No One: The Eternal Princess

The River The first thing I felt was cold. Not the usual chill of night, but a deep cold that slipped under my skin, sank into my bones, and closed around my heart like a fist. The midnight river pulled me down as if it wanted to keep me. Every ripple whispered the same promise—quiet, sweet, deadly. Rest. Be silent. End it. I tasted the water. It carried the metallic tang of blood—my blood. Beneath that was the bitter smoke from the burning capital. The city was far away, yet its heat still clung to my skin. The wind tugged at what was left of my gown. Once it was silk from the East, embroidered with silver thread and pearls. Now it was just torn ribbons drifting away like the last of my pride. I opened my eyes. No stars. No palace lamps on the hills. Only black smoke covering the sky. A red cloud spread in the water around me. A memory struck like glass. The throne room on fire. Guards shouting. Blue banners of Aurelith curling in heat. And above it all—the man I trusted more than my life. The man I called husband. Elron… you stabbed me. I felt again the blade sliding between my ribs. I saw his eyes—calm, cold, steady. Like a chess player removing a piece from the board. I was that piece. A wave threw me into the muddy bank. Pain burned in my side. Darkness pulled at me. It would have been easy to let go. But fate had other plans. A strong hand grabbed my arm and dragged me from the water. Mud scraped my back. Fingers pressed hard on my wound. I gasped. I tried to see his face. The world spun. Everything went black. The Attic I woke to the smell of bread. I lay still, listening. Footsteps below. A kettle rattling. A soft clink of glass. Wooden beams crossed the low ceiling above me, their edges dark with smoke. Thin curtains moved in a light breeze from a small window. Morning waited outside, pale and gray. This was not the palace. Not even the same life as yesterday. A faded blanket covered me. My side throbbed under clean bandages. My silk gown was gone. I wore a plain linen shift—rough, but dry. The door opened. A plump woman stepped in. Dark hair streaked with gray. Dress marked with chalk and dust. A measuring tape around her neck. She set a tray beside the bed—bread and steaming broth—without meeting my eyes. “I found you half-dead by the riverbank,” she said quickly. “From now on, you’re Lin, my sewing apprentice. Understand?” “…Lin?” The name felt strange. “Yes. If you want to live, keep your head down. Luminara shows no mercy to people without a name.” She pushed the bowl toward me. “Eat.” The broth was thin but warm. The bread was old but kind. I ate because I wanted to live. “I’m Master Fara,” she said, checking my bandage. “Your stitches are clean. Whoever did them knew what they were doing. If you remember, thank them.” A shadow in the reeds. A voice like a soft command. If I find him, I will. The Market By late morning, I was walking with Fara through the market. The streets were alive—vendors calling, carts clattering, children chasing a dog with stolen bread. Bolts of dyed fabric snapped in the wind. Jewelry sparkled on velvet. The air smelled of spices, warm bread, and river tar. Somewhere, a guitar played against the noise. “Eyes down,” Fara whispered. “You’re a sparrow, not a swan.” I obeyed, but still felt the stares. Not kind. Not curious. Measuring. Whispers followed us. “Isn’t that the girl Lady Serina threw out of the banquet?” “I heard she stole velvet…” “Lord Elron won’t like street trash here.” His name hit me like a stone. Laughter, sharp as a knife, cut the air. A tall woman blocked our path. Golden hair pinned with pearls. A gown worth more than a merchant’s year. The crowd moved aside for her. Lady Serina. Her lips curved. Her eyes were ice. “How dare you show your face here… little maid?” Heat rose under my skin. I kept my head down. She stepped closer, perfume heavy and sweet. “Don’t think Lord Elron will help you again. He has chosen his side.” Another cut. Clean. Deep. “My apprentice owes you nothing,” Fara said firmly. “If you have complaints, take them to the guild.” Serina’s smile stayed. “Tailors,” she said, and let us pass—but her gaze hooked into me. “She knows you,” Fara murmured. “She knows a story,” I said. “Not me.” “Stories can kill,” she warned. The Dress That night, I worked alone in the attic. The lamp glowed soft. The needle in my hand shone like a sliver of moon. On scrap paper, I sketched a dress—beautiful but dangerous. Hidden seams for a knife. A bodice lined with thin chain under the silk. A weighted hem for running. “Luminara,” I whispered, “if I must start again, I will climb higher than before.” Knock. Knock. Knock. Three slow knocks. I opened the door. A tall man in a black cloak stood there. His face hid in shadow. He smelled faintly of rain. He set a sealed envelope on the table. “Princess,” he said softly. The word was careful in his mouth. “They know you’re alive.” “Who sent you?” I asked. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “Your enemies no longer believe the river kept you. They are already moving.” “Why warn me?” “I owe a debt to someone who swore to protect you.” “You pulled me from the water,” I said. “The river spit you out,” he replied. “I was standing where it ended.” Then he left. The envelope sat on the table like a living thing. The Crescent Near dawn, I broke the seal. Inside was a sheet of parchment and a small silver pin shaped like a crescent moon. My breath caught. The crest of Aurelith’s first queens. My crest. The letter read: Riders are coming to Luminara. Stay hidden until the Harvest Moon. On that night, go to the Blackthorn Inn in the Lower Quarter. Come alone. Trust no one. In the palace, those words were fashion. Here, they were survival. I pinned the crescent inside my shift. Its cool weight rested over my heart. The Hunt The next day, the market was busier. Fog burned off the river. Sun lit wet stone. A boy sold paper birds that really flew. One bird sailed high, and I almost smiled—until I saw her. Serina. Her gaze swept the crowd like a hawk. It found me. She crossed the street. “Lin, was it? Or should I call you by your other name?” I kept still. “Relax,” she said. “Your secret is safe… for now. But secrets are expensive. Visit my house. We can… arrange things.” “I’m busy,” I replied. “Everyone is busy—until they’re not.” Her eyes flicked to my hands. “Those are not the hands of a maid.” “We’ll talk soon,” she said, and walked away. The Dagger That evening, the river turned from silver to steel. The crescent pin lay on the table. I touched it once. A knock. Fara stood there with a cloth-wrapped bundle. “A delivery,” she said. “No name. I don’t like it.” Inside was a dagger. A black gem in the hilt. A crescent near the guard. A thin line of dried blood. “It’s not staying here,” she said. “I’ll keep it hidden,” I told her. She studied me. “Be a sparrow. Sparrows live. Swans get plucked.” When she left, I hid the dagger under the false bottom of my sewing basket. The Second Knock Knock. Knock. Knock. The same sound. I opened the door. The man in the cloak stood there again. A pale scar curved along his jaw. He set another envelope on the table. “Princess,” he said, voice urgent. “They know you’re alive.” “How many?” “Enough to make the next days dangerous. Not enough to make them impossible.” “Who sent this?” “Someone who believes your story isn’t over.” “Then they’d better be right.” “Hide well. Trust no one.” “Not even the man who pulled me from the river?” I asked. He paused. “Especially not him.” He left. I stood with the envelope in my hand. The crescent pin lay cool on my skin. The dagger slept under thread and cloth. The game had begun—whether I agreed or not. I slid my finger under the seal— [To be continued…]