Chapter 2 The Assassin

The paper crumpled in my fist.

"You're joking." The laugh that escaped me sounded strangled.

"You're actually joking right now."

I was here because of a COMMENT? Because I defended a fictional character on the internet?

"I was just venting!" I shouted at the ceiling, at the author, at whatever cosmic force thought this was funny. "I didn't mean—I didn't even ask for this!"

Silence answered me.

How was this even possible? The author had read my comment and decided to teach me a

lesson by throwing me into their novel.

"Won't chicken out easily?" I laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. "You threw me into a death sentence! Three months! Silver dies in THREE MONTHS!"

I paced the room, my hands shaking, my mind racing through

everything I knew about the plot. The Spring Ball.

~

It had been an hour, and it was obvious I was trapped. No amount of wishing would change that.

My head hurt from all of this. From the impossibility. From waking up in someone else's body in a world that shouldn't exist. But I couldn't go back and forth on something that had already happened.

A knock interrupted my thoughts.

"My lady, breakfast is ready."

I took a breath. Steadied myself.

I knew what to expect. I just needed to play along.

I opened the door to find a maid whose expression said she'd rather be anywhere else. Her eyes barely met mine, her posture stiff with contempt.

Right. Silver was hated by everyone. Even the servants.

"Lead the way," I said, keeping my voice level.

She turned without a word.

~

The dining hall was exactly as the novel described—a long table stretching beneath a crystal chandelier, servants positioned along the walls.

But being here in person was different.

Arthur sat at the center of the table, all golden hair and

princely posture—the kind of looks that probably launched a

thousand sighs from court ladies.

He didn't look up when I entered.

I didn't wait for him to.

The King occupied the head of the table, reading documents

between bites.

The Queen watched me with the kind of pity that pretends to

be kindness, her soft smile almost apologetic.

Perfect. The whole messed-up family is here for breakfast.

In the novel, this breakfast was where Silver begged Arthur

for attention. She embarrassed herself trying to make him look

at her. Cried when he ignored her.

I walked to the table with my head high.

Not today.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," I said, offering the King a

respectful nod before turning to the Queen. "Your Highness."

The Queen's eyebrows rose slightly. Since when did Silver greet anyone but Arthur first?

"Good morning, dear," she said cautiously. "Please, sit."

I sat across from Arthur, not beside him like Silver usually did.

He noticed. I saw him hesitate with his fork before continuing to eat.

"Silver," the Queen began carefully, "you slept in a separate

room from Arthur last night. Is everything all right?"

In the novel, this was Silver's cue to break down. To cry

about how Arthur didn't love her, how he wouldn't even share

a room with her.

Pathetic.

"Mother," Arthur cut in sharply, "this isn't appropriate

breakfast conversation—"

He was looking at me now. Finally.

His eyes were blue. Annoyingly blue.

I met his gaze calmly. "I needed space. There are things I

have to resolve on my own."

Complete silence.

The Queen stared at me as if someone told her the earth was flat. The King—well, he didn't act like he was part of this conversation.

And Arthur, His expression shifted from irritation to confusion to something I couldn't quite read.

This wasn't the Silver he knew.

"Space?" the Queen repeated faintly. "From your husband?"

Husband. The word tasted bitter. We were recently married. Bound to a man who'd eventually order my execution.

"Yes," I said, taking a sip of tea. "Space."

Arthur was still staring.

"Silver, if something is bothering you—" the Queen started.

"I'll let you know when I'm ready to discuss it," I interrupted gently but firmly. "For now, I'd appreciate it if we could just enjoy breakfast."

The King actually looked at me this time.

Arthur opened his mouth like he wanted to say something. Our eyes met for just a second, and I saw something flicker there—confusion.

Then he closed his mouth again. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking.

Whatever he'd wanted to say, he swallowed it down.

I looked away, back to my food. Let him choke on his unspoken words.

Three months until the Spring Ball. I needed allies. I needed a plan and I needed to stop acting like the pathetic villainess who died begging for a man's love.

A guard stumbled in, slightly out of breath, his face pale.

"Your Majesty—forgive the interruption—we've captured an

assassin."

The King and Arthur both stood immediately.

"Where?" the King demanded.

"East wing, Your Majesty. He broke into the palace before we apprehended him."

"I'll handle this," the King said. "Arthur, come with me."

They moved toward the door without hesitation.

I set down my teacup carefully. "If you'll excuse me, Your Highness."

The Queen looked uncertain. "Silver, perhaps you should—"

I left before she could stop me.

~

I followed the commotion, past nervous servants and rushing guards.

When I reached the gathering outside what looked like an interrogation room, I found exactly what I expected: worried faces, tense shoulders, an atmosphere thick with unease.

The King stood with his advisors. Arthur paced nearby, jaw tight with frustration.

When Arthur saw me approach, his eyes flickered in my direction before he deliberately looked away.

Pretending he hadn't seen me.

Fine.

I I walked straight through the space he'd been pacing, forcing him to step aside, and stopped in front of the King.

"Your Majesty, is there a problem?"

He turned, mildly surprised. "Lady Silver. This doesn't concern you."

"An assassin in the palace concerns everyone," I said calmly. "What was his mission here?"

"We have everything under control."

A man emerged from the interrogation room at that moment—one of the royal interrogators, looking pale and shaken.

"Well?" the King demanded.

The interrogator shook his head. "He won't speak, Your Majesty. Won't even acknowledge our questions. Just... watches."

The King's voice sharpened. "What did you learn?"

"Very little, Your Majesty. But his appearance is... unusual." The interrogator hesitated. "His eyes are red. Like blood. And his skin is deathly pale, he might be cursed or demon-touched."

My heart stopped.

"Red eyes?" The words came out before I could stop them.

The interrogator nodded. "Glowing red, my lady. Unnatural. It's unsettling."

It couldn't be.

Vampires were extinct—hunted to extinction over a century ago.

Everyone knew that.

But I'd read the novel. I knew what they didn't.

One vampire survived. One Vampire Lord who'd hidden in the

shadows for decades, waiting. Raven.

And he wasn't supposed to appear for months yet. Not until the

war. Not until—

"Perhaps we should call for a priest," one advisor suggested nervously.

The priest wouldn't help. Raven didn't fear priests.

"I'll see him," I said.

Every head turned toward me.

"Lady Silver," the King said carefully, "this is too dangerous—"

"I represent House Noir in my father's absence," I said clearly.

"One of the five founding houses of this kingdom. If an assassin

has infiltrated the palace, my house has a right—and a duty—to

help protect the crown."

I met the King's eyes. "Besides, your interrogators have gotten

nothing. What do you have to lose by trying a different approach?"

The King studied me with those sharp, calculating eyes.

"Your Majesty, I must protest—" an advisor began.

"She represents House Noir," the King said slowly. "And she makes a valid point. Our methods have failed. Perhaps a different approach is warranted."

"Father—" Arthur started.

"Ten minutes," the King decided. "Guards will be stationed outside. Any sign of danger, they intervene immediately."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

Arthur stepped in front of me as I moved toward the door.

Up close, I could see something in his eyes I hadn't expected. Concern? Or just worry about the political

scandal if his wife got killed by an assassin?

"I'm coming with you," he said. Not a question. A statement.

"No, you're not."

His jaw clenched. "You can't possibly think—"

"I think your presence would be a distraction," I said

calmly. "Sorry, dear."

I could feel his blood pressure rising.

I walked past him without waiting for a response, my shoulder

brushing his arm as I passed.

I didn't look back, but I could feel his stare following me all

the way to the door.

​