Rory's breath caught in her throat, her body frozen behind the stack of barrels in the kitchen's shadows.
Calen's voice, cold and precise, echoed from the pantry. "The festival is perfect. The arrow will strike at midnight. Sylvana falls, and Draconis takes the blame."
Lyssa's trembling reply, "If they trace it to us…" was cut off by Calen's sharp, "They won't. The Thornbound have planned this for years. The Starheart demands blood."
Her heart hammered so loud she swore they'd hear it. She shifted her weight to retreat, and a loose stone clattered under her boot. The sound was like a thunderclap in the silence.
Calen's head snapped toward the door, his eyes locking onto the crack she was peering through. His silver ring glinted as his hand dropped to his belt, drawing a dagger with a soft, metallic whisper.
Rory's blood ran cold. She ducked lower, her pulse roaring in her ears, the barrels' rough wood scraping her arm.
The System pinged, its blue panel urgent: Warning: Immediate Danger. Evade Detection. Mana Critically Low (3/10). Cognitive functions and spell stability may be impaired. Rest strongly advised.
"Rest?" she hissed under her breath, inching backward. "Not happening."
Her legs trembled, but she forced herself to move, silent as she could manage, slipping through the kitchen's chaos of clattering pots and shouting cooks. She didn't dare look back until she was out in the hall, the cool stone walls a relief against her sweaty palms.
She needed to tell someone. Her father. He was the target, after all. But Lord Sylvana's cold dismissal from the gala, his insistence on this marriage, made her stomach twist. Would he even listen?
She had to try. The Moonlight Festival was tomorrow, and midnight was less than 24 hours away.
---
Morning broke with a sky painted gold and pink, the air buzzing with festival preparations. Sylvana Manor was alive, servants stringing glowing lanterns across the gardens, their light pulsing like fireflies.
The Moonlight Festival was House Sylvana's biggest event, a celebration of elven magic and unity, but Rory felt like she was walking into a trap.
Her blue tunic was replaced by a silver dress that shimmered like starlight; its fabric was light yet heavy with the weight of her role as Lady Juliette.. Her scabbed hands were hidden under gloves, but the sting of the grove's thorns lingered in her memory.
She found Lord Sylvana in his study, poring over maps with two stern-faced advisors. His gold-trimmed robe seemed heavier today, as if it were weighing him down.
Rory took a deep breath, the Charm Boost smoothing her nerves. "Father," she said, stepping inside, "we need to talk. It's urgent."
He didn't look up. "Unless it's about your betrothal, Juliette, I'm occupied. The festival demands my attention."
"It's about the festival," she said, her voice sharp enough to make the advisors glance up. "I overheard Calen last night. He's planning to kill you. An arrow at midnight, framed to look like Draconis did it."
Lord Sylvana's pen stopped, but his face stayed cold. "Calen? Plotting against me?" He laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You've been listening to rumors, girl. Or perhaps your Draconis bodyguard is filling your head with nonsense."
Rory's fists clenched, her gloves creaking. "It's not nonsense. I heard him with Lyssa, the maid. "They're part of a cult known as Thornbound, and they mentioned something called the Starheart."
His eyes narrowed, but not with belief. "The Starheart is a myth, Juliette. A bedtime story. Accusing Lord Calen without proof is reckless. You'll marry him in two days if you don't ruin this alliance first."
Her anger flared, hot and sharp, like the Spark she'd summoned yesterday. "I'm trying to save your life, and you're worried about your stupid alliance?"
"Enough!" he snapped, slamming his hand on the desk. The advisors flinched. "Return to your duties. The festival begins at dusk. Do not embarrass this house."
Rory stormed out, her face burning.
The System pinged: Quest Progress: Warning Failed. Objective Updated: Identify and Stop the Assassin. Time Remaining: 12 hours.
"Useless," she muttered, stomping through the hall. She needed Romeus. He'd believed her about the Thornbound, and he was the only one she trusted not to laugh her off.
