Princess Amaira woke swiftly to an unfamiliar presence in the deep corner of her room. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness as she searched for what caused her panic. Her heart began to beat faster, she could sense something watching her from the shadows. Lurking. Watching. Hunting.
She reached for the lantern on her bedside. The darkness encompassed her room, making it impossible for her to find what she was looking for. She started to feel around blindly, hoping to stumble upon it. Unfortunately for her, she knocked several items off her nightstand, causing a small commotion.
The realization that she was now awake seemed to trigger something nearby. A silhouette emerged from the shadows. They moved with a deadly grace and purpose, their hand gripping a sharp blade glinting in the faint moonlight peering through the windows. The hooded figure lunged towards the princess still on the bed. Panic set it. An assassin? How did they make it past the royal guards?
Her instincts took over as she reached for the lantern and swung towards her target. She heard a loud sound whip through the air. The assailant lost their balance, causing the knife readily in their hand to barely miss its target. Instead it grazed her cheek and hit her pillow with a thud. Her cry echoed with desperation as the hooded figure withdrew the knife, preparing for another strike. She heard a grunt as she kicked them in the stomach knocking them off of the bed.
"GUARDS!" Her scream pierced the air.
She frantically stepped away from the attacker, but her feet caught on something, causing her to tumble backwards. Seizing the chance, the assassin sprinted towards her. She needed to get to Cedric. He was her skilled knight and she knew he could take care of him easily.
She closed her eyes in fear expecting the impact of the knife, accepting her fate. Nothing. She slowly opened one eye to find herself in a different chamber. Confusion enveloped her as she tried to make sense of the situation. The familiar sight of Cedric's room began to settle in, but the memory of the masked assailant with the glinting knife still lingered in her mind. She sat up slowly, feeling a dull ache in her head. As she scanned the room, she noticed him sitting up in bed, confused by her presence.
"Cedric?" she called out tentatively, unsure of what had just transpired. How did I end up here? I was in my bedchambers just a moment ago.
He rushed out of bed. “What happened? What are you doing on the floor?” he asked, concerned.
She struggled to explain between gasps of air, “There was someone… There was an assassin trying to kill me…,” Amaira trailed off as she collapsed in his arms.
Cedric held her tightly, his heart pounding with fear and confusion. He gently laid her down on the cold ground, checking her pulse to ensure she was still alive. He knew the assassin could still be nearby, waiting for another opportunity to strike. In a flash, he retrieved his sword and made his way to her chambers.
The hallway leading to Amaira's chambers was cloaked in darkness, the only source of light being the flickering torches mounted on the stone walls. Cedric treaded carefully, his sword at the ready, his senses heightened as he scanned for any sign of the intruder. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant sound of his own racing heartbeat and footsteps.
As he neared the entrance to Amaira's room, he noticed the guards stationed were no longer alive. Cedric's grip tightened on his sword as he quickened his pace, adrenaline coursing through his veins. With a swift movement, he pushed open the already cracked, heavy wooden door and stormed into the room.
The scene before him was chilling - shattered pieces of the lantern littered the floor, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The room felt colder than usual, a stark contrast to the warmth it usually held. Cedric's eyes darted around, searching for any trace of the assassin who had tried to kill her. A sudden movement caught Cedric's attention near the window. A figure quickly darted across the room, disappearing into the shadows.
The hooded figure stood poised, a glint of malice in their eyes as they prepared to make their next move. Cedric wasted no time, lunging towards the assassin with a fierce battle cry. The room erupted into chaos as the two figures clashed in a flurry of steel and shadows. He wasn’t weak and helpless like Princess Amaira. Years of dedicated training showed.
The assassin was skilled, with calculated and precise movements. Cedric found himself on the defensive, struggling to anticipate their every strike. Tension rose in the air as the fight raged on, each combatant matching the other blow for blow.
As the clash continued, Cedric's mind raced with questions. Who had sent this assassin? Are there more assassins? And why were they targeting her? The answers eluded him as he focused on the present danger at hand.
