Amiya's Perspective:
Amiya's heart was still pounding as she stared at the empty space where the pendant had once rested. It wasn't a family heirloom, nor a relic passed down from generation to generation, but it still held weight. A symbol of something more—something her father, King Edric, would use to his advantage in ways she didn't fully understand yet. A quiet sign of his power within the kingdom, an unspoken token he could use to broker deals or make alliances. Now it was gone.
She hadn't expected it to matter so much, but the loss gnawed at her, a dull ache in her chest. The rogue had come and gone without a trace, taking with him more than just an ornament. He'd stolen a quiet symbol of her father's influence—one she hadn't even fully realized had power until it was gone. That bastard.
How had he even gotten in?
The questions piled up, but the biggest one lingered like a stone in her stomach. Why hadn't he killed me when he had the chance?
She clenched her fists, the sharp edge of the dagger beneath her gown a faint reminder of what she'd almost had to use. She could still feel the sting of his mocking tone echoing in her mind. "Don't even think about it."
I wasn't thinking about it, she thought bitterly. She had been ready, sure, but not for that. He hadn't come for a fight. He'd come to steal. That much was clear now. But then, he'd just disappeared into the night, vanishing as quietly as he had appeared.
Amiya let out a frustrated breath, pacing in the empty room, unable to shake the feeling that something else was at play here. She didn't have time for this. Not when the council meeting was calling, but the questions just wouldn't stop. Who the hell was he? And why did he leave without a fight?
Her thoughts spiraled as she turned away from the window, stepping out into the quiet hallway, her soft footsteps barely making a sound on the stone floors. The council chamber was just ahead, but she felt heavier with every step. There was a gnawing emptiness in her chest that had nothing to do with the pendant and everything to do with the encounter.
She needed to act—this was no time for hesitation. The rogue had seen too much. He'd seen her. He knew she wasn't just some helpless princess locked away in a tower. He knew she had the means to defend herself, and that terrified her more than any of her father's threats or the looming expectations of the kingdom.
Her mind raced as she entered the council room, the cold, imposing faces of her father's advisors watching her with blank expressions. King Edric sat at the head of the table, a tower of control and calculation. The murmurs of conversation died as she entered, but the weight of their eyes on her felt heavier than any spoken word.
"You're late," her father's voice cut through the tension, his gaze sharp as ever.
"I was delayed," Amiya replied smoothly, keeping her voice calm, as though she hadn't just faced a thief in her own chambers. She didn't flinch. She couldn't afford to. Not now.
Lord Hadrian, one of her father's most obnoxious advisors, sniffed with thinly veiled distaste. "The kingdom's matters should be taken more seriously, Your Highness."
Amiya barely resisted rolling her eyes. She was so fucking tired of these people, tired of the political games. All their talk about trade and military tactics made her head spin, but tonight, none of it mattered. What mattered was the rogue, and the piece of her father's power he had taken with him.
As she settled into her seat, crossing her legs beneath the table, she could feel the faint weight of her dagger against her thigh. She didn't even need to touch it to know it was there—always with her, a constant reminder of the duty her father had forced on her. The duty that meant nothing when she couldn't even trust her own safety.
"Enough," King Edric's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "There's another matter we need to address." His eyes moved to her, and for a split second, she caught the edge of something cold in his gaze. "Amiya… You will marry Prince Leandros of Ferathia."
Amiya froze.
Her heart stopped for a beat. The words didn't make sense. "What?"
Her father's expression didn't change, his voice hard and deliberate. "You will marry him. It's been arranged. The political ties with Ferathia are crucial to the future of our kingdom. This marriage will solidify our position in the region. You will do your duty."
Amiya couldn't breathe. Her mind went blank as the room seemed to close in on her. This wasn't a proposal—it was an order. The words barely registered through the growing noise in her head. What the fuck?
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her father had never mentioned this before. He hadn't even asked her opinion. It wasn't just a political move; it was a sentence. A death sentence for her freedom, for her life. She was nothing but a pawn to him.
"Is there any objection?" King Edric's voice rang out, the finality in his tone demanding compliance. The room was quiet—too quiet. Every advisor was watching her, their faces a mix of indifference and cold approval.
