Shadows in the Dark

The corridors of the palace whispered with secrets.

Lord Magnus moved like a phantom through the dimly lit halls, his mind weaving plots as intricate as the gold embroidery on his velvet robes. The court was blind—fools too wrapped up in their own games to see the greater one unfolding beneath their noses.

Lucian Valemont.

The king's favored knight. The orphan turned noble. The insufferable thorn in Magnus' side.

Lucian was more than just a nuisance. He was an obstacle. One that needed to be removed.

Magnus paused outside his chambers, his fingers curling around the iron handle. He had spent years cultivating power, carefully positioning his pieces. But now, Lucian stood in the way, securing his place as Eva's protector—perhaps even something more.

That could not be allowed.

Not when Magnus had plans to make Eva his queen.

He stepped inside, where a single candle burned on his desk, casting flickering shadows against the walls.

A figure waited in the corner. Cloaked. Silent. Deadly.

Magnus shut the door behind him, allowing a slow smirk to curve his lips.

"It is time."

---

Elsewhere in the Palace…

Lucian was restless.

The training yard was empty at this hour, the torches along the stone walls hissing softly in the night breeze. He exhaled, rolling the tension from his shoulders, gripping the worn leather of his sword hilt.

Something felt off.

He had been in battle before—had sensed when a fight was brewing long before swords were drawn. And now, though no enemy stood before him, his instincts screamed that danger lurked nearby.

A shadow moved near the barracks.

Lucian turned sharply, his grip tightening. "Who's there?"

Silence.

Then—

A flicker of movement.

Lucian's reflexes kicked in. He barely dodged the blade that came slicing through the air, stepping back just in time to avoid the fatal strike.

An assassin.

Dressed in black, face masked, wielding two daggers.

Lucian's heart pounded, but he didn't hesitate. With one fluid motion, he unsheathed his sword, steel glinting under the moonlight.

The assassin lunged.

Lucian parried, the clash of metal ringing out into the night. He barely had time to register the assassin's skill—fast, precise, relentless.

Not a common cutthroat.

No.

This was someone sent with one purpose.

To kill him.

Lucian dodged another strike, his mind racing. Who had ordered this? Who wanted him dead?

The answer came easily.

Magnus.

The realization sent a surge of adrenaline through him. He had been expecting this. He just hadn't expected it to come so soon.

The assassin struck again, a blade grazing his arm. Pain flared, but Lucian pushed through it, using his opponent's momentum against them. He twisted sharply, knocking the dagger from their grip, then drove his sword forward—

A sharp gasp.

The assassin staggered back, clutching their side.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, the figure took a step back—then another—before vanishing into the darkness.

Lucian exhaled, watching the empty space where his attacker had disappeared. He wasn't a fool.

This was just the beginning.

---

Meanwhile, in the East Tower…

Magnus paced before the fire, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The assassin had failed.

Unacceptable.

He had expected more. Planned more. He could not afford setbacks, not with Eva growing more defiant by the day.

Lucian had to die.

And if an assassin wasn't enough…

Perhaps it was time for something more direct.

His fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair. He needed a scapegoat. Someone to take the fall. Someone expendable.

A slow smile curled his lips.

Sir Cedric.

Magnus knew Cedric's desires, knew how easily they could be twisted. If he played his cards right, Cedric would be the one to strike the final blow against Lucian.

And best of all?

No one would suspect him.

The game was only beginning.

And Magnus always played to win.