The dagger feels cold against my thigh.

I've been lurking in the shadows for two hours, searching the castle grounds for my next assignment.

Assignment. Not victim.

It's a small distinction but helps me cope with the inevitable fate I am forced to bring upon them.

"Dri… I think I see her." The earpiece crackles to life, startling me back to the present. How could I forget I was wearing it?

Narrowing my eyes, I carefully survey the area. The night envelops everything in a cloak of darkness, interrupted only by the scattered stars in the sky. Yet, the castle grounds are alive with vibrant colours. Men, women, and children gather in groups, eagerly awaiting entrance to the hall, their chatter filling the air.

"There! The one in lilac!" Claudia's shrill voice pierces my ear, sharp and urgent.

"I heard you the first time. Thanks." I reply, my voice laced with a hint of annoyance.

"Just makin' sure!" Claudia chirps back, undeterred by the obvious irritation in my tone

Suppressing the urge to tear out the earpiece and crush it in the grass, I refocus my attention on the task at hand.

A flash of purple catches my eye as a middle-aged woman in a stunning floral dress glides past. Though her face remains concealed behind a mask, her fiery red hair serves as an unmistakable identifier.

I wet my lips, anticipation coursing through my veins, as I trail closely behind. This is going to be quite an interesting night.

As I approach the front of the line, a guard halts me in my tracks. He holds a parchment that cascades down to the ground, his eyes reflecting weariness and disinterest.

"Name and status." He drawls, his voice tinged with boredom. He would rather be anywhere but here.

I clear my throat, adopting a confident posture. "Rita Blackthorne, advisor to the Duke of Rjok."

His gaze skims through the scroll, and for an agonizing moment, I worry he has discovered my true identity. But then, his eyes refocus, his stance straightens, and he nods, flicking a hand toward the grand hall.

It takes a beat for his unspoken command to register, and I stumble forward, nearly tripping over the hem of my Greek-themed gown, with each step, I inch closer to my target.

Step one has been successful. Just a knife at the throat more to go.

¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

Lively laughter and chatter mingle with the slow-paced melodies of the string quartet. Amber-coloured light is emitted from the opulent chandelier hung proudly in the centre of the hall, bathing the surroundings in a soft, enchanting glow. Crystal prisms catch the light, scattering shimmering reflections that dance across the polished marble floor, adding an ethereal touch to the spectacle.

I pull in a deep, steadying breath as I keep my gaze fixated on my assignment.

Duchess Beatrice Ironwood.

Just as I am about to reach her, a man strides into the room, commanding attention with his compelling presence that radiates authority. The boisterous clamour of the hall quickly subsides, giving way to a hushed silence as all eyes turn toward him. With a wide, jovial smile, he extends his arms, exuding a magnetic charm that captivates the room.

His battered face bears the marks of a life well-lived, etched with lines that speak of wisdom and experience. His greying hair serves as a testament to the passage of time. A prominent scar runs down from his left eye to his upper lip, hinting at a past filled with battles and challenges overcome. Yet, it is his piercing ocean-blue eyes that radiate charisma and vitality. They command respect, revealing a leader who has weathered storms and emerged stronger.

"My esteemed subjects, distinguished guests," Emperor Augustus begins. "Today is a momentous occasion as we gather not only to revel in the splendour of this grand ball but also to commemorate a significant milestone in our history."

His gaze flicks to a young man to his side, who lets out a very audible sigh. The prince, I assume. Even though, his face is obscured by a mask, I can make out his vibrant blue eyes that stand out, just like his father's. Though, his hair is a light shade of brown not grey.

The Emperor continues. "For this is the very day that marks the two-hundred and fiftieth year of independence for our glorious kingdom: the Davarian Empire!"

The crowd lets out a hearty: "Hear, hear!"

I do not join them. My eyes remain on the duchess who seems quite unengaged with the rest of the crowd. That, at least, is a matter we both can mutually agree on.

"Two and a half centuries ago," The Emperor's voice booms across the hall. "Our forefathers fought valiantly, carving our land where freedom and sovereignty would reign. They forged this empire, the heart of their vision and resilience.

Today, we stand proud and united; our empire has flourished, surpassing great challenges with unwavering determination and embracing the diversity that defines us."

With a warm smile, Emperor Augustus raises his goblet, indicating a toast. I pluck a glass of cranberry juice, not wine, as I cannot afford to drink on duty, from a servant nearby. It is blood red in color. A color I am all too familiar with.

After a second, the hall echoes with "To the Davarian Empire!"

I raise my glass along with the other and proceed to take a small sip from it. It has a tantalizing flavour to it; both sweet and tart.

The string quartet resumes their performance, the graceful melody of the violins filling the air with a captivating allure. The Emperor and Empress are the first to approach the ball floor. They begin dancing in a slow waltz. However, soon, the ballroom became a vibrant tapestry of colours and movement, each step radiating joy.

As I began moving toward the duchess, I involuntarily sighed. This is always the hardest part, and it never gets any easier.

My apprehension quickly fades, though, as a tap on my shoulder interrupts my thoughts. Startled, I pivot on my heels to confront the source of the interruption, only to find myself face-to-face with the prince.

His attire exudes an air of undeniable sophistication, perfectly befitting his embodiment of Hades. His tailored black suit fits him flawlessly, accentuating his regal stature. A crisp white shirt with a black tie and trousers, adds a touch of contrast, while a dark robe flows graciously down to his leather shoes.

His eyes do not wear that look of dullness they did a few minutes ago. In fact, he seems quite amused as he offers me a gloved hand. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

I do not know if he is playing with me or not.

"Dri!" Claudia's voice cuts into my ears.

I wince.

"Remember: act normal! Accept his hand. He is the crown prince after all."

I muster a smile on my face and accept his hand. "Gladly."

That is when it dawns on me: I do not know how to dance.