Cedric disarmed the assassin, sending their blade clattering to the ground. He pressed into his advantage, delivering a precise blow to the assassin’s ribs. As he prepared for another attack, the assassin revealed a hidden blade and blocked his strike with a wince. As the hood slipped back slightly, a sliver of fiery red hair spilled out, vibrant against the muted tones of the black cloak. The strands were brought to life, catching and reflecting the moonlight in a brilliant display of copper and gold. Even though he could not make out the face, he could tell it was a woman.
The assassin's green eyes gleamed with a mix of malevolence and determination as she adjusted her hood and pushed back against Cedric's relentless assault. The sound of clashing steel reverberated through the room, each strike echoing the fierce intensity of their battle. Cedric could feel his muscles burning with exertion, but he refused to let up. This was not just a fight for his own life, but for the safety of Princess Amaira.
With a sudden burst of speed, the assassin managed to land a glancing blow on Cedric's arm, causing him to stumble back momentarily. The pain shot through him, but he gritted his teeth and regained his footing, readying himself for the next attack. The assassin seemed to sense his momentary weakness and pressed forward but Cedric was not about to let his guard down. With renewed determination, he surged forward, his sword cutting through the air with deadliness.
Cedric delivered a fatal blow to the assassin, causing her to collapse onto her knees. Standing over the injured woman, Cedric pressed his sword against the assassin's throat, demanding answers. "Who sent you?" he shouted in rage.
"Don't fret, young knight. Your fate is on the horizon," the figure growled before pivoting to flee, their movements became a desperate scramble.
Knowing they could not be caught by the palace. She searched for an escape route. The window, wide open and unsuspecting, loomed suddenly behind them. She toppled backwards with an ominous smile. Cedric raced to the window hoping to find a lifeless body laying below, instead the cool night air rushed to greet him. The assassin disappeared into the shadows. He would not let anything happen like this.
Cedric, his senses still heightened by the night's events, immediately sprang into action. He called out to the guards, his voice echoing through the darkened corridors of the castle. Within moments, the castle was alive with the sound of armored footsteps and urgent voices as guards scoured every corner for any further threats. The search was meticulous, each shadow and sound investigated, ensuring no other assassin lurked in the darkness.
With the castle under alert, Cedric turned his attention back to Amaira. He pushed through his door to find her still where he had left her. Peacefully laying on the floor. He gently scooped her up in his arms, her body light against his sturdy frame. As he carried her back to her chambers, his mind replayed the attack, each detail etched sharply in his memory. Laying her down on her bed, he noticed the scratch he had seen on her cheek during the commotion had vanished. He paused, his hand hovering in the air where her injury had been, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him amidst the chaos. Shaking off the confusion, he attributed it to the adrenaline of the moment.
Deciding that it was safest to stay by her side, Cedric positioned a chair next to her bed and sat down, his eyes never straying far from her peaceful face. As the night deepened, his vigil remained unbroken, his thoughts drifting to the past—the day Amaira had saved him.
As the night wore on, Cedric finally succumbed to exhaustion, his head bowing as he fell asleep next to her. Dawn’s light spilled into the room, painting soft streaks across the stone floor and gently waking Amaira. She sat up, disoriented. Anxiety took her as she realized where she was. Where’s the assassin? Did I dream that last night?
Stolen novel; please report.
Amaira’s gaze fell on Cedric, peacefully sleeping with his head on her exquisite bedding. He held her hand tightly. He must have taken me back to my room and stayed. Amaira glances around, taking in the disarray of her once organized room. Items from the side table were still scattered across the floor, untouched since they had been knocked over in the night's commotion.
She whispered a quiet prayer of gratitude to Edos, thanking the divine ruler for her survival through the night. Many had pledged their allegiance to Edos, revered as the star of the heavens from whom all life originated, and all life was believed to return to.
She looked at Cedric still sleeping, his blonde hair, usually neatly combed back, now lay disheveled around his face, strands of it catching the golden morning light, giving him an almost angelic glow. She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he slept, the quiet in the room punctuated only by their soft breathing. Compelled by a tender impulse, Amaira reached out, her fingers brushing lightly through his hair. The strands were soft, lighter than they appeared, like threads of pale gold. Her touch seemed to soothe even the air around them, bridging the gap between guardian and charge, protector and protected.
