13. A dance of shadows

The night was thick with silence, the kind that carried weight—the kind that signaled danger.

Harsh stood in the dim glow of his oil lamp, staring at the list once more. The names on it were no longer ink on parchment. They were choices, opportunities, and—potentially—death sentences.

He hadn't yet made a decision, but the noblewoman had sent a reminder: Time is running out.

She had given him a chance to step onto the board. Now, it was up to him to decide whether he wanted to play.

The summons came at dawn.

A servant, clad in the deep blue of a high-ranking household, arrived at his estate, offering no words beyond a simple bow and an expectant look.

Harsh followed without question.

The palace was already awake when they arrived, bustling with the murmurs of courtiers, the clipped orders of guards, and the soft padding of servants' feet against stone.

But when he was led through a side entrance—**away from the usual paths of nobles and politicians—**he knew this meeting was different.

The noblewoman was waiting in a private chamber, her posture relaxed but her eyes alert. She was dressed less extravagantly than before, her silk robes simpler, her hair adorned with only a single gold pin.

Yet nothing about her presence felt diminished.

She did not waste time. "You have thought about my offer?"

Harsh met her gaze, resisting the urge to fidget. "I have."

"And?"

"I still don't understand why you chose me."

A small smile. "I already told you. You're invisible."

"That's not an answer," Harsh said bluntly.

Her expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—approval, perhaps.

"You are not the first forgotten noble I've encountered, Harsh. But unlike the others, you hesitate. That means you're either a coward or a thinker." She leaned forward slightly. "I am giving you a chance to prove you are not the former."

Harsh exhaled. "And what if I don't want to be either?"

She tilted her head. "Then you will remain what you are now—nothing."

She rose gracefully and moved to the window, looking down at the courtyard below.

"Do you know how the court sees me?" she asked.

Harsh remained silent.

"They see me as an obstacle. A woman who should have been married off to a lord and forgotten. They think I am too ambitious, too involved in matters that do not concern me."

Her voice remained calm, but Harsh could hear the steel beneath it.

"But they forget that I am my father's daughter. They forget that I was raised among men who played this game before I was even born."

She turned back to face him. "You asked why I chose you? Because you are unclaimed. No faction owns you, no family protects you. That makes you a risk—but also an asset."

Harsh studied her carefully.

She was not simply another noble looking to manipulate him. She was fighting for something.

But what?

"Tell me the truth," he said. "What do you want?"

She smiled—a real smile, not the practiced one she had used before.

"I want what every person in this palace wants."

"Power," Harsh said.

She nodded. "But unlike the others, I know I will never be allowed to hold it directly."

There it was. The truth.

The court would never accept her as a ruler, no matter how clever she was. Her power had to be subtle, woven through alliances and influence.

And now, she was offering him a place within it.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I will not ask you to kill. Not yet. But I need to know if you are willing to act."

Harsh felt his pulse quicken.

"And if I refuse?"

She smiled faintly. "Then I will find someone else. And you will watch as the world moves without you."

The challenge was clear.

Harsh knew he had reached a turning point. If he walked away now, he would lose whatever foothold he had been given.

But if he accepted—he would no longer be just an observer.

He would be a player.

He took a slow breath.

"What do you need me to do?"

Her eyes gleamed.

"Good," she murmured. "Let's begin."