Chapter 5: Killing Intent
1543 Words
Sylvie’s POV:
I lifted the dagger slowly, my eyes narrowing as I slipped it from its sheath.
The steel gleamed with a perfect, glassy sheen, polished to a mirror's edge. My reflection stared back at me, distorted slightly by the curve of the blade. I angled it toward the light, searching.
No strange liquid. No powder. No green tinge or telltale shimmer.
Whatever poison was in this dagger... it wasn’t physical.
Which meant it had to be spellwork. Magic.
A chill crept over my skin.
It wasn't unheard of. Magical poison rarely looked like anything at all. It didn’t need to. Some of the worst enchantments were odorless, tasteless, completely invisible to the naked eye. More often than not, they had distinct, if subtle, smells or even faint, shimmering auras that only those with keen senses, like my own, could detect. But this? This was impressively concealed.
It had no aura. No glow. Not even a flicker of resistance under my fingers. Just a faint scent. Whoever crafted it had to be well-versed in the old ways—a weapons mage or a master blacksmith. Someone with steady hands and a lot of skill.
I slid the dagger back into its sheath.
“So?” Ashborne asked, breaking the silence. His voice was casual, but his eyes were watching me closely, dissecting my expressions.
Well. Whatever.
I had no intention of using this dagger. At least not yet. Not until I knew exactly what it was meant to do. Then maybe… just maybe… I would actually use a gift given to me by him for once.
I let my lips stretch into a slow, warm smile, masking every ounce of suspicion. “I love it. It’s perfect!”
Ashborne straightened a little. A smile touched his mouth, small and almost sheepish, as if a weight had been lifted.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said.
I nodded, maintaining the charade, and then, with an impulsive decision that surprised even myself, I moved forward and wrapped my arms around him in a hug. He stiffened at first, as if surprised, then relaxed. His hand came to rest lightly on the top of my head.
“Happy birthday,” he murmured. “You look beautiful.”
For a heartbeat, something shifted in the air. It pulsed through my chest, fleeting but tangible, like someone had plucked a string connected straight to my ribs.
I pulled back quickly, my eyes sharp, though I kept my voice light. “Thank you. Though you’ll have to wait to see the gown I’m wearing tonight.”
I winked. “I plan to leave the men of this kingdom slack-jawed.”
A teasing line. I expected him to laugh, maybe roll his eyes. Instead, he frowned.
“Sylvie,” he said, his voice unusually serious. “You don’t need to worry about suitors. You’ve only just turned seventeen. We have plenty of time to think about marriage. There’s no rush.”
He paused, then added pointedly, “You haven’t even shifted yet.”
I huffed out a small laugh. “That’s no good. Big sister Theodora was married at my age. Even Katherine was engaged by now. I haven’t even had my debut, and I’m already seventeen. That’s all anyone at the academy talks about.”
That’s why I was glad that my studies at the academy had ended. The king didn’t protest when I proposed wanting a private tutor instead of pursuing higher studies at the academy. Don’t get me wrong, I liked studying, but I would study much better alone compared to constantly being surrounded by gossiping wolves.
I wasn’t lying. Girls my age were either getting engaged or at least being paraded around like goods in a market stall. I had no intention of getting married anytime soon, of course. But I had to play the part. If the court thought I wanted a match, they’d sabotage it.
That was how this place worked.
I knew the members of the Royal Harem, particularly Consort Elizabeth, would actively try to thwart me if she thought I wanted something. If I wanted marriage, then she’d actively try to prevent it. And if I didn’t want to marry, she’d definitely look for a suitor to marry me off as soon as possible, just to assert her control and undermine my position.
For some reason, they harbored a strange, inexplicable hatred towards me—or rather, towards Sylvianne, the princess I impersonated. A hatred I could never truly understand, but one that I felt every time their gazes lingered a moment too long.
Ashborne sighed and shook his head slowly. “Times have changed, Sylvie. That was almost a decade ago. Don’t listen to Mother or anyone else for that matter. Their opinions are not your concern. I’ll look for a proper suitor for you myself. Someone worthy of your hand, someone who understands your… temperament.” His eyes met mine, a glint in their depths. “So… don’t engage with men indiscriminately. Leave that to me.” His words, while seemingly protective, felt like chains tightening around me, another attempt to control my choices.
I huffed, a small, rebellious sound, but kept my smile in place. “Alright. Whatever you say, dear brother. You know best, always.” The sarcasm was veiled, buried deep enough for him to miss, but it gave me a small, secret satisfaction.
Then, with exaggerated grace, I turned toward my bed and stretched, feigning a yawn. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my afternoon nap.”
He nodded, a slight smile returning to his face. "Of course. Get some rest. Happy birthday again, Sylvie." He then excused himself, his retreating footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor before the door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in the sudden silence.
I waited a full ten seconds before my body moved. My hands reached for the dagger again, unsheathing it slowly. My thumb rubbed over the hilt.
I didn't know what he meant by giving me this dagger. If he hadn't made me promise not to touch the steel, I would have immediately assumed this was his attempt to kill me, a subtly executed assassination.
But he had. He’d specifically warned me away from the blade itself. So what was the purpose of a poisoned blade if I wasn't meant to touch it, if he didn't intend for me to be directly harmed by its edge? Or… maybe the poison was on the hilt?
The thought was a sudden, chilling possibility. I gripped the bone-white handle tighter, then meticulously wiped the hilt with my thumb, feeling for any strange texture, sniffing for any faint, unusual scent. Nothing. It felt perfectly smooth, smelled of nothing but polished bone and cured leather.
It didn’t make sense.
I shoved the thought aside.
No time for this.
I crossed the room to my armoire and threw it open, my hands moving with quick precision. I pulled out a bundle of clothes tucked neatly in the back—a plain tunic, dark breeches, and a deep brown cloak with a hood. Perfect. Then I pulled out a simple, roughspun maid’s dress which I had once stolen and put it on.
Next, I moved to the small mirror on my vanity. With a whispered incantation, I ran my fingers through my hair. Brown strands shimmered in place of gold, coiling into a tight braid. The flower crown had long since been tossed aside.
Then, from beneath my bed, I pulled out a small crossbody satchel. I opened it and began packing fast.
Coins. Dagger. Notepad. Ink pen. A folded map. A sealed vial of emergency healing salve. The clothes I had just pulled out.
Everything went in.
The last thing I grabbed was an Aethercom stone, used for communication with other stones. However, I didn’t have any people to contact except for Ash. I was only bringing it along for the light. I checked the power it still had before slipping it into the inner pocket of my cloak.
Then I was gone.
I slipped through the servants' corridor, keeping to the shadows. The guards didn’t spare me a second glance. As far as they knew, I was just another palace maid. The illusion spell worked flawlessly. The braid helped. No one ever questioned a girl with brown hair in a maid’s dress.
Once I hit the outer gate, I ducked into the alley.
It was a winding path. Dirty stone, moss between the cracks. I moved quickly, stepping over broken crates and ducking beneath laundry lines strung between wooden beams.
The moment I turned into a darker passage, I stopped and pulled off the outer maid’s dress.
I swapped it for my tunic and cloak, folding the other garments and tucking them away in the satchel. Just another traveler now. Just another girl with no past, no name.
I adjusted the hood, keeping my head low. As I walked out.
Then I felt it.
That prickling.
Like cold steel brushing the nape of my neck.
I straightened slowly. My heartbeat stuttered once.
Someone was watching me.
No. Not just watching.
The killing intent rolled over me like a tide.
I turned.
And my eyes widened.
- Writer
