Sylas moved silently through the corridors of the palace, his footsteps echoing faintly against the stone walls. He was no stranger to sneaking through the shadows, his dark attire blending effortlessly with the dim light of the hallway. His mind was focused, every movement calculated, every breath steady. This wasn't his first time in a place like this, but the stakes were higher tonight.
His target wasn't just another piece of jewelry. No, this was personal.
He had no idea exactly where it was hidden, but he had a good guess. The pendant wasn't magical, but it was valuable, and its absence would likely anger the royals more than anything else he could steal. Sylas had no intention of hurting anyone tonight, but he wouldn't hesitate if he had to.
After a few more twists and turns through the labyrinthine halls, Sylas found himself outside an old, unused chamber. The door was cracked open just enough for him to slip through. Inside, the room was dark, empty of life, but not of value. He could see the faint outline of a chest tucked against the far wall. His fingers itched as he made his way across the room, ignoring the dust that clung to his boots and coat.
The chest's lock gave way with a quick twist of his pick. He opened it just enough to take a look. And there it was—the pendant.
Sylas smirked, but the satisfaction was short-lived. The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. He froze.
Shit.
The footsteps weren't subtle, and whoever was coming wasn't trying to hide it. Sylas cursed under his breath and darted to the nearest shadow, pressing himself against the wall just as the door to the room opened.
A figure stepped inside.
It was her.
The princess.
Sylas could barely make out her silhouette in the low light, but even from where he stood, he could see the fire in her eyes. She wasn't someone to be underestimated.
"Who the hell are you?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade.
Sylas didn't flinch, didn't even move. He was calm, controlled. His eyes remained fixed on her as he allowed the silence to stretch out just a bit longer.
"Not your concern, princess," he said, his voice low and steady, masking the slight adrenaline running through him. He wasn't afraid of her, but he knew better than to underestimate anyone in a royal palace.
Her eyes narrowed, and he could see her hand twitch toward the hilt of a dagger at her side. She was fast, but Sylas was faster.
She took a step forward, sizing him up. "What the hell are you doing in here?"
"Taking a stroll," Sylas replied nonchalantly. "Your palace is big. Thought I'd stretch my legs."
Her gaze flicked around the room, taking in the open chest, the scattered trinkets. She wasn't a fool. "Stealing my things?"
Sylas raised an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "Just one thing, princess. Not like it's worth much."
She stepped closer, her boots tapping sharply against the stone. Sylas could feel the tension building, her eyes never leaving him. "You're not just here for a stroll," she said, her voice low and dangerous.
"Guess you'll have to trust me on that," Sylas replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He wasn't backing down, not now.
Her hand tightened on her dagger, but she didn't draw it. Not yet. "You really think you can just waltz in here, steal from me, and walk away?"
Sylas shrugged, his posture casual despite the rising tension in the room. "That's one way to put it."
For a moment, the air seemed to thicken, like everything was hanging on the edge of a knife. Neither of them moved, neither of them spoke. She was calculating, and Sylas could almost see the wheels turning in her mind as she weighed her options.
"Tell me something, rogue," she said, her voice like ice. "Do you even know what you've stolen?"
He didn't respond immediately, his eyes scanning her face. There was something in the way she held herself—her posture, her expression—that told him she wasn't the typical noble. This wasn't someone who lived her life sheltered away from the world. This was someone who knew how to handle themselves.
"Does it matter?" he finally said, his voice steady.
She didn't answer right away, but Sylas could feel her eyes narrowing. Her hand still rested on the dagger, but she wasn't making any sudden moves.
"Not your concern," he repeated.
Her eyes flicked down to his pouch, where the pendant was hidden. She wasn't stupid. She had to know what he was after. But she didn't say anything. She just stood there, watching him, calculating, waiting. Sylas didn't break eye contact.
The seconds dragged on, but neither of them moved. He knew she was trying to figure him out, just as he was trying to do the same with her. She wasn't afraid, but she wasn't rushing into anything either. Good. That meant he had time.
Finally, she spoke again, but this time, her voice was lower, tinged with something else—frustration, maybe even a little bit of amusement.
"I don't know what you're after, but it's not worth dying over," she said.
Sylas chuckled darkly. "You think I'm worried about dying?"
The princess didn't flinch, didn't back down. She was unyielding, but so was he.
She took a deep breath, her eyes locking on his with a newfound intensity. "You're not walking out of here with anything."
Sylas smiled, a slow, almost mocking grin that didn't reach his eyes. "We'll see about that, princess."
He didn't wait for her to make the next move. In a blur of motion, Sylas darted toward the window, his fingers brushing the edge of the pendant in his pouch one last time before he disappeared into the night.
The princess didn't chase after him, but Sylas knew this encounter wasn't over. Not by a long shot.