The silence was wrong.
Too heavy. Too absolute. Even the wind seemed to have stopped breathing.
Aria stood with her back to the wall, two kings closing in on her from opposite sides — neither looking at her now, both staring toward the shattered window. The sound of those footsteps had vanished, swallowed by the night. But that was worse. It meant the intruder knew they'd been heard.
"Stay behind me," the Verdant King murmured without looking back.
"No," the Frostlands King countered, his voice as calm as the still air. "Stay behind me."
Aria swallowed the retort on her tongue. Something in their postures told her that whoever was out there… wasn't coming to talk
A glint of silver caught the moonlight — there, in the garden. A blade.
The Frostlands King moved first. One fluid motion and he vaulted the windowsill, landing in the snow below without a sound. The Verdant King's sword was in his hand before Aria could blink, the faint green gleam along the edge pulsing like a heartbeat.
"You're not—" she began, but he was already pulling her toward the door.
"Move," he hissed. "You want to live, you move."
She stumbled into the corridor, the taste of cold air still on her lips, and heard the faint crunch of snow outside as the Frostlands King gave chase. Somewhere in the distance — a sharp, metallic ring. Steel meeting steel.
They rounded the corner just as a shadow dropped from above.
The assassin hit the marble floor with catlike grace, their masked face turning toward Aria in an instant.
The dagger they drew was the same one from her chamber — no, a twin.
The Verdant King didn't hesitate. His blade swept up in a vicious arc, forcing the intruder back. The clash of metal echoed down the hall, the sound sharp enough to sting her ears.
"Run," the Verdant King snarled.
"I'm not—"
He spun, blocking a downward strike meant for her throat, and the force of it rattled her bones through the air. "I said run, Aria!"
She ran.
The corridor blurred around her, the flicker of torchlight smearing into streaks of gold and shadow. Behind her, the battle raged — two bodies, two blades, moving so fast they might have been a single shadow splitting in two.
A second pair of footsteps joined them — heavier, surer.
The Frostlands King burst through a side archway, his sword slick with blood. His eyes locked on her for a heartbeat before sweeping past, scanning the dark for more threats.
"Where—"
"Back there," she gasped, pointing.
He didn't waste a word. He was gone again, vanishing into the chaos like ice melting into water.
The palace wasn't quiet anymore.
Alarms were sounding — a deep, resonant horn that shook the air. Servants' voices rose in panicked clusters, the slam of doors echoing as the palace sealed itself against the intruder.
Aria slowed, chest burning, and pressed her back to a cold stone column. She could still hear the clash of steel — closer now, too close.
Then it stopped.
Her breath caught.
The silence that followed wasn't relief. It was worse.
A shadow moved in the torchlight — not a king, not a guard.
The assassin stepped into view, one hand pressed to a bleeding gash at their side. Their mask was cracked along the cheek, a sliver of pale skin showing through.
Aria's pulse slammed against her ribs.
They looked straight at her.
The knife in their other hand gleamed once before they lunged.
She twisted aside, their blade scraping the stone where her head had been a heartbeat ago. Her hands found the nearest thing that could be a weapon — an iron candleholder — and swung.
The blow connected with a hollow crack, but the assassin didn't fall.
They staggered, then righted themselves with inhuman speed.
And then the Frostlands King was there — appearing between her and the intruder like he'd stepped out of the air itself. His sword drove forward, straight through their chest.
Blood steamed against the cold marble.
The assassin's eyes — the only part of their face visible — widened in something like shock. Their lips moved soundlessly. And then they crumpled.
The Frostlands King yanked his blade free, expression unreadable.
He didn't look at the body. He looked at her.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, still clutching the bent candleholder like it could save her life again.
"Good."
His voice was flat, but his hand came up, brushing an icy lock of hair from her cheek. For the briefest second, she thought she saw something almost human in his gaze.
"More are coming," the Verdant King's voice called from the corridor, urgent.
The Frostlands King turned away from her, stepping over the fallen body without hesitation. "Then we end them before they reach her."
The Verdant King joined him, green light from his blade flickering over the frost-patterned armor of the other man. They didn't look at each other. They didn't have to.
For all their rivalry, they moved together now — two predators defending the same prey.
Aria followed, her legs moving before her mind caught up. The palace halls had become a maze of shadows and movement — guards clashing with dark-clad figures, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid bite of smoke.
Every time she thought the danger was past, another masked figure emerged from the dark.
Every time, one of the kings was there first.
But it wasn't enough. The enemy kept comin.
By the time they reached the west courtyard, the snow was red.
A dozen bodies lay scattered across the white expanse, the moon turning the scene into some twisted painting.
The Verdant King's breathing was sharp but steady, his sword arm dripping with someone else's blood. The Frostlands King's armor was dented along one side, a thin line of crimson marking his jaw.
They looked at her then — both of them.
And she understood.
This wasn't random. This wasn't one assassin slipping past the gates.
Someone had sent an army for her.
"We can't hold them here," the Verdant King said, his voice low. "They'll breach the inner wing."
"They won't," the Frostlands King replied, his gaze sweeping the bloodstained snow. "Not while I'm standing."
Aria wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe either of them.
But above the courtyard, the shadows shifted again.
Dozens of masked figures lined the rooftops.
And this time… they all moved at once.
The first arrow flew — straight at her.