The third bell hadn't finished echoing when Daren moved.
He stepped in front of Lysandra, blade raised, every muscle coiled. The balcony's silvery calm shattered—no longer a place for quiet promises, but a battlefield waiting to unfold.
"Your Majesty," he said, his voice low, controlled, "we need to move."
But Lysandra did not retreat. Her gown fluttered behind her like a banner caught in the wind, her jaw set with the steel of an Empress.
"This attack is meant for me," she said. "But it is also meant to test us—our guard, our response, our resolve. If I hide, Mavren wins."
Daren didn't argue.
He simply stepped closer, close enough that she felt the faint warmth of his armor brushing her shoulder.
"I will not let them touch you," he said.
And then the fourth bell rang.
Too close.
Too urgent.
Too real.
Breaking into the Night
They moved fast.
Lysandra swept through her chamber doors, Daren at her side, Captain Rhedon falling in behind them with ten armed guards. The palace hallways were dim—torches flickering violently, shadows stretching long across polished marble.
Servants huddled against walls as the Empress passed, fear etched across their faces.
Serene burst from her room just as they approached the grand staircase.
"What's happening—?"
"No time," Lysandra said, grabbing her sister's wrist. "Stay with Rhedon."
Serene sputtered. "I am not a—"
But Lysandra's glare cut the protest short.
Daren took point, descending the stairs in controlled silence.
At the landing, he halted.
Something was wrong.
The air felt… shifted. Thick. Heavy. As if anticipation itself clung to the marble.
He raised his hand.
"Movement," he whispered.
A soft scrape echoed from below.
Then—
A shadow detached from the darkness.
A figure in black vaulted up the staircase, daggers glinting.
"DOWN!" Daren roared.
The assassin lunged straight for Lysandra.
Daren moved faster.
Steel met daggers in a violent clash, sparks flaring. The assassin's hood fell back, revealing cold, painted eyes and a mouth set in a cruel snarl.
He was trained. Professional. Deadly.
Daren forced him back with a sweep of his blade—but the assassin slipped sideways, gravity his ally as he flipped off the railing and vanished into the lower hall.
More shadows moved below.
More than one.
Many more.
Captain Rhedon cursed. "We have a breach—multiple!"
Lysandra's eyes flashed with fury. "Mavren sent an entire strike squad."
"Then we end them," Daren said.
Hall of the Moonlight Chandeliers
The first wave came fast.
Three assassins broke from the shadows, weapons gleaming with a faint poison sheen. Daren stepped forward, meeting them head-on, steel singing in the candlelight.
The hall erupted into chaos.
Daren fought like he was born from iron—fluid, lethal, decisive. His blade carved arcs of silver through the air, striking sparks from marble floor and blood from masked bodies.
Two assassins went down before the guards even reached him.
The third charged at Lysandra directly.
Daren didn't need to look.
"Stay behind me!" he barked, twisting just in time to intercept the assassin's downward slash.
Their blades locked.
The assassin's hiss was sharp. "The Empress dies tonight."
"Not while I breathe," Daren growled.
He twisted, broke the assassin's stance, and drove him to the ground.
Rhedon finished him with a spear thrust.
More assassins rushed from the far end of the hall.
Serene screamed as one charged toward her—
—but two guards blocked the attack, forcing him back.
Lysandra grabbed Serene's hand. "Stay close! Do not run!"
But even as she spoke, she kept her chin high, eyes blazing—not a helpless royal, but a ruler refusing to bow.
Daren fought his way back to them, chest heaving.
"There are too many," Rhedon said. "Your Majesty, we must retreat to the Inner Vault."
Lysandra shook her head fiercely. "No. They sent enough men to breach the palace—they plan to corner us. We must reach the Command Court. From there we can lock down the entire wing and summon reinforcements."
Daren wiped blood from his blade. "Then that's where I take you."