“Sera,” I start, but my voice is already quieter, a little too caught off guard by her words.
She laughs, nudging me as we step outside. “You know you’re lying, right?”
As we step into the cool night air, the sounds of the tavern fade, but the tension still clings to me. I can feel it, like a stone on my chest, and it won’t let go.
Beside me, Sera remains blissfully unaware of my unraveling, her voice light and carefree as she chatters on, filling the night with laughter. She swings her arms with an ease I envy, as if the night is nothing more than another adventure.
Then, without warning, she turns to me, her devious grin sharp in the moonlight. “Still thinking about him?”
I shake my head, but even I can feel how thin the lie is.
“No,” I say, but my voice betrays me, cracking slightly.
The truth is, I can't stop thinking about him. His eyes. His touch. The way his gaze seemed to swallow me whole. But I can’t say that to Sera, not now.
Sera doesn’t buy it for a second. She grins, nudging me playfully. “Liar.”
I force a half-hearted smile. I lie again, my pace quickening as wenear the castle gates, desperate for the safety of its walls. But even at a good distance from the tavern, the feeling doesn’t go away. The heavy pull of his gaze lingers on my skin, almost suffocating, as though it’s branded into me.
I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see him standing in the darkness, watching. But there’s nothing—only the empty street behind us. I quicken my steps, Sera laughing and chatting ahead of me.
By the time we reach the gates of the castle, I’m almost running, my breath coming a little faster than usual. I push open the garden gates, the familiar stone walls offering me some semblance of security, but it doesn’t ease the discomfort twisting inside me.
The gate closes behind us, and for a moment, the world feels a little lighter. But even in the quiet of the castle, the echo of his presence lingers. It follows me like a shadow, always just out of sight but never far enough away. I close my eyes, feeling the cool air of the castle grounds against my skin, and wonder if I’ll ever be able to forget the way he looked at me, the way he made me feel.
But deep down, I know it’s something I have always wanted to feel. Seen.
2
LAILAH
That evening, I wake to the soft, golden glow of candlelight dancing across the stone walls of my chamber. The room is still, save for the faint flicker of the flames. I stretch slowly, the heavy silk sheets sliding off my body as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My bare feet meet the cool, unyielding stone floor, and I shudder, a dull ache pulsing behind my temples—a lingering reminder of last night’s escapade with Sera. Memorable? Yes. Discreet? Absolutely not.
I let out a slow sigh, pulling myself upright and making my way to the dressing table. The air is heavy with the faint scent of lavender and smoke, the remnants of the extinguished fireplace mixing with the perfume I spilled last night. My gloves and usual attire are waiting for me, meticulously arranged, as if daring me to falter. They’ve become more than just clothing—they are armor, a part of me as vital as my own skin.
Reaching for the gloves first, I slip them on, precise and practiced. The satin fabric clings tightly to my hands, concealing the pale scars that spiral around my fingers and wrists. Faint and ghostly now, the scars look almost harmless, their once-vivid blue reduced to merewhispers of what they used to be. But I know better. They are not harmless. They are not forgotten. The darkness hasn’t disappeared; it’s merely lying in wait.
I shake the thought away and grab my dress, the cool black satin pooling like water in my hands. I step into it carefully, letting the soft fabric settle over my body. It clings to my curves, sleek and elegant, yet sturdy enough for swift movement if needed. The high neckline hints at decorum, but the daring slit running along my thigh tells another story. My eyes drift to the dagger laid neatly beside a perfume bottle. I reach for it without thought, the motion as natural as drawing breath. It slips into my hand with a familiar weight, cool and steady. I hadn’t known how to wield a blade when I first arrived at the castle, but that changed quickly. My father made sure of that—and this dagger he gifted me served as a constant reminder that magic may have marked me, but he made me something else entirely. Precise. Controlled. Lethal.
I slide the dagger into place and tighten the straps at my thigh, fingers moving with familiar precision. There’s a steadiness in the ritual, a quiet satisfaction in knowing everything is exactly where it should be—sharp, hidden, mine. I don’t need magic to be deadly. I never did.
I lift my gaze to the mirror.
My reflection stares back, my blood-red hair spilling over my shoulders like fire against the midnight black of my dress, a startling contrast. My blue eyes—cold, piercing, and bright as sapphires—lock onto themselves, daring me to flinch. I don’t. I haven’t been that girl—the scared, scrawny child who cowered in shadows—for a long time.
This is who I am now.
The faint rustle of fabric follows me as I turn toward the door. That’s when I notice it—a letter resting on my desk, the king’s seal glinting in the candlelight. My stomach twists as I reach for the envelope, my fingers trembling faintly as I break the seal.
My Sweet,
Your presence is required in my office. Do not delay. We have matters to discuss that cannot wait.
— Your Father
I fold the letter slowly, carefully, as the words sink in. Summons from my father are never casual. He doesn’t summon me unless it’s something significant, and the clipped tone of his note leaves no room for doubt. Whatever awaits me won’t be pleasant.
“Get a grip, Lailah,” I mutter, breaking the silence. “You’ve handled worse than this.”
