Ett descended in the hidden staircase, fingers gripping the smooth banisters, her footsteps echoing faintly in the narrow stairwell.
"Hoo."
Each step squeezed her chest tighter, a creeping dread she couldn't shake. The darkness pressed in from all sides, unlit, suffocating. Why hand't the maids used this passage tonight? If only she were taller, if only she could reach the lamps above. She migth have banished this oppresive shadow. The deeper she went, the darker it became. For a moment, she wished to turn back. Yet, like a moth drawn to flame, curiousity gnawed at her. She had to know why the Ett in the story stopped observing the ball from afar; she had to see it herself.
Tak. Tak. Tak.
Her heels clattered sharply againts the stairs. No matter how carefully she tiptoed, the sound carried, betraying her. She froze, pressing her hands to the wall, groping through the black like a blind traveler in endless night. Fumbling, Ett slipped off her shoes, her paranoia warring with eveery step.
"Haa..."
Cold, ,damp stone beneath her feet, but at least it wasn't slippery.
The music from the banquet above faded as she descended. Odd…shouldn't it be growing louder? A prickle crawled up her spine. The stairway twisted unnaturally, leading somewhere unfamiliar.
Let's move. I can do this.
Tap.
Tak. Tak.
Ett froze. Another set of steps—soft, deliberate—approached from behind.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
A voice, male, calm yet chilling:
"Are there any others left?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then you go first. I'll clean these rubbishes."
"Alright."
Ett's heart froze. Beneath her shoes, a warm, sticky sensation seeped through. A thin streak of red—blood—crept along the stone. Three bodies? No…six. And the murderer had an accomplice.
A flicker of light caught her eye. She slipped, sprawling forward into the crimson.
"!!!"
Pain shot through her hand and rear, her teeth gritted against the shock. She was exposed, soaked in blood, her dress splattered, her face streaked.
Keep calm, she told herself.
You've seen too many gruesome films…don't panic.
The metallic tang of blood drifted into her nostrils. Sharp, unrelenting. Her hands trembled, but her face remained a mask of neutrality—otherwise, the killer would see her fear.
"Viridian hair."
The voice was young, emotionless. Ett forced herself calm, inhaling slowly, meeting the masked teen's gaze. No more than sixteen, sword hidden beneath a grey cloak, eyes sharp and unflinching.
"Are you going to kill me?" she asked, bland, passive.
"I didn't know the Emperor had a sister. An honor, indeed, to meet one of the royal line."
"For one, you are insolent," Ett said lightly, scanning the bodies, letting her imagination twist them into something more grotesque, aided by Akan's realistic portraits.
"I see you're with the Noble Faction."
The fallen belonged to the collateral families of the Aristocratic Faction.
"And what makes you think I'm not an assassin?" he challenged.
Ett's lips curved, cold and calculating. Her viridian eyes glimmered, detached as though he were nothing, even though he could kill her in an instant.
"What makes you think you're an assassin?" she countered, mind whirring.
The teen paused, sniffing derisively. "I see…still lack tact."
Ett spread her arms, daring him to strike. "You're free to kill me—or let's make a wager."
"Is this how Adiand royalty survives? Admirable," he said, almost impressed.
"No. Something you will not have a say in."
A tense silence. Ett noted the faint glow on his sword's hilt—the mark of a knight recognized by the Duke. Years of battlefield experience, yes. Assassin? Perhaps not.
Ett stepped closer, crouching near a fallen noble. "I see through your concealment. Your speech, your mannerisms—Northern Territory, Radin, yes? Son of Garth?"
He stiffened. His youth betrayed him. His pride was a blade in itself.
"Or should I comment on your eyes? Skilled enough to be a worthy heir?"
"My eyes are common," he quibbled.
"And you believe so?" Ett's tone was sharp, assessing. The faint silver lining in his irises betrayed training, lineage, nothing more.
"For this lowly one to be noticed…you've taken interest," he murmured.
He stepped forward, sword raised. "No one will know I killed you."
Ett's lips curved, amused by the theatrics. "Then no one will save Elsea Meralia Garth."
The teen's shock flickered, betraying surprise. She pressed, letting his emotions betray him. His sword swung—centimeters from her face.
"I dare you," she whispered. Death was familiar now, and fear muted by emptiness.
"Your family is neutral, yet you admit Noble Faction allegiance."
"I did not!" he snapped.
"You dare such treason in the Emperor's palace, on the first grand opening! Commendable?"
His sword faltered. Ett seized the moment. "Raise it again, and your last hope dies with me."
He exhaled, restraining his fury. The futility of opposing her dawned. Slowly, he dropped to his knees, removing his mask. Ett caught a glint—a faint pebble from long ago rippling in memory.
"Princess, I beg your mercy. Punish me as you see fit."
Ett studied him, patience testing, mind sharp.
"This one life…can it atone? Can it save those you cherish?"
"I…No."
She stepped back.
"The Adiand family will commend your actions to Garth's duchy."
"Wait! My actions are my own!"
"Then why not end it now?"
Ett leaned against the wall, knees trembling despite her calm exterior. "Had you struck a bargain first, I might have overlooked it. But you dared raise your sword at me."
The teen's youth showed. Threats that would have unnerved others did not sway her. Death, sacrifice, strategy—all familiar.
"What do you want me to do?" he finally asked, tone wavering, waves of restraint hiding frustration.
"Be my eyes within the Noble Faction. Your hands will strike where I command, even against your own family."
"What…what do you mean?" His voice cracked.
"Oh? You care not for your sister?"
"It's not that, Princess!"
"I guess this deal is void—"
"No! I'll accept! I swear!"
Ett's lips twitched, satisfied.
"From now on, you are my dog."
"…Fine."
Humiliation, but obedience followed necessity. Survival required it. Betrayal was optional, discretion necessary.
"We will formalize a contract. Betray me, and you die."
"Contract?"
Ett snorted. "Do you think I hand out the cure freely? You are far too naïve."
"Clean this up and leave," she ordered.
"Yes, Princess."
A sliver of relief passed between them. Ett glanced upward, lost in the stairwell.
"That way," he said, guiding her, light from his hand revealing the path.
"Good. I'll leave it to you."
He watched her fade into the shadows, sparks of light dwindling with her figure. He had just walked through a storm of emotions—and survived.