Cedric, feeling the gentle caress, stirred slightly but did not wake. The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a faint, contented smile, as if even in sleep, he could sense her closeness and it brought him peace.
As Amaira continued to watch Cedric sleep, her heart swelled with a mix of gratitude and concern. The soft light of dawn framed his face, highlighting the gentle contours and the peace that sleep had granted him. Despite the comfort of the moment, she knew she couldn't linger. There were matters to attend to, fears to confront, and truths she needed to uncover.
Gently withdrawing her hand from his hair, Amaira stood and took one last look at Cedric, her guardian who had become so much more to her. With a deep, silent breath, she turned and quietly exited the room, her footsteps light on the cold stone floor.
***
The corridors of the castle were just beginning to stir as she made her way to her father's quarters. The guards nodded as she passed, their faces marked with the stoicism of the early hour. Pushing open the door to the king's room, she found her father, King Alastor, standing by the window, looking out at the waking kingdom with a heavy gaze.
"Father," Amaira began, her voice steady despite the trembling she felt inside. King Alastor turned, his eyes widening slightly at her unexpected appearance.
"Amaira," he murmured, his voice laden with a weariness that seemed to weigh down his very soul. "You should be resting."
"I need you more than ever now," she said, stepping closer. "After the assassination attempt, I realized how precarious our situation is. We can't afford any distractions."
King Alastor's expression hardened with resolve. "I know, my dear. I cannot lose you, not like your mother." His voice choked on the memory, a shadow of pain crossing his face. He walked over to her and kissed her on the forehead.
Amaira reached out, taking her father's hands in hers. “Please, put away the bottles and end the late nights with those who care nothing for you. We need to be strong." “Please,” she begged. “For me.”
Tears brimmed in the king's eyes as he looked down at their intertwined hands. "For you, Amaira, I will do whatever it takes," he whispered, his voice breaking with the promise.
He did not feel worthy of being her father, but her closeness with death opened his eyes to his reckless habits. Things that could never fill the void in his heart.
Amaira reached out, taking her father's hands in hers. "Thank you, Father. We need to be strong, together."
"There’s something else," Amaira continued, her voice now tinged with a mix of urgency and fear. "I need access to the royal library—the restricted section. There are things happening to…" She trailed off trying not to reveal too much. “Just some things I’m curious about and need answers to."
King Alastor studied her for a long moment, the depth of his gaze weighing the gravity of her request. Finally, his hand disappeared into a hidden compartment within the folds of his ornate robe, a place where secrets were kept close and safe. When his hand reemerged, it held an iron key, ancient and heavy. The key was substantial, both in weight and significance, its surface etched with intricate symbols that whispered of old magic and older secrets. These markings spoke of the key’s purpose—not just to open a door, but to unlock mysteries from a bygone era.
He placed the key in Amaira's palm, and she felt its cool weight sink into her skin, a tangible reminder of the responsibility now resting on her shoulders. This key was more than a tool; it was a symbol of her succession, her right to access the deepest, most hidden truths of the kingdom. It signified trust and burden, a heirloom passed from ruler to ruler, each bearer charged with wielding its power wisely.
As Amaira wrapped her fingers around the key, she felt the weight of her lineage, the weight of a future that was hers to shape. It was a weight she was determined to bear, for the sake of her people and the legacy of her family.
"Take this," he said, placing the key in her hand. "But be cautious, Amaira. The knowledge within those walls is powerful and dangerous."
With the key in hand, Amaira nodded, a serious expression molding her features. "I will be careful, Father. I must understand some things going on, for all our sakes."
She turned and left the room before her father changed his mind, the weight of her newfound responsibilities mixing with a burgeoning hope that understanding her powers might help secure their future.
