The ballroom still smelled faintly of blood.
Even though the servants had scrubbed the marble until it gleamed, Lena could still see it — in the cracks between the tiles, in the reflection of the chandeliers, in the way the light refused to feel warm anymore.
Her brother's blood.
The court had moved on quickly. Too quickly. A new banquet was already being prepared for the evening, as though the assassination had been nothing more than a bad dream. The nobles whispered in corners, their silks rustling like the wings of vultures circling a corpse.
She had learned something in the past few days — grief in this kingdom wasn't a wound; it was currency. People traded in it, used it to bargain, to threaten, to forge alliances. And in the middle of that cold market, Lena felt herself hardening in ways that frightened her.
If they want a queen made of steel, I'll give them one.
From the balcony, she watched the carriages arriving for the evening's gathering. The guest list was unusually selective — mostly foreign dignitaries and a few trusted lords. But she had overheard the guards muttering that someone uninvited had slipped in earlier, dressed as one of the waitstaff.
Her fingers tightened around the railing.
That could only mean one thing.
Dominic was here.
The thought sent a dangerous heat down her spine. She hadn't seen him since their last confrontation — since he had pressed her against the wall in the shadows of the council chamber, his voice low and deadly, telling her that her father's enemies weren't the only ones she had to fear.
She had tried to push him out of her mind. Failed miserably.
Now he was somewhere in this castle, moving like a ghost between gilded corridors.
---
"Your Majesty."
Lena turned. It was Alaric, her father's most loyal advisor, the man who had practically raised her after her mother's death. His silver hair caught the candlelight, but there was something in his eyes tonight — a wariness she hadn't seen before.
"Your safety tonight is… fragile," he said quietly. "There are whispers of a second attempt. I've doubled the guards, but—"
"You think they'll try again?"
"I think," Alaric replied, "that someone wants to see you rattled before the coronation." His gaze flicked to the shadows behind her. "And I think they may succeed if you keep letting your attention… wander."
Lena stiffened.
He knows.
But before she could respond, a soft chime rang from the ballroom below. The evening's speeches were about to begin.
---
The music swelled, and Lena descended the grand staircase like she owned every stone it was built from. Her gown was deep crimson, the kind of red that dared anyone to look away — the kind of red that reminded the court of blood spilled and power seized.
She moved between guests, offering nods, exchanging hollow pleasantries, until she caught sight of him.
Dominic Raine.
He was in a black suit that blended too easily with the shadows, a silver mask covering half his face. He stood near one of the far columns, pretending to be just another foreign envoy. But the way his eyes tracked her — sharp, unyielding — told her he was here for her.
And not just for conversation.
---
They collided in the corner of the balcony during the toast. No one noticed. The crowd was too busy raising crystal glasses, too busy pretending they weren't all wondering who would survive the next month.
"You shouldn't be here," Lena whispered, her lips barely moving.
"Neither should your enemies," Dominic murmured back, stepping closer until she could smell the faint trace of smoke and leather on him. "But they're inside your walls. In your rooms. Sitting at your table. You think the assassination was the end? It was only the opening move."
Her pulse spiked. "Then tell me who they are."
"I will," he said, "but it comes at a cost."
She narrowed her eyes. "And what do you want in return?"
His mouth curved in a way that made her blood heat. "Your trust. Entirely. No council, no guards, no Alaric. Just you and me."
---
Before she could respond, the chandeliers flickered. A hush swept the ballroom.
Then — a sound. Sharp. Metallic.
From the far end of the room, one of the servants stumbled, clutching their tray — but what fell wasn't a glass. It was a dagger, its blade glinting wickedly under the crystal lights.
And then everything happened at once.
Dominic grabbed her wrist, pulling her back just as another blade embedded itself into the column where her head had been. Screams erupted. Guards rushed forward, but there were too many shadows, too many faces hidden behind masks.
Someone was hunting her again.
And this time, they weren't alone.
---
Dominic pushed her through a side door, slamming it shut behind them. "Stay low," he ordered, pulling another dagger from his coat — a twin to the one that had nearly killed her.
Her mind was spinning. "You're armed?"
"I'm always armed." He smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Question is… are you ready to be?"
They moved quickly through the servant corridors, the sounds of chaos fading behind them. Lena could feel the shift in the air — the castle felt wrong tonight, like its very stones were holding their breath.
Then she saw it.
A symbol scratched into the wooden wall at the end of the corridor. A circle split by a jagged line.
Dominic's jaw tightened. "So it's them."
"Who?"
"The Order of the Black Veil," he said grimly. "And they've just declared war on your bloodline."
---
Lena's heart pounded. She had heard of the Order — whispers in the dark, stories of rulers who had vanished without a trace, empires that had crumbled overnight.
But why now? Why her?
Before she could ask, Dominic stepped closer, his voice dropping to something almost intimate. "If you stay here, you'll be dead before dawn. Come with me. Tonight. And I'll keep you alive."
Her breath caught.
Leaving with him meant betraying the safety of the court. It meant trusting a man who could be as dangerous as the assassins hunting her.
But staying meant giving her enemies exactly what they wanted — a queen trapped in a gilded cage.
She looked into his eyes and saw no fear there. Only resolve.
"Make your choice, Lena," Dominic said, the sound of footsteps closing in from both ends of the hall.
---
She took a step forward.
And whispered, "Fine. But if you're lying to me, I'll be the one holding the blade next time."
Dominic's grin was slow, dangerous. "That's my queen."
He reached for her hand — and together, they vanished into the shadows, just as the first black-masked assassin turned the corner.
---