Sylas moved through the corridors of the palace like a shadow, slipping past guards and servants with practiced ease. He'd been in worse places, had stolen from far more dangerous men, but there was something about the royal palace that made his skin crawl. The weight of power in the air. The smug arrogance of the royals. It made his stomach twist. But tonight, he was here for one thing—something small, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. A pendant. Nothing more.
He could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he approached the chamber. His fingers were already itching to take what he'd come for. The lock on the door was nothing more than a trivial obstacle, and within moments, he was inside, eyes scanning the room. His gaze fell upon the chest in the far corner, and he smirked. It was too easy.
He crossed the room, silently, the old wooden floor creaking beneath his boots. The chest was exactly where he expected it to be, and it didn't take long to open it. A soft gasp escaped him as his fingers brushed the smooth surface of the pendant. He didn't even know why it mattered to him. It wasn't worth much, not really, but it would be enough to stir the pot, to make a statement.
But just as he was about to close the chest, a sound halted him—footsteps.
Someone was coming.
Sylas cursed under his breath. No time to waste. He dove into the shadows, barely making a sound as he moved to the edge of the room, his back pressed against the wall. The door creaked open.
A figure stepped inside.
A woman.
The moonlight caught her silver hair, making it gleam like strands of starlight. Her violet eyes swept the room, sharp and calculating, like she was trying to decide whether to kill him or call the guards. She didn't flinch when she saw him, didn't even seem surprised. But there was a fire in her eyes, something that made him pause.
"Who the hell are you?" Her voice was a whip-crack, sharp and demanding.
Sylas smirked, leaning casually against the wall. "Didn't think anyone came in here."
Her eyes narrowed, and she reached for something at her side. A dagger, small but lethal-looking. He didn't move, didn't even flinch. She was a noblewoman, that much was obvious, but there was something in the way she held herself that told him she wasn't just some pampered princess. She wasn't trained to fight, but she wasn't helpless either.
"You're trespassing," she said, her tone cold as ice.
He grinned. "So are you."
The tension in the room thickened, like the air was charged with electricity. He held the pendant up between them, twirling it between his fingers just to get under her skin.
"That doesn't belong to you," she spat.
Sylas chuckled, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Neither do most things in this place." He tilted his head, studying her. "The royal family's claim on them is pretty fucking debatable."
Her jaw tightened. It was clear she was trying to hold onto whatever semblance of control she had, but he could see through it. She was pissed, and the fire in her eyes made it clear that she wasn't going to back down.
"Put it back," she demanded, her voice dangerously low.
He raised an eyebrow. "And if I don't?"
The challenge hung in the air, unspoken but undeniable. She took a step forward, but he didn't move. She was braver than most nobles, but he could still see the hesitation in her. She'd never fought a day in her life, and that dagger wasn't anything more than a symbol of power, not a weapon. But that didn't mean she wasn't dangerous. She was more than capable of making his life miserable if it came down to it.
Sylas couldn't help himself. He laughed, low and dark. "Relax, sweetheart. Just passing through."
Without warning, he turned and headed for the window, his movements swift and fluid. She moved toward him, but it was already too late. He threw the window open with a sharp push, and the cool night air rushed in. He heard her shift behind him, her hand moving toward her dagger, but he knew she wouldn't be able to stop him. Not tonight.
"Don't even think about it," he called back, his voice low and mocking. It was a warning. But she wasn't stupid; she knew it was over. The moment he slipped into the night, it was done.
Sylas didn't look back as he vaulted onto the ledge. The sound of the wind rushing by his ears, the rustle of his cloak, was all he needed to know. He was gone, disappearing into the darkness like a ghost.
The moment he hit the ground, he was already moving, blending into the shadows, disappearing from sight. But even as he sprinted through the streets, adrenaline still coursing through him, he couldn't shake the image of her—those violet eyes, burning with something more than just fury. There was something about her that stuck with him. Something dangerous. Something that made him wonder if he'd made a mistake by letting her go.