A Shadow in the Castle

The halls of Valyria were made of stone, but tonight, they breathed like something alive.

The torches flickered low, casting trembling shadows that stretched long across the walls.

Outside, the wind howled through the open terraces, rattling the ancient banners that bore the royal sigil.

A lone figure moved through the darkness, silent as a whisper.

Xavier.

The silver mask concealed his features, but even without it, no one would have seen him. He was the night itself—cloaked in black, his long tunic flowing with each measured step. His boots made no sound against the marble floors. The shadows obeyed him, wrapping around his frame as if he belonged to them.

He was not meant to be here.

And yet, here he was.

His mission was clear, but the details were his own. Find it. Take it. Leave no trace.

But there was a problem.

Someone had been here before him.

Xavier paused at an intersection where the halls split in three directions.

His golden eyes scanned the corridor, sharp, calculating.

The air carried the faintest trace of something—something delicate, something human.

A scent.

It was subtle, but it was there—vanilla, with a whisper of jasmine.

It had been hours since someone passed through here, but still, it lingered.

Xavier tilted his head slightly.

Curious.

His mission was precise, but experience had taught him that the unexpected often held the greatest secrets.

He moved forward, his fingers grazing the stone wall as he walked. The castle was ancient, filled with corridors that led nowhere, doors that opened into forgotten rooms. Most would lose themselves in its Maze-like structure.

Xavier never lost his way.

A sharp movement.

He stilled, pressing himself into the shadows.

Footsteps.

Two men. Guards, heavily armed. They walked the hall with casual arrogance, their spears scraping the stone as they muttered about their patrols.

Careless. Sloppy.

Xavier could kill them both before either had time to draw breath.

But he did not come for blood. Not tonight.

He waited, motionless, as the guards passed. He did not move until their voices faded entirely, until their footsteps became nothing but distant echoes swallowed by the castle.

Then—he was moving again.

Faster this time.

He reached the end of the corridor, where the halls opened into a vast chamber. Moonlight spilled in through the archways, pooling silver across the floor. Beyond the pillars stood a large set of doors—ornate, heavy, locked.

Xavier did not hesitate.

From the folds of his cloak, he retrieved a small, thin blade. He ran a gloved finger along the edge, testing its sharpness before slipping it into the door's keyhole. A flick of his wrist. A soft click.

The lock surrendered.

He stepped inside.

The chamber was dark, the air thick with dust and forgotten secrets. Shelves lined the walls, filled with old texts, delicate scrolls, and relics from a time long before Valyria's current reign.

His gaze swept across the room.

Where is it?

A single object. That was all he needed.

Then—

A noise.

Soft. Barely audible. A breath.

He was not alone.

Xavier did not turn immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch, feeling the presence in the room, measuring the weight of it.

Then, without warning—he moved.

A flash of black. A sharp inhale.

In the space of a heartbeat, he was upon them, his hand closing over a wrist, spinning them against the nearest wall. His blade pressed against bare skin—a warning.

The scent of vanilla and jasmine surrounded him.

Her.

The girl from the halls.

The one who had passed before him.

His golden eyes burned through the darkness as he whispered, "What are you doing here?"

A pause.

She heaved heavy breaths of fear she tried to conceal.

"I could ask you the same thing."

Suspense crackled between them, thick and sharp.

His mission had just become more complicated.

"Who are you?"

His voice was low, smooth and dangerous.

Before Ava could react, a hand closed around her wrist. A sharp pull made her back hit the cold stone, her breath stolen as she found herself caged between the wall and a figure dressed in black.

A black mask concealed his face, but his golden eyes burned through the slits, watching her like a predator studying prey.

"You're trembling," he murmured. His voice carried no amusement, only quiet observation.

Ava steadied herself. "No, I'm not."

The corners of his mouth lifted—just barely. "Lying doesn't suit you."

Her pulse pounded, but she refused to shrink beneath his presence. Instead, she lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head-on. "Then unhand me, assassin."

His grip didn't loosen.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying her the way one might inspect a blade—curious about whether it was sharp enough to cut. "You don't look like a servant."

"And you don't move like a prince," she countered.

Silence. A thick, charged silence.

"What now?" she whispered.

Something flickered in his eyes. A test—passed.

Footsteps echoed down the hall.

Guards.

The assassin prince stiffened, listening.

The moment stretched, and Ava knew—if he was caught, it would mean war.

If she was caught with him, it would mean worse.

She made a choice.

She pulled him by his arm into an empty room. Looking around franctically her eyes landed on a wardrobe.

