The palace had become a place of unrest. The tension that once lay beneath the surface now clung to the air like mist before a storm. The omens, the whispers, the uneasy glances shared between courtiers—it all pointed toward something inevitable.
And Alina was about to find herself caught in the middle of it.
She had been sent to deliver an urgent message to the Inner Council Chambers, a privilege few servants were granted. The hallways were near silent, save for the occasional murmur of guards stationed outside the royal court.
She moved carefully, keeping her head low. But just as she reached the outer corridor, she heard it—
A sharp cry. The unmistakable clash of steel.
Alina's body tensed. She turned toward the sound, heart hammering, instincts screaming for her to leave. But before she could make her choice, a shadowed figure appeared from around the bend, moving fast—too fast.
A flash of silver in the dim torchlight.
A blade.
She had no time to react. The attacker lunged toward her, their face obscured beneath dark fabric, their strike precise and merciless.
And then—
A force slammed into her, knocking her off balance. She fell hard against the cold stone floor, the breath torn from her lungs. But the blade never reached her.
A clash of steel erupted above her, followed by a sharp, pained gasp.
She looked up, her vision swimming, only to see Prince Sheen standing between her and the would-be assassin. His sword was drawn, its edge glinting with fresh crimson. The attacker staggered back, clutching their side, before turning to flee into the shadows.
Alina's breath came in shallow bursts. The prince stood rigid, his blade still raised, his breathing steady despite the clear tension in his frame.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then his voice, low and sharp: "Are you injured?"
Alina tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. He had just saved her life.
"Why—" she managed, but he cut her off.
"We need to move." His eyes flickered toward the shadows where the attacker had vanished. "You are not safe here."
She wanted to protest, to demand answers, but the sheer force of his presence silenced her. He reached out, gripping her wrist—not harshly, but with undeniable urgency—and pulled her to her feet.
He was still protecting her.
Even after everything, even after her accusations, her doubts—he had shielded her without hesitation.
As they moved quickly through the hall, the realization settled deep in her bones.
This was no longer just about palace schemes and whispered betrayals.
She had just become a target.
And Prince Sheen had just made a choice.