Darius stood by the shattered window of his bedchamber, shirtless and fuming, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breaths.
Moonlight spilled across the stone floor, casting sharp shadows over the chaos—the scorched drapes, the broken glass, and the blood smeared along the wall where the intruder had struck him before vanishing.
He clenched his fists at his sides, the anger simmering in his veins like molten steel.
"I was attacked… in my own damn chamber," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "And the bastard escaped, he fucking escaped."
Marcus, his Beta, stood nearby, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the damage.
"We got here as fast as we could, Darius. But whoever it was.....they knew what they were doing. They bypassed the security in the palace."
Darius turned to him, rage flashing in his golden eyes. "Any idea who it could have been?"
Marcus shook his head slowly. "No, but with how frequent these attacks have become lately… I think we're missing something. Something big."
Darius exhaled sharply, pacing to the fireplace where embers still glowed faintly. "My thoughts exactly. Since I was a boy, I've been hunted by shadows....assailants with no names and no faces. Mostly witches. Always witches. And they don't move unless there's something in it for them."
He paused, then added, "Cant help but think that I'm not one of them, so what do they want from me exactly?"
"Your death?" Marcus offered with a crooked smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.
Darius shot him a look. "Trying to be funny now, are you?"
Marcus lifted a hand in mock surrender. "Don't get me wrong, but with the way things are going… it's not far-fetched. These aren't just random attacks. Someone wants you dead. And they want it Badly."
"I know that," Darius muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "But I need to understand why. What do they gain from it? Power? Chaos?"
"Still doesn't explain how they've managed to keep disappearing. We've swept every inch of the capital. It's like they vanish into thin air."
Darius narrowed his eyes. "People don't vanish. Not truly. They hide. Or someone hides them.
There's a place.....maybe even someone....we've overlooked."
Marcus turned toward him. "You're suggesting someone on the inside is involved?"
Darius's jaw clenched. "I'm saying we need to look at who benefits from my death. It's not hard to figure out, is it?"
Marcus hesitated, his expression turning cautious. "She wouldn't… Darius, if anything happens to you, she knows the blame would fall on her."
Darius laughed bitterly. "Precisely the cover she needs. If she's behind this, she's counting on that assumption to protect her.
But if I find out she has anything to do with this…" He trailed off, eyes gleaming with a deadly promise. "She'll regret ever conspiring against me."
The morning sun cast a golden glow across the village as Rosaline and Ciara stood at the edge of Silvervale, cloaks wrapped tightly around their shoulders. A gentle breeze rustled the trees, and the scent of pine mingled with the dust kicked up by approaching hooves.
A simple wooden carriage rolled into view, its wheels creaking under the weight of passengers and cargo. Two sturdy brown horses pulled it, their breaths fogging in the cool air. Villagers gathered around, some loading baskets of goods, others saying hasty goodbyes to family.
Ciara dug into her satchel, pulling out a small pouch of coins. "Thirty copper coins each," she muttered, counting with care. "This journey better be worth it."
Rosaline nodded, checking her own purse. The cost was steep, but necessary. "We don't have a choice. If we don't find the right materials for Lysandra's gown…" She let the thought trail off, but they both knew how unbearable the spoiled princess could be.
"She'll make sure we regret ever breathing in her presence," Ciara said with a roll of her eyes.
"Remember how she humiliated that last seamstress?" I felt dread for the woman, and I heard Lysandra made the poor woman's life miserable"
"Yes that was dreadful" Rosaline sighed.
"Which is why we have to make this gown flawless. If the capital doesn't have what we need which am praying that they will, we'll have to come up with another plan. But let's pray it doesn't come to that."
They boarded the carriage and took their seats near the back. Around them were farmers, merchants, and travelers of all kinds. One old man clutched a basket of apples, while a young woman with a baby tied to her chest hummed a lullaby.
As the carriage began to roll, the road beneath them turned from stone to dirt. The forest flanked either side, and the soft creak of the wheels blended with birdsong and idle chatter.
"Do you think we'll have time to look around once we get there?" Ciara asked, her eyes alight with excitement. "I've always wanted to see the capital—not just the markets, but the art, the culture, the palace" she beamed.
"I want to see everything!"
Rosaline glanced at her friend, a smile tugging at her lips. "If we finish quickly, maybe. I could use some inspiration for new designs. The capital is full of elegant styles we don't see here in Willow."
Ciara leaned back, sighing dreamily. "I can't wait. Just imagine it—gleaming buildings, bustling streets, rich fabrics and dyes from all corners of the empire."
Rosaline chuckled. "Let's just not forget why we're going. One wrong stitch and Lysandra will hang us both in the town square...figuratively, of course."
"Of course," Ciara laughed. "Still… a girl can dream can't she?."
As the carriage rolled on toward the capital, neither of them noticed the shadowed figure standing atop a distant hill, watching the road disappear into the trees.
They were heading into the heart of Silvervale, where secrets whispered through alleyways and destiny lurked around every corner.
What awaited them in the capital was far more than just fabric.
It was fate.