They glanced at each other and dashed into the closet shutting the door.

First there was a long moment of silence, then the sound of footsteps—closer.

Their eyes met in a fleeting glance. The footsteps came nearer, Xavier drew out his sword halfway.

His hand brushed against hers, sending a jolting spark between them.

Hurriedly the footsteps turned away leaving the room. Heaving a small breath of relief, he returned his sword.

He looked down at the small body frame beneath him. Realization hit him— they were way too close.

He tried taking a step backward, but they were too cramped. Her heartbeat skipped.

Ava's nervousness turned to curiousity.

She didn't know why she did it.

But she reached up—and pulled the mask slightly away from his face.

Not enough to reveal him completely.

Just enough to see the sliver of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw.

A small, secret thrill ran through her at the sight.

The sharpest intake of breath—not from her. From him.

He gave her a shocked expression.

And he found her staring at him awestrucked.

She stood there gaping at him completely melted by his beauty.

He shot her a fleeting eye contact, trying to hold himself from touching her in places his demons begged him to.

She tried to maintain her composure.

Then she did something reckless.

She whispered, "Go left. There's a door that leads to the servants' passage."

His lips parted slightly, as if he wasn't used to being helped.

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

Then, without another word—he slipped away.

Ava released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

---

Queen Naomi sat on her throne, trying to mask her growing frustration.

Where was Bianca?

The Celestial Prince stood before her, his golden eyes sharp, his presence utterly unshaken.

"I am not leaving Valeria without a bride." His voice was calm but firm.

Queen Naomi swallowed. "Your Highness, I assure you, there has been a complication—"

"I do not accept complications."

Her fingers clenched into her gown.

Where was her brother? Where was Bianca?

Then, a memory from the night before flashed in the prince's mind.

A girl in the dark. A stolen moment. A presence that lingered in his mind far longer than it should have.

His voice was laced with quiet amusement. "Didn't you say there were no other suitable brides?"

Naomi hesitated. "There… there is one."

The room fell silent.

"She is unfit," Queen Naomi quickly added. "She is crippled. She has no hope to have a husband, talk more of being your bride. She is—"

A voice cut through the air.

Smooth. Calm. Unbothered.

"Are you sure you're describing me, Your Majesty?"

Every head turned.

The hall went silent.

And there—standing in the grand entrance of the throne room—was her.

Ava.

But not the Ava they remembered.

Not the broken girl Queen Naomi had cast aside.

No.

She moved like water, her deep midnight gown trailing behind her like flowing ink. Gone was the pale, fragile thing they once ignored. Now, she was a storm.

Her once-pale complexion now glowed with warmth, and her golden hair cascaded down her shoulders like woven starlight.

But her eyes—those striking turqoise eyes—were unreadable.

The Celestial Prince's breath caught in his throat.

This was the girl from last night.

Queen Naomi paled. "How—? You—"

Ava's lips curled into the faintest smirk.

"How disappointing, Your Majesty," she mused, her voice dripping with something dangerously close to amusement. "You make me sound so… unremarkable."

The Celestial Prince was silent.

But his golden gaze darkened with interest.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips.

"Fascinating."

Queen Naomi opened her mouth—to protest, to dismiss her—but she saw it.

The way the Celestial Prince was looking at her.

The sharp recognition in his golden eyes.

The way his fingers curled, just barely.

And then—he spoke.

Soft. Intense. Unshakable.

"I should have known," he murmured.

Ava stilled.

His gaze never left her. Did not waver.

"It was you."

The room felt too small.

Queen Naomi paled. "Your Highness—"

Xavier lifted a hand.

"Enough."

Naomi froze.

A slow, measured step forward. The Prince's voice was low, almost taunting. "You lied to me, Queen of Valyria."

Naomi's nails bit into her palm. "She—she is unfit—"

Xavier's gaze darkened. "Unfit?"

Another step. Now he was looking at Ava again.

"You must be blind."

A flicker of something in Ava's chest. Something dangerous.

He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, close enough that the gold in his irises seemed to smolder.

"You stole something from me," he murmured.

Ava's breath hitched.

'What did I steal?' she wondered

His fingers lifted—to the place where her hand had touched his mask.

Where she had seen what no one else was meant to see.

The tension coiled so tightly, the air itself trembled.

"Shall I return the favor?" he whispered.

Ava's pulse roared.

Queen Naomi looked between them, horror creeping into her features.

And in that moment—Ava knew.

She had won.

Xavier's lips parted, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft, but dangerously final.

"She is the one."