The sun had barely begun to rise when the palace gates opened for a caravan of traders claiming to be from the northern provinces. Their wagons were laden with exotic silks and fragrant herbs, their faces veiled in courtesy and flattery.
The guards allowed them through without suspicion.
What none of them knew—what no one could have known—was that among the spices and woven blankets, the traders carried blades dipped in poison and hearts soaked in treachery.
They were no merchants.
They were assassins—twelve in total—disguised and coordinated.
---
By midday, an eerie silence had fallen over the training grounds. The soldiers were sluggish, their bodies heavy, breath short, eyes glassy. It started with one man collapsing. Then another. Then three more.
Within minutes, most of the royal guard had fallen to their knees, coughing up blood, too weak to raise a blade.
Only one stood tall among them—Shinomi.
Fury radiated from him as he looked upon his men, straining to breathe. His hand gripped the hilt of his blade as he scanned the surroundings.
That's when the "merchants" struck.
Their robes were cast off, revealing chainmail and red markings across their necks—a symbol of a southern rebellion that had been extinguished years ago… or so everyone thought.
"Poisoned the wine, didn't they…" Shinomi murmured as he faced them alone.
Twelve against one.
Even for him, the odds were grim.
But then—he heard footsteps behind him.
"Aiden?!"
Shinomi turned in disbelief.
Aiden stood at the courtyard edge, one hand gripping a long spear, his chest rising and falling with exertion. His lips were pale, his eyes dazed—but he stood.
"The poison's slowing me down," Aiden said through gritted teeth, "but I can still move."
"You're insane!" Shinomi snapped. "You can barely breathe."
Aiden smirked despite the pain. "Then it's a good thing I've been practicing how to breathe with fire in my lungs."
Before Shinomi could stop him, Aiden lunged forward, spear flashing like lightning.
The assassins didn't expect resistance.
Least of all from someone so pretty.
Aiden moved like a shadow, swift and ghostly, his long hair flying behind him, his eyes glowing with focus. He ducked beneath blades, twisted between strikes, and drove his spear clean through one of the attacker's sides.
"That's one!" he gasped.
Another came from the right, but Aiden spun low and swept the man's legs out, knocking him to the ground. Shinomi caught the opportunity and drove his sword into the assassin's chest.
They fought side-by-side.
Back to back.
Two against eleven now.
The poison still made Aiden stagger. His breath came in gasps. But he refused to fall. Every time Shinomi turned, he saw Aiden still on his feet, sweat running down his temple, hair clinging to his skin—but his eyes blazed with defiance.
Together, they turned the tide.
Minutes later, the last attacker fell with a grunt, blood pooling into the cracked stone tiles.
Silence returned.
Broken, gasping silence.
Shinomi turned, blade still dripping. "Aiden…"
Aiden collapsed.
Shinomi caught him just before he hit the ground, cradling him against his chest.
"You absolute fool," Shinomi whispered. "Why would you fight like that? You could have died!"
Aiden's lips twitched. "Because… I couldn't let you fight alone."
His voice was barely a whisper.
---
The apothecaries rushed in minutes later. Antidotes were distributed. The soldiers slowly began to recover.
But the talk of the palace wasn't about the poison.
It was about Ren—the delicate-looking servant who had stood against assassins even while poisoned, who fought like a spirit, who had bled for them.
The soldiers who once treated him with sneers now looked at him with reverence.
The nobles who had ignored him now whispered his name.
Even the stable boys offered him warm bread and tea that evening, their eyes shining.
Aiden tried to protest, but Shinomi only chuckled and said, "Get used to it."
"Used to what?"
"To being loved."
---