Virian sat at the edge of his bed looking down at the floor where the strange assassin girl had stood just two days ago. He had woken up alone today unlike that night. Madeline would likely never visit his bed again after that. Partly just due to the fear, but also because of his reaction. She had wanted him to muster the entire militia to go hunting the girl, which of course he had refused.

Not only did they have almost nothing to go on, but he wasn’t fully sure on what had even occurred. Actually, he was starting to question if the event really had taken place. If for nothing else, he wished Madeline would visit again just so they could corroborate their stories. People were starting to think them both mad.

His staff had inspected the entire palace. There was so sign that anyone had unlawfully entered. None of the guards or servants had seen a thing. No one could have gotten through to him. But the girl had. He saw her. Right? His wandering gaze drifted to the nightstand beside his bed and he suddenly remembered the dagger that she had dropped. He reached for it, but when his hand made it halfway there, he had already forgotten what he was doing. Was he losing his mind? At the same exact time Madeline was? It didn’t seem likely. Which meant only one thing.

The dagger gleamed a silvery midnight, catching his eye, and he snatched the hilt, lest he get distracted again. The same thing had happened the last time he had tried to inspect the weapon. Once in his grip, it seemed more solid, but the thing was almost ethereal otherwise.

The dagger proved it. The girl had come to his room two nights ago. And weirder than all of that, it had felt like she had been the one scared of him. He ran through the events in his head one more time, and couldn’t shake the same feeling that he had gotten on the night of the incident. The recognition in the assassin’s eyes. In his own thoughts. Ivy, was that really you?

He had not thought of the young waif he had met those years ago in some time. It used to keep him up at night. Where had she gone? Had she survived? Escaped her pursuers? She had been so small and helpless back then. Just a scared child. He supposed that he had been nothing more than a boy himself, but still it had taken everything in him to do nothing as she fled alone into the night.

And even six years later, with her holding a dagger aloft like a trained killer, he had seen the same terrified expression painted on her face. It brought him all the way back to when they had first met. Virian was at a loss for how to proceed. All he was sure of was that he needed to find her.

From what he had seen in the darkness, she hadn't grown much at all since she had run into him on the streets of the King's Crossing. Although from the brief look he had gotten of her, the way the moonlight had bounced off of her smooth porcelain skin and inky black hair had revealed a beautiful young woman. All this, combined with the fact that he could think of nothing else for the last two days straight gave Virian an eerie sense that history was repeating itself.

Why now? And why had she come to kill him? The succession was over. Father was buried and his brother’s coronation was imminent. He posed no threat to the crown. Never had. His siblings' rivalries had never reached him as the last and youngest child. But even then, he doubted they would stoop to the level of assassination. And using Ivy? It made no sense.

This was not the first time someone had tried to have him killed, but it definitely made for the most disturbing. He wanted to believe that Ivy had recognized him. That she had decided not to go through with it after seeing his face. But that assumption only made his mind whirl faster.

He dropped his head into both hands. Who wanted him dead? Could he trust a girl he barely knew based on a vague feeling? How had she become involved in the first place? An assassin? With her failure, who would come next? Security was already around the clock and doubled or tripled, but the guards didn’t believe the story in the first place.

He let out a guttural groan from behind clenched teeth before rising and calling his valet to help him dress for the day. He stood firm, trying not to let his anxiety show on his face as his servant picked out a particularly flashy doublet from the armoire. There was a morning meeting today with the highest of nobles regarding a criminal that had become quite the stir recently. Normally the council wouldn't bother him with such a matter. Or any matter, really. After uncle Gerand died, they had unanimously pushed him into the seat he now held. They had turned him into little more than a royal figurehead, using his name as they ruled as they pleased.

Virian hated every one of them. They had probably killed uncle Gerand just to get a weaker man in the governor's chair. At first it hadn't been so bad. In the beginning, none of them dared to restrict his freedom, but then came the vies for more power. Every duke, duchess, marquess, marchioness, earl, countess, viscount, viscountess, baron, and baroness had started offering up their daughters for marriage. He was pretty sure many of them did not approve of their parent's choice. Squabbling between them turned ugly several times, and Virian had to jail a few for spouting lies about each other and himself.

