The moon loomed high, cold and unyielding, casting its silver glow over the grand marble halls of the palace. Amiya stood on the edge of the balcony, her hands resting lightly against the stone railing. The sight of the courtyard, empty and still under the weight of the moonlight, made her chest tighten. The palace was silent now, but that silence only reminded her of how suffocating her life had become.
Everything about the place was designed to smother her. The gold-drenched walls, the heavy tapestries that lined the corridors, the endless line of courtiers and dignitaries—people who always had something to ask, something to demand of her. She was nothing more than an ornament, a pretty face on a throne, locked away in a gilded cage.
"Fuck this place," she muttered under her breath, clenching her hands into fists. Her silver hair, soft and silky, flowed freely down her back, but it felt as if it, too, was suffocating her. Her violet eyes narrowed, burning with frustration as she stared out into the night. She wasn't some docile little princess who could be paraded around for political gain. No. She was more than that. She had to be.
Her fingers curled tighter around the stone railing, nails digging into the cool surface. Everything felt wrong. Her life, her future—everything was being decided for her by people who thought they knew best. Fuck them. Fuck the whole damn palace.
The sound of footsteps broke her from her thoughts, and her gaze snapped toward the door. A moment later, Liora, her handmaiden, appeared in the doorway, standing quietly as if she'd been there for much longer than she'd actually been.
"Your Highness," Liora said, her voice respectful but carrying a trace of unease. "Your father wishes to speak with you. He's waiting in the council chambers."
Amiya gave her handmaiden a tight-lipped smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Tell him I'll be there when I'm ready. And tell him to stop acting like I'm some kind of pet. I'm not one of his dogs."
Liora hesitated, clearly unsure whether to respond, but quickly lowered her eyes. "Of course, Your Highness," she murmured, but Amiya could see the flicker of concern in her expression.
"Liora, go ahead. I just need a moment. I'll be there soon." Amiya spoke the words almost too sharply, but her anger needed to be directed somewhere. It wasn't Liora's fault. She just couldn't handle being caged in one more minute.
"Yes, Your Highness," Liora said softly before bowing and stepping out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.
Amiya stood still for a long moment, her heart pounding in her chest. The door clicked shut, and she was alone.
Then, she heard it. A sound—a rustle of fabric, faint but distinct, coming from somewhere just around the corner of the hall. Amiya's body went rigid, a sharp instinct taking hold of her.
Her hand slid to the hilt of her dagger, her fingers wrapping around the cold, reassuring metal. It wasn't a blade she carried for show. No, it was for protection. For survival.
Her heart beat louder in her chest as she moved toward the source of the noise, her body low to the ground, the soft whisper of her steps barely audible. The air was thick with tension. Whoever—or whatever—was hiding, wasn't making it easy for her.
She rounded the corner, and there, in the half-darkness, was a figure. A man, tall and cloaked in shadow. His posture was relaxed, but the sharp glint of his eyes made Amiya's pulse spike.
Without a word, she stepped forward, her voice cold and commanding. "Who the hell are you?"
The man didn't flinch, but his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "Not your concern, princess."
Amiya gripped her dagger tighter, the sharp edge ready. She wasn't going down without a fight. "I don't think you know where the hell you are. This is my palace. You're trespassing, and I don't take kindly to thieves."
The man didn't seem to be worried about her words. He just stood there, still and calculating, his eyes scanning her with the cold precision of someone who had seen far too much.
"I'm not here for your trinkets, princess. But if you get in my way, you'll regret it."
Amiya's grip on her dagger tightened, her stance steady. But before she could make her next move, the man stepped back into the shadows, melting into the dark like a ghost.
Her heart was still pounding in her chest, but she forced herself to take slow, deliberate breaths. She wasn't sure who this man was, but one thing was certain—he wasn't here to cause trouble. Not yet, anyway.