Chapter 4: Shadows Behind the Throne

The first attempt on my life came sooner than expected.

Not that I was surprised. Royal courts were nothing more than elegant cages full of well-dressed murderers. Power was never given freely—it was taken, bought, or bled for.

I had barely been in Aurelia for a day—not even enough time to fully unravel their schemes—before someone decided I was better off dead.

And the fool sent to kill me?

He had no idea what kind of monster he had just cornered.

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A Blade in the Dark

The attack came at night.

The guest chambers provided to me were far too grand for a disposable prince, which only made my suspicions grow. The Aurelians wanted me comfortable, off guard.

They underestimated me.

I lay still in bed, my breathing slow and steady, eyes barely closed. I was waiting. Listening.

And then, I heard it—the whisper of steel against leather.

The assassin was good. Silent. Efficient. But he made one mistake—

He assumed I was asleep.

I heard the shift of air, the blade descending toward my throat.

In a blur, I moved.

My body reacted on instinct—the years of battle, the centuries of war roaring back into my muscles.

I twisted, grabbing the assassin’s wrist before the blade could reach my skin.

The intruder barely had time to react. His breath hitched in shock—no doubt expecting a weak, frail prince, not the iron grip that crushed his wrist like brittle wood.

I opened my eyes fully, meeting his gaze in the darkness.

Fear. He was afraid.

Good.

I wrenched his arm back, forcing him to drop the dagger. The moment it clattered to the floor, I struck—a sharp blow to his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs.

He stumbled, but I didn’t let go. I dragged him forward, flipping him onto the bed, pinning him down with ease.

The silence was deafening.

His body trembled beneath me, his breathing ragged.

"W-who—" he choked out.

I pressed my forearm against his throat, cutting off his words. He was a trained killer, but now he looked at me like I was something else entirely.

Because I was.

I leaned down, my voice cold as the blade he had tried to use on me.

"You came to kill a prince," I murmured. "But you've found something far worse."

His eyes widened. He tried to struggle—a last, desperate attempt to break free.

Pathetic.

I tightened my hold. "Who sent you?"

He gritted his teeth, refusing to answer.

Admirable. Useless, but admirable.

Unfortunately for him, I had no patience for loyalty.

I pressed harder, just enough to make him realize the reality of his situation. He wasn’t in control. I was.

Seconds passed. His face darkened, his body trembling. And then—he cracked.

“P-please,” he rasped. “I—It wasn’t personal—I was paid—”

"By who?"

His lips parted, hesitation flickering in his eyes. I could see it—the conflict, the desperation.

Whoever hired him was powerful. Important. But in this moment?

I was the one he feared more.

"Lord Gregor," he gasped finally.

I filed the name away. Aurelia's Minister of War. High-ranking. Powerful. And now, on my list.

A nobleman of Aurelia wanted me dead. The question was—why?

Before I could press further, I heard it—footsteps.

Someone was coming.

Evelyn.

Her presence was unmistakable. The steady, measured steps. The way the air shifted—not cautious, but prepared.

I moved instantly, flipping the assassin off the bed, pressing him down onto the floor, hidden behind the heavy canopy. I grabbed his own dagger, pressing it to his throat, a silent warning.

The door swung open.

Princess Evelyn stood at the entrance, candlelight flickering against her dark hair. Her violet eyes swept the room, sharp as a blade, taking in the scattered sheets, the slight shift of the curtains.

I kept my breathing slow, controlled. I didn't need her knowing what had just happened.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then, she tilted her head, voice smooth as silk.

“Trouble sleeping, Your Highness?”

I smiled lazily, keeping the dagger pressed against the trembling assassin. "You could say that."

Evelyn took a step closer, her expression unreadable. She was studying me, watching.

"Strange," she mused. "The guards stationed outside heard nothing. And yet, you look rather… tense."

I chuckled. "Perhaps I'm just not used to Aurelia's hospitality."

Her lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite a threat.

"I see," she murmured. "I would hate for our guest to feel unsafe."

I felt the assassin’s heartbeat pounding beneath the blade of his own dagger.

He knew he was seconds away from death.

Evelyn held my gaze a moment longer before stepping back.

"If you need anything," she said smoothly, "call for the guards. They are here for your protection, after all."

A lie. A test. A warning.

I gave her a slow, unreadable smile. "Of course, Princess."

She lingered a second longer. Then she was gone.

The moment the door shut, I moved.

The assassin gasped as I pressed the blade harder against his skin. He was already broken—his body, his will. He knew his fate was sealed.

I leaned down, my voice low.

"Tell Lord Gregor," I murmured, "that his mistake will cost him dearly."

The assassin's eyes widened. "Y-you're letting me go?"

I smiled. Cold. Sharp. Merciless.

"No."

Then, with a single swift movement, I silenced him forever.

The body slumped. Blood pooled against the floor.

And I felt nothing.

I stood, wiping the blade clean, my pulse steady.

Gregor thought I was an easy target. Evelyn thought I was a mystery.

Let them think whatever they wanted.

Soon, they would realize the truth.

The Demon Lord was not gone.

He was watching. Waiting.

And when the time was right—

I would remind them all what true power looked like.

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