The clans symbol

The evening of the noble gathering felt as if it stretched into eternity for Arissa. Though it hadn't truly lasted forever, the hours blurred together in a haze of laughter and music, leaving her fatigued yet exhilarated. She had forged numerous friendships and alliances, knowing that soon she would celebrate her coming-of-age ceremony. In the olden days, the wealthier the guests, the longer they lingered at events; tonight was no exception, the lavish party continuing until the early hours, with the royals maintaining an air of professionalism amidst the revelry.

As the last guests began to depart, Arissa was escorted by her personal knight, George, through the echoing halls of the palace. She felt the warmth of his presence beside her, a comfort amid the chaos of the night. When they reached her chamber, she turned to him, a smile breaking through her weariness. "You can go now, George. I'll be alright."

With a nod, he bowed slightly and stepped away, leaving her in the solitude of her room. The maids had dressed her in stunning finery throughout the night, but the lingering memories of her past—the times spent in servitude, often mistreated—compelled her to dress herself. She changed into a simple nightgown, its soft fabric a stark contrast to the heavy silks she had worn earlier.

Once dressed, Arissa settled into her vanity chair, the gentle rhythm of brushing her long, jet-black hair bringing her a moment of peace. Each stroke sent her hair cascading like a waterfall, shining under the dim light. As she stared into the mirror, lost in thought, a strange sensation washed over her, pulling her deeper into her own reflection.

Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of a figure behind her in the mirror—an apparition that looked strikingly like her but with vivid red eyes and hair like molten lava, flowing in shades of black and crimson. The figure drew closer, and Arissa, convinced she was imagining things, shook her head to clear her thoughts. Yet, the figure remained, its movement hauntingly real.

She turned around quickly, but the room was empty. When she glanced back at the mirror, terror gripped her heart. The figure was there, now staring directly at her, its gaze shifting restlessly. Arissa felt paralyzed, rooted to the spot as the figure reached out, brushing its fingers gently against her head.

"My daughter, I miss you. It's been forever..." the figure murmured, the voice echoing with a sorrow that resonated deep within her.

Startled, Arissa fell backward from her chair, her hand striking the sharp edge of the vanity. Pain flared in her palm as she landed on the floor, blood trickling from the cut. Panic surged through her as she scrambled to her feet, glancing back at the mirror—but the figure was gone.

Just then, a couple of maids burst into the room, alarmed by the noise. Their faces reflected concern as they rushed to her side, quickly tending to her bleeding hand.

"My lady, you must be more careful! You need a personal maid to assist you," one of them fretted, her hands working swiftly to wrap Arissa's injury.

"It's alright," Arissa replied, her voice shaky. She didn't want anyone to know what she had seen; the memory of that figure haunted her thoughts.

How could she explain what had just happened? Who was that woman? Why did she look like her? And most disturbingly, why had she called her "daughter"?

As the maids left, granting her solitude, Arissa sat on the edge of her bed, the bandage around her hand a stark reminder of her fear. Staring out at the balcony, she felt the chill of the night air creeping in through the open window. Sleep evaded her, and the unsettling encounter replayed in her mind.

Eventually, fatigue overcame her, and she dozed off, surrendering to the quiet darkness. But it wasn't long before the clock struck midnight, awakening her with a jolt. A series of thuds echoed from the balcony, jolting her senses. She strained to listen, heart racing, realizing that everyone else in the palace was asleep. There was only one source for that noise: the balcony.

Suddenly, a crash shattered the tranquility, glass splintering across the floor. Panic surged through her veins, and Arissa's instincts screamed at her to flee. She leaped from her bed, eyes wide with terror as she sprinted toward the door. The thought of confronting whatever lurked behind the curtain was unbearable; she needed to escape.

As she fumbled with the door handle, she could hear the distinct sound of footsteps on the shattered glass, the intruder trying to make their way inside. Tears streamed down her face as she frantically twisted the handle, only to find it jammed.

"Holy shit!" she cried, her voice tinged with desperation.

With both hands gripping the handle, she felt a presence brushing against the curtains, the shadowy figure looming ominously. Just as she prepared to scream again, the door swung open behind her. She didn't look back, slamming the door shut as she rushed out, fear clawing at her insides. What if she hadn't woken in time? What if they had come for her?

She raced down the hall, her heart pounding, cries for help escaping her lips. "HELP! HELP! SOMEONE IS TRYING TO GET IN!" Her voice echoed through the palace, piercing the silence of the night.

Within moments, George appeared, concern etched across his features. He rushed to her side, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "What's wrong, my lady?"

"Someone… someone broke into my room!" she stammered, her breath hitching as she pointed toward the door, her body trembling with fear.

"Stay here," he commanded, his tone shifting from concern to determination. He turned, racing back to her chamber as Arissa stood among the gathering maids, their worried expressions mirroring her own.

"Are you alright?" one of the maids asked, her voice filled with urgency.

Arissa, unable to find the words, threw her arms around them, sobbing uncontrollably. Who had been behind the curtain? Why had they broken in? What would have happened if she hadn't woken up?

George entered her room, his sword drawn and ready. He took a deep breath, preparing for whatever lay ahead. He kicked the door open, stepping inside with caution, the moonlight casting eerie shadows across the floor.

As he surveyed the room, his gaze fell upon the shattered glass and the heavy curtains swaying slightly in the breeze. He knelt, examining the remnants of the broken window, his keen eyes catching droplets of blood trailing from the window.

"What in the world…?" he murmured, recognizing the clan symbol embedded in the glass shards. It was the insignia of the Red Pierce Clan, notorious assassins feared throughout the kingdom. The realization hit him like a thunderclap: why had they sent a message? Why was the princess a target?

George's mind raced as he gathered his thoughts. He needed to inform the king, to protect Arissa at all costs. But first, he would ensure that no further threat lingered in the shadows of the night.