---
She found him in the courtyard, sharpening his sword on a whetstone. The rhythmic scrape was oddly calming, and the sunlight caught his scar, making it look softer, almost human.
He glanced up, his gray eyes narrowing. "You look like you're about to punch someone. What's wrong?"
"My father's an idiot," she said, crossing her arms. "I told him about Calen's plan, and he thinks I'm making it up. We've got until midnight to stop an assassin, or he's dead, and Draconis gets blamed."
Romeus set his sword down, his face serious. "You're sure it's your father they're targeting?"
"Calen said 'Sylvana falls.' Who else could it be?" She paced, her dress swishing against her legs. "We need to find the assassin, figure out where they'll strike. The festival's huge, though. It's like finding a needle in a haystack."
He stood, sheathing his sword. "Then we start with Calen. If he's Thornbound, he's not working alone. Lyssa's involved, but there are probably others. We watch them, follow their moves."
Rory nodded, her heart steadying. "You're in?"
His lips twitched, almost a smile. "Told you I've got your back, didn't I?"
---
The Moonlight Festival transformed the manor's grounds into a glowing wonderland. Lanterns floated above the gardens, casting soft light on dancers in shimmering robes.
Music from flutes and harps filled the air, mingling with the scent of spiced wine and roasted nuts. Elves and humans mingled, their laughter tense, like they all knew the peace was fragile.
Rory moved through the crowd, her silver dress catching eyes she didn't want. Romeus stayed close, his black tunic making him a shadow at her side.
They'd agreed to split up to cover more ground. Rory watched Calen, who was charming a group of nobles near a glowing fountain, his ring glinting with every gesture. Lyssa was nearby, serving drinks, her own ring back on her finger. Rory's gut twisted. They were bold, wearing those rings in plain sight.
She slipped behind a hedge, using her Illusion Magic to make herself look like a servant. A dull headache pulsed behind her eyes as her mana dipped to two points, but the disguise held.
She moved closer to Calen, catching snatches of his conversation. "The alliance is secure," he was saying, his smile too wide. "House Sylvana will see reason soon."
Rory's eyes flicked to the rooftops, searching for any sign of an archer. Nothing yet. She needed to get closer to Lyssa, see if she'd slip up.
But before she could move, a hand grabbed her arm, pulling her into a shadowed alcove.
She yelped, her illusion flickering, and found herself face-to-face with Romeus.
"Careful," he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek. "You're not as sneaky as you think."
Her heart raced, the alcove's tight space pressing them close. The air smelled of moss and his leather armor, while his gray eyes softened as they searched hers.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Did you find anything?"
He shook his head, his hand still on her arm. "No archer yet. But I saw Lyssa pass something to another servant, a vial. Could be poison, could be nothing."
Rory's stomach dropped. "Poison? Or the arrow's coated with something?" She leaned closer, her shoulder brushing his chest. The contact sent a spark through her, and she froze, caught in his gaze.
"Juliette," he said, his voice rough, like he was fighting something. "If this goes wrong tonight, you need to run. Don't play hero."
She swallowed, her throat dry. "I'm not running. Not without you."
His eyes darkened, and before she could think, he closed the distance, his lips crashing into hers.
The kiss was desperate, hungry, like he'd been holding it back too long. Her hands found his tunic, gripping the fabric as the world fell away. The alcove's cool stone pressed against her back, his warmth a contrast that made her head spin.
For a moment, there was no festival, no assassination, just them.
He pulled back, breathing hard, his forehead resting against hers. "We're idiots," he muttered.
"Speak for yourself," she said, her voice shaky but grinning.
The System pinged, ignored for once: Mana Critically Low (1/10). Rest Immediately.
A scream cut through the music. Rory's heart stopped. She pushed past Romeus, running toward the sound.
The crowd parted, revealing Lord Sylvana on a raised platform, raising a goblet for a toast. Above him, on a balcony, a shadow moved. The glint of an arrow caught the lantern light.
"Father!" Rory shouted, but it was too late.
The arrow flew, straight for his chest.