The morning light cuts through the stone window like a blade. Too bright. Too clean.
i lie there for a long time, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe like a person instead of a weapon.
My body is stiff. Heavy. My skin itches where the burns used to be. My muscles ache in ways they shouldn't. Like i've grown into this body too fast, like it still doesn't know how to carry me.
I survived the pyre.
But the fire left its fingerprints.
i sit up slowly. The silk sheets slide off my bare shoulders, whisper-soft against skin that still feels like it belongs to someone else. There's a mirror on the far wall. Tall. Ornate. The kind meant to flatter. i drag myself to it, bare feet cold on the stone.
I look.
And the girl who looks back at me isn't me.
She's beautiful.
Doll-beautiful. Eyes too big. Lips too soft. A body made for worship or ruin. Not war.
But behind those eyes—mine.
Sharp. Black. Alive.
They gave me this body to make me into something delicate.
All they did was give me a prettier knife.
A soft knock at the door. i don't answer. It opens anyway.
An old woman shuffles in, her back bent. A healer, maybe. She's carrying a tray of salves and clean linen. Her hands are steady, but her eyes are full of fear. She won't look directly at me. She looks at the floor, at the wall, at the empty space where a demon is supposed to be.
"My lady," she murmurs, her voice thin and reedy. "The Duke sent me. For your… recovery."
Recovery. That's a polite word for it.
"He wants his property in working order," i say. My voice is a wreck. A raw, scraping sound.
The old woman flinches. She sets the tray down on a small table, her movements quick and nervous. "Your hand, my lady. It must be treated."
She reaches for my bandaged hand. The one with the feather. My secret. My chain.
"No," i say, pulling my hand back. "Leave it."
The feather pulses under the linen. A faint, angry heat. Mine.
The healer's eyes widen. She's seen the glow. Just for a second. She scurries back, her professional calm shattered. "But the burns… the holy fire…"
"Feels fine," i lie. The pain is a dull, constant throb, a part of me now. It's a reminder.
She doesn't push. She just nods, her head bobbing up and down. "As you wish, my lady. The Duke… he also sent word. There is to be a banquet. Tonight."
i stare at her reflection in the mirror. A banquet. A party. After they tried to burn me alive. The audacity of it is almost impressive.
"A celebration," she adds, her voice barely a whisper. "For your… miraculous survival."
Miraculous survival. A political cover-up. They can't have the cursed daughter of a Duke walk out of her own execution. So they'll pretend it was a test. A trial by fire. And i passed. Now i get to be paraded around like a prize sow.
"How thoughtful," i say, my voice dripping with acid.
The healer bows her head, eager to be dismissed. She practically runs from the room, leaving me alone with the girl in the mirror.
Alone, but not really.
A faint prickle on the back of my neck. The feeling of being watched. Not by the statues this time. By him. Azeriel. He's out there somewhere. Thinking of me. Obsessing. The thought sends a sick, hot thrill through me.
The whispers in my head start up again. The system. My parasite. It sounds pleased with itself.
…the stage is set for the next act… it purrs, the voice a dark, possessive caress. …a new player has entered the game…
The air in the room grows heavy. The light from the window seems to dim.
…your chains are not yet broken, my little sinner. there are more seals to unlock. more pretty souls to tarnish…
New words burn themselves onto the back of my eyes. Not a screen. Just… knowledge. Forced into me.
NEW KEY IDENTIFIED: The Second Seal
TARGET: Crown Prince Kaelan Valerius
TITLE: The Iron Prince. The Unmovable Heart of the Empire.
The name feels cold. Heavy. Not like the fire of Azeriel. This is different. This is ice.
STATUS: Politically engaged to the Saintess Elara. A union of purity and power.
OPPORTUNITY: The Banquet of Lies. You will be seated at his table.
Of course i will. My father wouldn't miss the chance to show off his miraculously saved daughter to the Crown Prince. A political tool to the very end.
SYSTEM AFFINITY: Crown Prince Kaelan
AFFECTION: 0/100
CURIOSITY: ???
CONTEMPT: 60/100
Contempt. He already hates me. Good. Hate is a starting point. It's a foothold.
…he sees you as a political problem. a cursed girl making a scene… the system whispers, its voice laced with a cold, analytical hunger. …he does not see you as a woman…
A new line appears. A bonus. A dare.
BONUS OBJECTIVE: First Touch
TASK: Make him touch you. Willingly. Make him see the woman, not the curse.
REWARD: +200 SP, [Charm] Skill Unlocked.
The assassin in me is already calculating. The prince is a fortress. Cold. Controlled. Guarded. Engaged to a living saint. He is the opposite of the fiery, conflicted angel. He will be harder to break.
Good. i like a challenge.
i turn away from the mirror. My reflection smirks back at me. A predator in a pretty dress.
The old fear, the crawling panic from the pyre, is gone. Replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. A sense of purpose.
This isn't a prison. It's a chessboard. And i'm finally starting to learn the rules.
i walk to the door and open it. The same terrified servant girl from before is standing there, waiting. She flinches when she sees me.
"Get me a dress," i say. My voice is no longer a rasp. It's quiet. Controlled. Cold. "For the banquet."
She nods, eager to please. "Of course, my lady. Something… appropriate? Something in white, perhaps? To show your… purity?"
i look at her. Really look at her. And i let her see the thing in my eyes. The monster behind the doll's face.
She pales.
"No," i say, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across my lips. "Something in red. Or black. Something that looks like sin. Something that burns."
Her mouth opens and closes like a fish.
i lean in, my voice a whisper.
"If they want a monster at the table, I'll give them a fucking feast."