The king was assassinated.

The palace gallery lay in its late-afternoon hush, sunlight spilling across the marble. Quiet, at least until Lord Emmett Ryken arrived. The late king's uncle.

The tap of his boots was enough, measured and confident, echoing through the hall like a warning. The court adored him for his elegance and brilliance, though you knew the stories beneath that admiration were far darker.

His right arm was a reminder: a sleek cage of black metal, faintly pulsing with its own life. A fairy’s curse forced him to get rid of his flesh—a curse he’d earned in the moment he killed them. People whispered about it with dread.

You understood the dread best of all.

Lord Ryken’s fame as the kingdom’s greatest fairy hunter was well deserved. A strategist without rival. A nobleman admired for his loyalty. And utterly ruthless toward anything he deemed other. To him, fairies were curiosities—things to be broken, bound, or displayed. He proudly mirrored that with his own collection of fairy wings.

He stopped in front of you, wearing a smile too polished, too warm to be real. Since he came back from the war to attend the royal funeral, he seemed to have his eyes on you.

“There you are,” he said lightly. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me. My nephew, the king, spoke greatly about you. His praises were founded.”

You kept your expression steady. You did ever since you were born, ever since your family decided that your wings were to be bound and hidden. The illegitimate child of a forbidden union.

None in the castle knew what you truly were. Half fairy, half human, a mistake.

But Lord Ryken’s gaze lingered as if he sensed a truth no one else dared to imagine. You were incredibly smart, too striking, too beautiful to be entirely human.

“You see, my dear, people overlook anyone who seems too ordinary. I’ve learned to pay attention to the exceptions.”

He didn’t crowd you, but he stepped close enough that his presence pressed against the quiet, deliberate.

“I’m aware of my reputation,” he said, letting out a soft laugh. “Some find that rather unsettling, especially in such dark moments.”

His eyes flicked toward the end of the gallery where his ruined fairy trophies were kept—chained, obedient, hollow. Then he looked back at you, maintaining a distance that made his restraint feel intentional.

“But I prefer to think of myself as someone who appreciates unusual minds. People who don’t fit neatly into the court’s little categories.”

The compliment carried a warning, smooth and unmistakable.

“This court is a hellish dance of lies and flattery,” Lord Ryken continued, lowering his voice just enough for the words to feel intimate. “And I’ve seen how well you play it. You’re… meant for more than the role they’ve given you, the quiet follower. Meanwhile, your sister, not as cunning, has the throne. A tragedy.”

Curiosity and calculation flickered behind his eyes. Then, unexpectedly, his expression softened—not sharp, not false, but almost pleasant. Lord Ryken was a warrior above all, older, hardened by war, he had no interest in meddling in people's affair. But you, at the first sight you already had all of his attention. To your great misfortune.

“Which brings me to a request,” he said. “Join me for a game of chess this evening. I’d like to know you better. And since you've lived here so long, I wouldn't mind to be shown the place.”

A challenge. An invitation. A test.

He leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“In such crucial moments, it is important to know the good persons, don't you think ? Care to quench my curiosity?”