Amiya's throat tightened as she finally managed to speak, her voice low and trembling with anger. "I didn't agree to this."
King Edric's eyes hardened. "It's not up for discussion. The marriage contract is already secured. You will marry him. There's no choice in the matter."
Her stomach dropped. She wanted to scream, to run out of the room, to throw herself at her father's feet and beg him to let her make her own choices. But she couldn't. Her father's eyes were hard, and the weight of the council's expectations pressed down on her like a vice.
Lord Hadrian spoke again, his tone dripping with condescension. "This union will benefit the kingdom. You have no choice but to accept it, Your Highness."
The words stung like a slap. Her nails dug into the armrests, but she didn't move. She couldn't. The rage bubbled up, but she had nowhere to direct it. Fucking puppet.
"This meeting is adjourned," King Edric's voice rang out, final and unforgiving. The council members stood and filed out, leaving Amiya sitting there, numb and frozen in place, as the weight of what had just been said hung in the air.
Sylas's Perspective:
Sylas moved through the city's winding streets, the weight of the pendant still heavy in his pouch, but his mind was far from focused on it. He knew the drill—get in, get out, and get paid. Simple as that. But tonight hadn't gone according to plan, and now, as he maneuvered through the dark alleys of the capital, his thoughts kept slipping back to her.
The princess.
Or at least, that's what he thought she might be. She had that noble air about her, the kind of poise and calm that only those born into wealth and status could carry. But he didn't think she was royalty—not from her reaction. A royal would've screamed. They would've called for guards. That's what they always did.
But she hadn't.
Instead, she'd stayed calm, too calm, and watched him like she was calculating his every move. That gaze—sharp, cold, calculating. And those eyes… violet, like a goddamn storm. Not the kind of eyes you expect from some pampered noble girl. No, she had something else behind them. He could feel it. It was the kind of look that had made him pause for a fraction of a second, something he didn't do. He cursed himself for that hesitation. He should've been in and out. No emotions. But there had been something about her that dug under his skin, something dangerous that unsettled him more than it should have.
As he rounded another corner, ducking into the shadows, he allowed himself a quick breath, trying to calm the fire in his chest. The pendant was still secure, and once he unloaded it, he'd be free. The deal would be done, and he'd be a few more steps closer to getting out of this kingdom. Away from this suffocating palace of lies and politics.
But goddamn it, he couldn't shake her off.
He wasn't the type to get tangled in thoughts about people. He didn't care about who they were or where they came from. But that girl? She had slipped under his skin like a shard of glass. She was no princess, but she sure as hell wasn't some lowborn either. There was something about the way she carried herself—the grace, the calm, the way she held her ground. Most nobles would've run at the first sign of danger. Not her.
She'd just watched him, like she was daring him to make a move. No fear. Nothing but sharp curiosity and quiet anger.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, cursing himself again for letting his mind wander. He didn't have time for this. His world wasn't one of nobles or politics. His world was about surviving in the shadows, taking what he needed and disappearing before anyone noticed. It wasn't about getting caught up in royal games or the complex dynamics of some sheltered noblewoman who thought she had something to prove.
But damn it, why did she stick with him like a ghost in his mind?
He pushed his thoughts away, focusing again on the job at hand. The pendant wasn't much—a bauble, a trinket—but it had value. Enough to make a quick trade, enough to get him out of this damn city. The right buyer would pay a decent price for it, and he could slip away unnoticed, leaving the kingdom's politics behind.
The princess—or whatever she was—had been a complication. A distraction he didn't need.
As he slipped further into the city's underbelly, he tried to shake the image of her from his mind. The cold eyes. The faintest twitch of a dagger beneath her gown, hidden but ready. There was more to her than met the eye, but that was her problem. Not his.
With a final glance back at the distant silhouette of the castle in the moonlight, he turned into an alley, the shadows swallowing him whole. He was almost there, almost free. He could feel the weight of the pendant shifting in his pouch, but even that couldn't erase the feeling that he'd missed something. Something important.
And damn it, that was the problem. He didn't like missing things. And he certainly didn't like the feeling of something—or someone—lingering in his thoughts.
One more corner, and the transaction would be done. One more step, and he'd be free.
But as he slipped deeper into the darkness, he couldn't shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.