The palace never slept.
Even in the deepest hours of night, she could hear the faint hum of footsteps in the marble corridors, the flicker of torchlight against glass, the distant clang of the watchmen changing shifts.
But tonight, the air felt… wrong.
Aria lay in bed, eyes half-closed, letting the shadows settle in the corners.
Her mind replayed the council chamber over and over — the way they had circled her like predators, the way their eyes had lingered too long, the way the Obsidian King's words had felt like a promise and a threat at once.
She didn't notice the first sound until it came again.
A whisper.
No, not a whisper — the faint scrape of metal against metal, right at her door.
Her fingers clenched around the silk sheet. Someone was trying to undo the lock from the outside.
She forced her breathing to stay even, feigning sleep, as slow footsteps padded into the room.
The intruder moved like they knew exactly where they were going.
A shadow loomed beside her bed — too tall to be a servant, too still to be a guard.
The blade was the first thing she saw.
It caught the moonlight as it lifted, hovering above her chest.
In one movement, she rolled, sending the pillow into the air — the knife came down hard, tearing feathers into the dark.
The attacker hissed something in a language she didn't know, lunging again.
Aria scrambled toward the far wall, her bare feet cold against the polished stone, her heart pounding so hard she could taste it in her mouth.
The blade flashed a second time—
The door burst open.
A figure in deep emerald and silver swept in, the gleam of a curved sword catching the torchlight.
It was the Verdant King.
The intruder didn't hesitate — they abandoned her and lunged for him instead.
The clash of steel rang out in the confined space, the smell of crushed leaves and sweat filling the air.
Aria pressed herself against the wall, torn between terror and the instinct to run.
The fight was brutal but silent, both combatants moving with deadly precision.
The Verdant King's blade found its mark first, slicing across the intruder's wrist.
The dagger clattered to the floor — but before she could see their face, the attacker threw themselves through the window.
Glass exploded outward into the night.
Aria darted forward, peering into the darkness just in time to see the shadow vanish into the garden below.
When she turned back, the Verdant King was already looking at her like she was the one holding the knife.
"You're lucky I was passing this hall," he said, his voice low, each word careful.
Her throat was dry. "Was that luck?"
A faint, unreadable smile curved his mouth. "No. I've been watching your room all night."
The words sent a shiver through her — not entirely from fear.
He stepped closer, the green of his cloak brushing against her arm.
"You have more enemies here than you realize, Aria."
Her eyes narrowed. "And you're not one of them?"
"That," he said, reaching down to pick up the dagger, "depends entirely on what you do next."
He handed her the blade, his fingers deliberately brushing hers.
The door slammed open again — this time the Frostlands King stood there, pale eyes taking in the scene.
"Care to explain," he asked, "why she's holding a bloodstained weapon?"
And for the second time that night, Aria realized she might not survive until morning.