Forced To Marry The Tyrant I Tried To Assassinate

Night draped the palace in silence. Moonlight spilled across the towering stone walls, pale and cold, turning the courtyards into pools of silver. Guards paced the battlements in slow, disciplined circles, their armor glinting faintly beneath the pale wash of moonlight. Most people believed the royal palace of Aetheris was impossible to infiltrate. The kingdom believed its king was safe behind those walls. They were wrong. Lyra knew better. She crouched on the edge of the high outer wall, breath steady, eyes scanning the courtyard below. The night wind tugged lightly at the black cloak wrapped around her shoulders, but she ignored the cold. She had endured worse than winter air. Below her, the palace stretched outward in a maze of towers, balconies, and inner courtyards. Too many entrances. Too many guards. Too many ways to die. But Lyra had not spent ten years training among assassins to be stopped by a few palace walls. She crouched near the edge of the roof and studied the courtyard below. Two guards patrolled the eastern path. Their armor clinked softly as they walked. She counted their steps. One. Two. Three. When they turned the corner, she moved. Her body slipped down the wall like a shadow. Boots touched the ground without a sound. Years of training had taught her how to move unseen. Years of hatred had taught her why. At the far end of the courtyard, a tall window glowed faintly with candlelight. The king’s chamber. Her fingers tightened around the dagger hidden in her sleeve. Tonight the tyrant king would die. Lyra crossed the courtyard quickly, staying in the deepest shadows. When she reached the palace wall, she scaled the stone with practiced ease. Two soldiers stood outside a pair of massive oak doors carved with the crest of the royal house—a crowned wolf surrounded by thorns. The king’s chambers. Lyra’s pulse remained steady. Years ago she had learned how to control it. Fear slowed the hand. Hesitation killed. She approached the guards calmly. “Late hour,” one of them muttered. Lyra didn’t answer. Instead she stepped closer. Then moved. Her hand struck the first guard’s throat before he could react. The man collapsed silently, gasping for air. The second guard barely had time to reach for his sword before Lyra’s dagger pressed against his neck. “Don’t,” she whispered. He froze. Lyra struck him across the temple with the hilt of her dagger. The guard crumpled beside his partner. Two bodies. No sound. She dragged them into the shadows beside the wall and straightened. The heavy doors stood before her now. Beyond them waited the man she had come to kill. King Kael Draven The tyrant who who had crushed her homeland beneath his armies. The rebel group had hunted him for years. Tonight the hunt would end. The window creaked open beneath her careful hand. She slipped inside. The chamber smelled faintly of smoke and old parchment. Heavy curtains framed tall windows, and a massive bed stood at the center of the room. A figure lay beneath dark blankets. Lyra approached slowly. Her heartbeat remained steady. She had imagined this moment many times. The dagger slid into her hand. One strike. One breath. One dead king. She reached the bed. The king slept on his back, dark hair spilling across the pillow. Moonlight traced the sharp lines of his face. He didn’t look like a monster. Lyra hated him more for that. Her blade rose. Just as the dagger touched his throat— A hand shot up and caught her wrist. Lyra froze. The king’s eyes opened. Dark. Calm. Completely awake. For a moment neither of them moved. His grip on her wrist tightened slightly, but his expression remained almost… bored. “Assassin,” he said quietly. His voice was deep and steady, as if she had interrupted nothing more important than a nap. Lyra twisted her wrist, trying to pull free. His grip didn’t budge. The strength in his hand was terrifying. “I expected more subtlety,” he continued. Her eyes narrowed. “You expected this?” The king studied her face in the moonlight, his gaze sharp and unsettlingly calm. “I expected someone,” he said. He released her wrist. Lyra stumbled back a step in surprise. Why would he let her go? She raised the dagger again. “Don’t move.” The king slowly sat up, ignoring the blade pointed toward his throat. His expression held no fear. If anything, he looked… curious. “You took an impressive route through the palace,” he said. Lyra blinked. “What?” “The eastern courtyard wall,” he continued calmly. “Then the servant stairwell. Through the council hall.” Her stomach tightened. “How do you—” “I watched you.” The words landed like a stone in her chest. Watched her? “You let me enter the palace?” Kael leaned back slightly against the headboard. “I was curious.” Her anger flared. “You’re insane.” “Possibly.” For a moment silence filled the room. Then footsteps sounded outside the chamber door. Guards. Lyra’s grip tightened on the dagger. If they entered now, she would never escape. The king glanced toward the door. “Go away,” he called lazily. The footsteps stopped. “Yes, Your Majesty,” a guard replied from outside. The footsteps faded. Lyra stared at him. “You dismissed them.” “Of course.” “Why?” The king’s gaze returned to her, dark and thoughtful. “Because,” he said slowly, “I wanted to see the face of the person sent to kill me.” His eyes studied her carefully. “Tell me something, assassin.” Lyra held her ground. “What?” His voice softened slightly. “Did you truly believe this would work?” Her jaw tightened. “I was close enough to kill you.” “Yes,” he agreed calmly. His gaze sharpened. “But you didn’t.” A cold chill ran through her. The king leaned forward slightly. “You came here to kill me,” he said quietly. His lips curved faintly. “Good.” The candlelight flickered across his face. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Lyra stared at him. Because for the first time since entering the palace… She had the unsettling feeling that she had not been hunting the king tonight. The king had been waiting for her.