The moon hung heavy above the castle, veiled by clouds that shifted like restless spirits. I had escaped the confines of my chamber for a brief walk through the royal gardens—a small act of rebellion against the suffocating weight of palace life. My silk slippers brushed against the dew-covered grass, the air cool and thick with the scent of night-blooming roses. Everything was quiet, unnaturally so, save for the faint whisper of the wind against the marble statues that lined the path.

And yet… something felt wrong.

It began as a shiver, an instinctive chill that crawled down my spine. The stillness wasn’t peaceful—it was watchful. I slowed my steps, glancing toward the shadows cast by the torches along the walls. The garden was vast, enclosed by towering hedges and stone archways, and yet… I could feel eyes on me. The sensation was subtle at first, then unmistakable. Someone was there.

My heart began to race. I turned the corner, the folds of my gown catching the moonlight, and the faint crunch of gravel behind me confirmed what my instincts already screamed—I was being followed.

I tried to calm myself. Perhaps it was one of the guards, a servant assigned to keep an eye on me after dark. But no… this presence was different. It was quieter than any guard, sharper, colder. The kind of silence born from purpose.

I stopped walking. The air grew heavier. I could hear the faint rustle of fabric behind me, the soft scrape of a boot against stone.

“Who’s there?” I called out, my voice trembling despite my best effort to sound composed. There was no reply, only the soft, predatory rhythm of breathing just beyond the reach of the light. My pulse thundered in my ears as I turned around—slowly, cautiously.

And then I saw her.

She stood partly cloaked in shadow, a figure of darkness among the pale moonlight. Her clothes were simple yet precise—dark leather, daggers strapped to her thigh, a hood that framed her face but did little to hide the sharpness of her gaze. Her eyes met mine, cold and unreadable, yet there was something in them—hesitation? Surprise? Pity?

For a long, unbearable moment, neither of us spoke. The garden seemed to hold its breath with us. I could feel the weight of her stare, like a blade pressed to my throat. My body froze, my thoughts scattering like frightened birds.

"W-who are you…?" I managed to whisper, the words barely leaving my lips.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped closer, silent as a ghost, her movements deliberate and graceful. My heart stuttered at every step she took toward me. The moonlight fell fully across her face now—young, beautiful, but hardened by something deeper. Her expression was unreadable, and yet I could feel the tension between us crackle like lightning.

"Don’t scream," she said finally, her voice low and calm, the kind that carried both warning and strange gentleness. It sent a shiver through me. I should have been terrified, should have called for the guards, but I couldn’t. There was something about her presence—an unspoken sorrow behind her steel composure—that rooted me to the spot.

Her gloved hand brushed against the dagger at her waist, but she didn’t draw it. Instead, she looked at me with eyes that seemed to flicker between resolve and conflict. I realized, with growing confusion, that she wasn’t just studying me like a target. She was… hesitating.

"If you’re here to kill me," I said quietly, forcing steadiness into my voice I didn’t feel, "then do it quickly. Don’t make me wait for it."

A shadow passed across her face—something sharp, almost pained. She lowered her gaze, and when she spoke again, her tone was softer, barely a whisper.

"You don’t even fear death, princess?"

I swallowed, my pulse hammering. "I fear the cage I live in more."

The corner of her lips twitched—not quite a smile, but something close. She stepped even closer now, until I could feel the faint warmth of her breath against my cheek. My instincts screamed to step back, but I didn’t. For the first time, I wanted to understand the woman behind the blade.