And now they were bothering him again. This criminal was apparently killing them off one by one. He had become known as the “Dragonfly” for whatever reason. Word was that he called himself that, but—

Virian almost knocked his valet off his feet when he jumped at the realization. Ivy’s dagger. It was still gripped firmly in his right hand, tearing a hole through the sleeve of the silk doublet his valet had been attempting to dress him in. There were things about it that couldn’t be true, but were. He had requested a master smith be brought to the palace who confirmed the blade was indeed forged from alaricite, which alone made it priceless and illegal. The handle appeared to be carved from the tusk of an unknown beast. Not one scholar could identify the glistening ebony hilt. Yet worst of all, it seemed to possess the quality that made one’s eyes simply pass over it, despite its obvious splendor. If not for the meeting with the council, he would have forgotten all about it.

It was like the thing came in and out of existence as it pleased. No one he had asked could recall such a weapon after he showed it to them once or twice. The smith who had identified the church’s holy metal had scoffed at Virian when he had asked about it the next day.

“Surely I would have remembered such a weapon!” he had said.

But Virian did remember. He flipped the blade in his hand and stared down at the dyed metal dragonfly decorating the pommel. Could it really be? Was Ivy the assassin working to overthrow the nobility? Was his death her ultimate goal to make it all come crashing down?

He shook his head and eyed his valet staring at him with the same expression everyone else had the last two days. The whole palace thought he was losing his mind. Maybe he was. But one thing was for certain, he needed to find Ivy. Now.

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“Go,” he said to the valet. The man bowed and left the room through the pair of double doors flanked by two guards inside and out. Virian followed him, nodding to the guardsman and shrugging himself into the half donned red silk doublet.

The quartet of armed men followed him as he walked the stone halls to the audience chamber. The thick padded carpet laid out throughout most of the palace was starting to get a little worn on the path from his chambers, and he called out to a nearby maid to have it mended before returning his thoughts to Ivy. But he couldn’t concentrate. Portraits of his family and the rest of the ruling class looked down at him from all angles. The halls were lined with paintings of better and greater rulers than him.

He frowned at the final portrait of his father before the great hall. For the umpteenth time, he looked up at it, keenly aware of the absence of any depiction of his mother. He was to blame of course. Him and father.

He stomped into the audience chamber in the same foul mood as always whenever the council called one of these things, glad to see that the nobles had not yet arrived. Guards were positioned all along the perimeter spaced a few paces apart, each under one of the tall, arching windows. The eight foot wide blue carpet had been rolled out beneath a rectangular table set with twenty chairs. Above it all, not far from where Virian entered rested a single oakwood throne atop a dais.

He took his place and lost himself in his thoughts. Thoughts of mother and father, his useless and mostly failing governance, and of Ivy. What was he supposed to do about Ivy? His gaze wandered the room, taking in the many soldiers set to keep him safe from the very person he wanted to meet the most. He eventually settled on the sergeant-at-arms present, a rare example of a female soldier who had come to recognition.

He paid little attention to his guards on the best of days, but he was actually somewhat familiar with her. Every now and then she would stick out, catching his attention from afar. Having asked about the woman, she was apparently a great duelist, with an intuition no one could quite comprehend. As one of the most well liked people in the entire guard, the master sergeant had supposedly been here since he was a child. If there was anyone he could rely on, perhaps it would be her?

He waved a hand in her direction, but she didn’t appear to notice.

“Sergeant,” he called out. Her head perked up to look up at the throne. “Come here a moment, would you?”

The woman nodded and approached the dais. The closer she got, the more Virian stared. He had never paid much attention to the guards, nor gotten close enough to the master sergeant to really get a good look at her. So the woman that now stood before him did not reconcile with the information he knew of her.

First of all, he had expected a master swordsman to be…tougher looking? And older. Maybe that was just him being an ass, but he felt like he could take her on. And second, how was she so gorgeous? Her light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail away from her rounded cheekbones and glowing blue eyes. Every feature accented the next that left Virian speechless. She was supposed to have been in the guard before he was born, yet looked less than a decade older than himself.

“Your highness?” the sergeant asked, her voice tasting like sweet honey in the air.

He cleared his throat and found his senses.

“Yes. Sergeant...Rose, is it?” he asked.

“Yes, your highness.” She bowed.

