The palace never sleeps. Neither do I—not really. The cold stone corridors echo with whispers, and I've learned to listen closely. Every shadow holds a secret, every smile a potential knife.
That morning, the chill in the air wasn't just from the marble beneath my feet. It crept through me, a warning I couldn't ignore.
From the moment I accepted my role as commander, I knew this would be no ordinary day. The king's summons wasn't just about loyalty—it was a snare. I am a marked woman now, a threat to those who thrive on corruption and decay. And the truth hit me like a blade: Neither my mother nor I are safe—within these palace walls, we are both prey.
My mother lies trapped in an endless slumber, defenseless and vulnerable. The easy target. The one they'll strike if they can't get to me.
The realization burned through me, sharper than any wound.
I called my maids—my trusted eyes and ears—into my chambers immediately. Ilyra and Maren, loyal beyond their stations, exchanged worried glances. Their quiet presence was the only comfort I had.
"We need eyes on my mother's rooms," I said, my voice steady but low. "No one can be trusted with her care—no one. Every healer, every attendant, every visitor must be watched. No medicine goes near her without my inspection."
Maren nodded. "We'll station watchers and rotate them in shifts. I'll check all the supplies myself."
I felt the weight of my duty settle on my shoulders heavier than any armor. My mother's safety was now part of my command.
But the palace itself was a maze of danger.
Later that day, I summoned the captain of the guard. His gruff demeanor softened as he bowed.
"Increase patrols, but keep it discreet. I don't want rumors or panic among the courtiers. If the traitors sense we're watching, they'll vanish like smoke."
His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Aye, Commander."
But I knew it wouldn't be enough.
That evening, as I wandered through the servant quarters—trying to appear calm, collected—I felt the gaze of a thousand hidden eyes. Servants, guards, courtiers—all part of this tangled web of allegiance and deceit.
A young kitchen boy, barely more than a child, hesitated before approaching me. "Mistress Delbeyrah," he whispered urgently, "last night, near the west wing, I heard voices. Strange words… 'silver dagger'… and 'midnight hour.'"
My heart pounded. The Silver Daggers were whispered legends—a guild of assassins loyal only to chaos and coin.
"Who spoke?" I demanded softly.
He shook his head. "I don't know, my lady. They were cloaked. But they were serious… afraid you'd find out."
That night, with my maids and Selene—the palace librarian and my secret ally—we pored over the brittle palace maps and old documents. The west wing, officially abandoned for years, was the likely meeting place for this shadowy council plotting against me.
"This is more than nobles afraid of reform," Selene murmured, eyes flickering over the faded parchment. "This is a conspiracy rooted deep in the palace bones. They fear you because you threaten their power, their corruption."
My fists clenched. The noose was tightening.
I sent Ilyra and Maren to shadow the west wing, to listen, to learn, to uncover the names and faces of those who dared to plot my downfall.
Hours later, Ilyra burst into my chambers, breathless. "They plan an attack—at the feast. Not poison alone, but a strike meant to end you. The Silver Daggers will be there, in the shadows, waiting."
The gravity of it slammed into me. This was no idle threat. They wanted me dead.
And my mother? She was an even easier target. Helpless, vulnerable, and within their reach.
"I'll double the watchers on her chambers," I promised. "And personally oversee every vial, every herb."
I could not—would not—let them claim her.
As I stared out my window into the night, I felt the weight of this battle settle in my chest.
They wanted to break me. To silence me. But pawns could still checkmate kings.
And I was ready to fight with every broken piece of myself.