***
Amaira carefully navigated the winding corridors of the royal library, her steps echoing softly against the ancient stone walls. The atmosphere grew denser as she ventured deeper, the air heavy with the weight of centuries-old knowledge and forbidden secrets. Dust motes danced in the dim light that filtered through cobwebbed windows, casting eerie shadows on the rows of towering bookshelves that lined the hidden section of the library.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of winding through shadowed hallways and ascending spiraling staircases, she stood before the towering doors that guarded the entrance to the restricted royal archives. The doors loomed over her, imposing and formidable, carved with intricate engravings that pulsed with a faint, otherworldly light.
With a deep breath to steady her nerves, Amaira raised the key and inserted it into the ornate lock. As she turned the key, the ancient mechanisms groaned and protested as they shifted into place, as if warning her of the dangers that lurked inside.
Amaira remained resolute, her determination fueled by the urgency of the mysteries she sought to unravel. She felt the heavy tumblers click and release. The doors creaked open slowly, revealing a darkened chamber beyond.
As she stepped over the threshold, the air tingled with potent energy that pricked her skin. The shelves were lined with endless books bound in leather that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. Each book whispered secrets that reverberated through the room, a symphony of forgotten knowledge. An excitement and hunger for knowledge grew within her. She was used to her studies and royalty, but this was something different entirely.
Rows upon rows of weathered books lined the shelves, their spines cracked and faded with time. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light that filtered through the high windows, casting a ghostly glow over the chamber. The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the hushed rustle of pages turning themselves in some unseen breeze.
Before she knew it, hours had passed in the secret library. Books of all shapes and sizes were scattered haphazardly around her, their leather-bound spines cracked and faded with age. Most of them were collections of fairy tales and folklore, stories meant to entertain and enchant rather than enlighten. Amaira's eyes scanned the titles with growing impatience, searching for a glimmer of truth amidst the fiction. And then, as if guided by an unseen hand, her gaze fell upon a book unlike the others.
This one particular volume caught her eye—a thick, dusty book nestled on a pedestal at the center of the chamber. Its cover was adorned with swirling symbols that seemed to writhe and shift before her very eyes. With a hesitant hand, Amaira reached out and grabbed the book. She felt almost compelled.
The clock tower chimed, breaking her out of her trance. Princess Amaira's heart jumped. The deep, resonant tones echoed through the corridors, a stark reminder that she was late for an important dress fitting. This would be the dress for her coming of age ceremony.. She had been so engrossed in her research in the secret library that time had slipped away from her unnoticed. Ugh, just when I was so close to the answer I sought.
Snapping the ancient book shut, Amaira hastily tucked it into her worn leather bag along with another volume on the Enchanted War. A thrill ran through her as she considered the possibility that these ancient scripts might hold the key to understanding the strange powers awakening within her, and perhaps even to controlling them.
She slung the bag over her shoulder, its weight a comforting presence as she hurried out of the dimly lit library. Her footsteps echoed on the stone floors as she made her way up the grand staircase that led back to the main part of the castle. The halls were mostly empty, the thick carpets muffling her hurried steps. Only the occasional servant, head bowed in concentration, crossed her path, paying no mind to the princess's unusual haste.
Amaira's mind raced as fast as her feet. Her father would be, no doubt displeased by her tardiness, but the potential discoveries lying within the pages of the books in her bag bolstered her spirits. She knew that the knowledge they contained could prove crucial not only to her reign but to the very survival of her kingdom.
As she reached the top of the stairs, Amaira paused to catch her breath, her chest heaving. She straightened her attire, smoothing out the front of her dress and adjusting her bag. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she hastened down the corridor towards the drawing room where several designers waited for her.
"My apologies for my tardiness," she announced, her voice steady despite her rush. "Let us begin."
As the session commenced, Amaira found it difficult to fully concentrate on her ball gown. Her mind kept wandering back to the hidden library, the mysterious symbols, and the cryptic texts. What secrets did those ancient pages hold? How would they change her destiny? Are there others like me? One thing was certain: the journey ahead would be fraught with challenges and revelations. But for now, she needed to focus on the present, on her duties as the future queen, even as the books in her bag whispered promises of powerful knowledge yet to be uncovered.