The inner court thrummed with tension. Morning light poured through stained glass and painted the marble floor in lines of color. Damian stood to the side of the royal dais, sword sheathed at his back, spear leaning within reach. Selene sat a few steps above him, radiant in pale blue silk, expression polite and calm the perfect picture of noble composure.
King Aldros had called a small session: petitions, border reports, and questions about the Wyvern attack a week past. The hall was crowded with ministers, nobles, and a handful of knights. Conversation was polite, measured… too measured.
Damian felt it like a pressure in the air.
"Alert: Unusual heart rate spikes detected across perimeter. Probability of hostile intent within chamber: 46%."
He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He watched.
Across the chamber two men moved as if by the same thought. Both were heavily armored, faces hidden behind visored helms. One took a slow step toward the dais where the King sat; the other drifted to where Selene leaned forward to listen. Their hands rested on hilts ordinary, except for the way they watched, cold and practiced.
Rowan tensed beside him. "Damian—"
Before Rowan finished, the first man sprang. Silence cracked into chaos.
A blade flashed toward the King's throat.
"—Stop him!" the herald screamed.
Damian's world snapped into crystal focus. He moved.
One instant he was a quiet silhouette; the next he was across the room. The hall erupted with shouts as nobles dove for cover. Steel met air, but Damian's hand closed around the assassin's wrist as if it were a twig.
He didn't even draw a weapon.
"Hands where I can see them," Damian said softly, voice low enough that only the nearest could hear.
The assassin's strike stalled confused, enraged then he shoved. Damian's grip tightened. With a single, brutal motion he hauled the man up, crushed his throat between two fingers and slammed him backward until his helm cracked on the marble dais. The man gurgled, glassy eyes trying to find purchase.
"Hold strength: 98%. Grip success probability: 95%."
Selene gasped as another assailant lunged at her, dagger aimed for the soft spot where neck met shoulder. Elara leapt forward but a shieldman blocked her path. Time slowed. Damian didn't think. He acted.
He shoved through the crowd, planted a foot against the second attacker's chest and used him as leverage then, with movement so fast it blurred, he slammed his boot down on the man's helmeted head. The impact sounded like a tree struck by a hammer. The attacker's dagger skittered away; he slumped, unconscious.
"Everyone back!" Rowan roared, pushing people out of harm's way.
A dozen guards surged, but Damian still held the first man by the throat, feet braced on polished marble, breathing steady. The King stared, eyes wide; Selene's hand flew to her mouth.
The room snapped into a different rhythm the guards moved, nobles yelled, ministers argued but the second attacker lay silent at Damian's boot. The first man's breathing came ragged and wet under Damian's grip.
"Who sent you?" Damian asked, voice flat.
The man coughed, blood at the corner of his mouth. "—no… orders… shadow… robe…"
Before he could choke out more, the King himself rose from the throne.
"Enough," Aldros said, voice like thunder restrained. He stepped forward, eyes fixed on Damian. "You saved my and dukes daughter's life. For that, I owe you gratitude."
Murmurs knifed through the chamber.
Selene moved, pale but steady, toward Damian. Up close she looked younger, but her gaze held firm.
"My thanks as well," she said quietly. "If not for you…"
Damian eased his grip and dropped the man to the floor. Guards moved in to take both attackers. No one tried to stop them.
Rowan thumped Damian's shoulder so hard it hurt. "You did damn well. Walking into the middle of a court fight like that—" he grinned despite the adrenaline.
Elara was laughing, breathless. "You have no idea how ridiculous you looked hero pose and all."
Selene's eyes, however, remained on him. "You reacted as if you'd expected them." Her voice had an edge of curiosity. "Was this… arranged?"
Damian met her gaze, unreadable. "I don't know." He looked at the collapsed men. "But I don't think they were amateurs."
The King's voice rose again. "We will investigate. For now—" He turned to Damian. "You acted for the realm's good. For that, I name you honored guest of the crown. We will discuss rewards and station immediately."
"Threat assessment post-engagement: probability of wider conspiracy: 82%. Recommended: heightened personal security and immediate intelligence sweep."
The AI's voice suggested logistics in Damian's head, dry and clinical. He nodded once.
Selene stepped closer, a soft sound amid the clamor. "You risked yourself for people you barely know. Why?"
Damian looked at her, then away. "Because they needed someone," he said simply. No flourish, no claim.
She smiled, a small, dangerous thing. "You… are not like other newcomers."
He felt the heat rise faintly in his chest, and the AI's analysis slipped into his thoughts.
"Emotional variable recorded: proximity to Selene increased. Probability of emotional interference: 26%."
"Do you require anything?" the King asked, voice businesslike again.
Damian considered the question. He wanted nothing from the crown. He remained cautious about favors, assignments, and entanglements. But the hall had seen him act; the crown knew he could be useful. Security, information, resources—those might have value if he chose to accept them on his terms.
"I will accept temporary accommodation and official clearance to continue my work with the guild," he said. "Nothing further."
The King nodded slowly. "So be it."
As guards escorted the two assailants away for interrogation, whispers buzzed through the chamber. Eyes that had been cold turned keener. The noble in violet robes watched Damian with a smile that did not reach his eyes. The thief-girl's mouth curved into something like hunger.
Damian released a long breath he hadn't known he was holding. Outside the court, the city seemed quieter but the air tasted different now, charged.
He wiped the marble dust from his palms and strapped his weapons back on. Rowan fell into step beside him.
"You okay?" he asked.
Damian nodded. "For now."
Elara bumped his shoulder. "And don't tell me you didn't like the attention."
Damian allowed a tiny smirk. "It was efficient."
Selene's voice echoed softly as they left the hall behind. "You saved more than my life. You saved choice." She paused, searching his face. "Make wise choices, Damian Arkwright. Power like yours will demand it."
He looked at her at the white hair haloed by the palace light and kept his expression a closed book.
"Post-incident summary: exposure level increased by 21%. Suggested actions: strengthen personal network, identify faction leaders within court, investigate origin of assassins."
Damian's mind was already racing, plans forming like blueprints. The court had tested him; he had answered. The hunters would sharpen their tools. The crown had a new card.
He slid his hand over the hilt of his sword, steady as stone.
Bring it on.