Noctelle's hands trembled at her sides. Her knees nearly gave way, but she forced herself to stand taller, her spine straightening as if carrying an invisible weight of her mother's strength. She remembered the lessons of the woman who had birthed her, buoyant, confident, fearless—and she drew upon it now, though it burned inside her like fire.
Her father's words still echoed in her ears when she asked him why, You do not need to know why—for your own good.
Her lips parted. "And… my lover?" she whispered to herself, the thought a dagger. "Do you… do you care that I leave everything behind?"
Lord Alistair's face softened not a fraction. "You will do as I command, Noctelle. Love… is not part of this mission. You leave your life, your attachments, your foolish affections. You go for the King."
The only solution to this problem is to run. With a slow, deliberate breath, Noctelle straightened her shoulders. Tears threatened her eyes, but she refused to surrender them. Not now. Not ever.
Her mission awaited. A suicide mission. For a father who cared more for power than his own daughter. For a man she had never met, whose heart she must win before she could end it.
And yet… she would go.
Lord Alistair's room
Celestine did not knock. "My lord," she said smoothly as she entered, closing the door behind her. "We must speak."
Alistair did not look up from the documents in his hand. "Speak."
"You cannot possibly mean to send Noctelle," she began, folding her hands. "Isolde is far more suited. She is radiant. Gentle. Admirable. The King would notice her instantly."
Alistair's voice was sharp. "I chose Noctelle."
Celestine's jaw tightened. "But why? You risk everything on that girl."
"I know why I chose her," he replied flatly.
"And Isolde?" Celestine pressed. "Will you deny your own daughter such an opportunity?"
"I will find Isolde a powerful suitor," he said. "One worthy of her. When the time comes, I will explain my plan."
Celestine narrowed her eyes. "Plan?" Silence.
"She is not merely going to marry him," Alistair said coldly. "She will kill him."
Celestine stiffened. "Kill… the King?"
"Yes, that is why I can't send Isolde there."
"That is beyond impossible," she whispered. "He is a monster. An immortal, she's still your daughter why send her, she's not going to make it even after marrying him, the king is a demon."
"I don't care what happens in the end, if she dies before starting to seduce him I actually don't care either."
She stared at him for a long moment, ' I don't understand? Is Noctelle not his real daughter.' she thinks. Alistair finally looked at her.
The moonlight spilled across Noctelle's room as she knotted the final strip of torn bedcover into place.
"Just a little more…" she muttered under her breath.
She pulled the rope tight, securing it to the heavy bedpost. "Hold."
She threw the coiled length out of the window. It unraveled downward. She leaned out slightly. It touched the ground. A breath escaped her lips. "Freedom…"
The door creaked open.
She spun around instantly, pressing her back to the window, hiding the rope behind her skirts.
"What are you doing here?" Noctelle asked hoarsely.
Isolde stepped inside without invitation. "Visiting my dear sister," she replied mockingly. "You are fortunate, you know."
"No," Noctelle said flatly. "I am not."
"It should have been me," Isolde snapped. "Papa should have chosen me. I am far more suitable. You are not worth any good thing."
Noctelle tilted her head slightly. "You eavesdropped."
Isolde's lips twitched. "Perhaps."
"I shouldn't have expected more from the ignorant fool and her ignorant mother, even after eavesdropping dies nor realize the weight of what I am about to do," she muttered to herself.
Isolde frowned. "What did you say?"
Noctelle's dark eyes locked onto hers, saying nothing.
Suspicion flickered across Isolde's face, noticing the girl was rotted to one spot and not moving. "What are you hiding?"
"Nothing that concerns you."
Isolde stepped forward. "What are you up to?"
"Leave," Noctelle said quietly.
"Answer me."
"Get. Out." she said gently.
Isolde scowled. "You think you are so mysterious. You are nothing but Father's mistake."
After a tense moment, Isolde huffed and turned away. "Enjoy your little adventure," she sneered. "Do not disappoint him."
The door slammed shut. Noctelle exhaled sharply.
Just then, the air shifted, cold and oppressive.
Her breath caught, she felt it, a presence behind her, heavy, condemning, watching.
Her heart began to pound violently in her chest. Slowly, Very slowly, Noctelle turned around.
---
Noctelle's heart pounded violently in her chest.
Slowly… she turned around. He stood there.
Black hair falling over his forehead. Clear ocean-blue eyes fixed on her. He looked nothing like a shadow, yet he carried one with him.
"How did you—" her voice came out barely above a whisper. "How did you end up here?"
He did not answer immediately. His sleeve, made of slick dark fabric, was unbuttoned at the top, exposing part of his chest. Blood stained his shirt, dark and spreading.
Her breath caught. "You're hurt."
He leaned slightly against the wall as if standing cost him effort. "It's nothing," he muttered.
"That is not nothing," she shot back, her eyes fixed on the blood. "Who did this to you?" His jaw tightened.
"That doesn't matter."
"It does if you're standing in my room bleeding." He took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving hers.
"I need you to help me." She froze.
"Help you?" she repeated cautiously. "Why would I help you?"
"Because I have no one else, right now, don't feel big I have millions of people who would come to my aid but as of now, I actually need your help." he trained slightly.
Silence filled the room. "How did you get inside?" she asked again.
"The window," he replied simply. Her eyes flickered toward it for a second.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"You don't have to believe me," he said quietly. "You are the one who set up a rope outside your window."