Night draped down like a velvet curtain. Medith wandered the many-eyed palace on a casual patrol. When she moved, the maids rippled after her. When she stilled, the butler and guards stood like carved shadows, a watchful chill in the air. Medith let it pass. She plucked a bunch of grapes, beads like small moons, and walked into her room alone.
They didn’t dare cross her threshold; they waited outside like spears planted in soil. Medith stepped onto the balcony and looked out. This district brushed the royal palace; towers rose like cliffs on all sides. Family banners snapped like sails, most bearing the white dragon like frost. The once-bright Sixpetal Rose had vanished, a star snuffed out.
She took out her pocket watch—21:38. She knew the one she was waiting for wouldn’t come. If she hadn’t claimed fatigue from a long journey, today her door would’ve been kicked off its hinges.
Countless people wanted a glimpse—was the Sprite beauty as dreamlike as the ballads, was her strength as the rumors, a lone blade drowning armies? Most had no chance tonight. They would wait for the grand feast, for the scene when Medith appeared in person.
You really are stopping us from meeting, aren’t you... Then Talant as an ally is near certain. Poor girl—so young, and the blow is so heavy...
Where are the Empress and Venus? Could it be... no, impossible. Leave the Empress aside. Venus still has value. For someone like Paris, she’s nine times out of ten under house arrest. The Empress is likely her sedative, there to steady her so the takeover goes smooth...
Medith’s silver teeth clenched; a nameless flame surged up her chest. She drew two deep breaths; cool river in, hot storm out. Calm came fast. Not the time to dwell—confirm first.
She pulled a set of nightwear from her travel bag. She stuffed a pillow under the blanket, added a few creases, and shaped a sleeping silhouette like a breath clinging to skin.
Once set, Medith sprang up to the roof. As expected, the rooftops were studded with guards like iron thorns; tonight was unusually tight. She wasn’t sure if it was always like this, but it never used to be. Most likely, it was to lock her in, to keep her from the noble factions—especially Talant.
Too bad. Don’t forget what race I am.
She smiled, cool as moonlight, and slung her greatsword across her back. In the night she became an assassin: beauty with a venomous bloom, perfumed with death. She streaked along the wall like water, toes tapping stone, light and nimble, a night wraith with no sound.
The guards didn’t notice at all; beneath their boots, a shadow threaded the walls like wind in reeds. Medith couldn’t use magic. But blood-born gifts don’t change. Her body didn’t fail. What she lost in one hand, she gained in the other.
In under fifteen minutes, she slipped through layer after layer of locks and nets, slid beyond the watchful range. As expected, soldiers were sparse here; too much noise would panic the people like a flock startled at dusk.
That direction...
She recalled the nobles’ sidelong glances as she passed: Medith; west; the spire beyond the great hall. Put together, it read like a silent map—go to the western spire.
Medith looked west. A tall spire needled the sky, but it didn’t look lived in, stone like a cold spine. She hesitated a beat, then cut toward it at speed, a dark hawk diving through night.
