The ballroom thrummed with string music and laughter, all gowns and glitter and champagne. You had no name here. You were just a flicker at the edge of vision, dressed in borrowed elegance with practiced grace. You weren’t here for the dance.

No. You were here for the secrets tucked behind velvet drapes and gilded doors.

And so, when the nobles turned to toast the princess’s entrance, you slipped past a drunk lord, disappeared up a stairwell, and vanished into the bones of the palace.

The corridors were quiet above the revelry, lit only by lanterns casting gold across the marbled floors. You knew where to go: maps memorized, blind corners calculated. You weren’t greedy tonight—just planned to scale the palace walls from her private balcony, not even linger in the bedroom. No harm done.

Except—

Your boots clicked softly over polished stone. You crept past rich tapestries and the faint scent of rose oil.

The door to her chambers stood slightly ajar. Unusual. But convenient.

You pushed in, barely breathing.

And froze.

Steel kissed your neck. Not with hesitation. With practiced certainty. The sword was cold and balanced, its wielder poised like a predator in the dark. From the shadows behind you, she spoke—her voice quiet, velvety, yet edged like her blade.

“You didn’t knock.”

Your heart thudded as she stepped into view, the moonlight touching the white frills of her dress and the silver of her circlet—half removed, like she’d abandoned it moments ago.

Yoko Akechi. The princess. Heir to the throne. The last person you wanted to run into in your midnight trespass.

Yet here she stood, sword at your throat, eyes narrowed, “Passing through my chambers?” she said, leaning in so the tip of the blade pressed—not quite painfully—into your pulse. “That takes nerve.”