“Come closer please.” She got as close to the dais as possible without ascending to the two steps that would make her level with him. “All the way, if you would.”

He felt the stares of the rest of the guard, as well as that from the sergeant herself, but she complied until she was less than an arm's-length from him, where she knelt to one knee.

“Good, now—” he glanced around and frowned. There were another half dozen guardsman all around the dais, all staring intently.

“Leave us,” he said, “all of you.”

The nearest guardsman clenched his jaw as if Virian had done something wrong. What? All the time he had lived here he had yet to see that. And then he took another look at Sergeant Rose and faltered. Ah. His reputation with women. The sergeant’s popularity. His strange request. It all made sense now, but he didn’t care. Let them think what they wanted. He had other things to worry about. He was the governor, and they would obey him.

“Now,” he said, and they finally moved. The men backed away from Virian and the sergeant, arraying themselves along the walls, out of earshot. “Great.”

Sergeant Rose no longer had her head bowed, and was eying him with the smallest hint of a smirk. For some reason he got the impression that she was looking down on him, despite it being the opposite. Of all the people in the room—in the city—he held the most power. So why did it feel like this sergeant held all the cards? What is going on lately?

“Your highness,” she said, “what would you like to discuss?”

He cleared his throat again.

“Yes, well. I, uh,” Virian rubbed the back of his neck. For all those watching, it must look exactly as they expected. “I have a secret mission for you.”

“Oh?” she asked. “And what might that involve? Nothing too scandalous I hope?”

Her eyes flashed and her smile widened. Was…was she really? Yes. No doubt about it. Perhaps…no. He had Ivy to worry about. He shook his head.

“I want you to find someone for me,” he said.

The sergeant blinked.

“Oh.”

“The woman who attacked me. I was hoping you could locate her.”

“There are already many searching for your assailant, your highness.”

Obviously, that was the case. If he hadn’t seen to it himself, Duke Ferron—Madeline’s father—would have. But Virian’s request was a bit different.

“I don’t want you to arrest her. Or harm her. I want to talk to her, that’s it. This is why I wanted to speak privately. Half the palace already thinks I have lost my head.”

Sergeant Rose lifted an eyebrow.

“And you believe that I do not think so?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know. Something in my gut tells me I can trust you.”

The sergeant scratched her forehead.

“A secret mission from your highness? How could I decline?”

“Thank you,” Virian said, “and I mean that. Seriously. I know there's nothing to go on.” She nodded. “But I have recently come into more information. First, I believe my attacker to be the notorious Dragonfly.”

Sergeant Rose said nothing. She stared up at Virian with a stone mask over her expression.

"Other's have speculated the same," she said.

“And…well I think I might know her. Or more like met her once. Her name is Ivy.”

The sergeant twitched at his mention of her name. He had almost not caught the minuscule movement, but compared to her absolute stillness from before, she might as well have gasped. Her gaze darted to his right hand, and again he was reminded of the dagger he was clutching with a white knuckled grip.

“You know this name?” he asked.

“No, your highness,” she said, continuing to stare at his hand, “but this will help in my search. May I ask your intention if I do find her?”

Virian of course had no obligation to tell a soldier under his command anything, but it felt right to do so in this case.

“If I’m right,” he said, “a long time ago I helped her. I don’t know how much she remembers, but two nights ago I think I saw it in her face. She had the chance, but chose not to kill me. Someone wants me dead, but it’s not Ivy. I’m hoping she can return an old favor, and help me.”

Sergeant Rose closed her eyes for a moment, and then got to her feet. When she opened them, it was like some kind of goddess from a storybook stood over him. Her beauty enchanted Virian to a degree he had never experienced before. She needed no fancy dress or overpriced jewelry like most of the noble women he associated with. Her well tailored guardsman’s uniform with sword belted at her hip was all that was necessary.

“Okay,” she said.

She turned on her heel and left him there without so much as a bow or a “your highness.” He watched her back as she descended the dais and marched out of the entrance hall.

Huh. That was weird. He had no time to think on it, however, as the delegation of nobles began to file in behind her wake. Damnit. A part of him snapped, and he slammed the point of Ivy's dagger into the arm of his throne. It sunk into the hardened wood all too easily, leaving half of the blade still showing. Maybe it would make him look strong while facing the council. Ha. Yeah right.