royal black.
She found it.
Her breath caught.
As she reached for it—
A blade touched her throat.
"You never learn, do you?"
The voice was ice.
Queen Ilyana.
Liana turned slowly, the knife slicing a hair's breadth into her skin.
The queen stood in the shadows, her red gown whispering against the stone. No guards. Just her. As always—quiet, deadly, merciless.
"I wondered how long it would take before you returned to this room," Ilyana said softly. "You're so predictable, little niece."
"And you're so desperate to keep your secrets buried."
Ilyana smiled. "I buried more than secrets, child. I buried kingdoms."
She moved the blade from Liana's throat—and slammed it into the table beside her, pinning a scroll.
"You think you can threaten me with truth?" the queen whispered. "This court doesn't care about justice. It cares about power. And the moment you become a real threat... I will end you. Just like I ended your mother."
Liana's blood turned to fire.
She didn't flinch.
Instead, she met her aunt's gaze and said, "You made a mistake leaving me alive."
Ilyana leaned closer, her perfume choking.
"No," she said with venom. "The mistake was thinking you'd ever matter again."
Then she disappeared into the dark, leaving the door wide open.
And the scrolls behind her.
Liana stared at the knife.
And the blood on her collar.
She pulled the scroll free—and held her breath as she unrolled it.
What she saw inside made her knees buckle.
Her uncle's signature. Orders for a midnight raid. Authorization for "silent execution" of dissenting royal members.
Her family.
Their deaths weren't a war casualty.
They were assassinations.
---
Back in her chambers, she stared out the window as the moon rose higher.
Now she had what she needed.
Proof.
But it wasn't safety.
It was a target on her back—burning brighter than ever.
A soft knock broke the silence.
Dominic entered, his clothes still stained with rain and blood.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
Just walked up to her and handed her something.
A mask.
Her uncle's mask. Splattered with red.
Liana looked at it. Then up at him.
"What did you do?"
Dominic's voice was gravel. "I kept my promise."
Her breath caught.
Outside, lightning split the sky.
Inside, the war had begun in earnest.
And vengeance… had only just awakened.