Cassie barely had time to register the sound before the window shattered inward, shards of glass scattering across her quarters. A second figure landed lightly on the floor, blade drawn.

  The one already in the room let out a sharp breath, annoyed. "I said I could handle her alone."

  The newcomer hesitated, their hooded gaze shifting between Cassie and the other assassin. Then, with a small nod, they stepped back toward the window. "Make it quick."

  And just like that, they were gone, vanishing into the night.

  Cassie didn't have time to dwell on it. The first attacker was already moving, knife flashing toward her ribs.

  The attacker’s movements were quick and deliberate, their strikes precise and relentless. Cassie parried with her dagger, the clash of steel filling the room. Each blow forced her to give ground, the attacker driving her toward the corner.

  “Persistent,” Cassie muttered under her breath, sidestepping a strike aimed at her ribs. She retaliated with a low slash, her blade grazing their cloak. The attacker twisted away, silent and focused, their eyes fixed on her like a predator sizing up prey.

  The fight tipped over into chaos as they lunged again. Cassie feigned weakness, letting them close the distance before kicking the edge of a chair into their knees. The wood splintered with the force, the impact sending the attacker stumbling back just enough for her to press her advantage. She followed through with a slash aimed at their throat.

  They caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting it with brutal efficiency. Pain shot up her arm as her dagger clattered to the floor. Cassie bit back a cry, instead surging forward to slam her head into their face. The sharp crack of bone against mask stunned them long enough for her to grab the hilt of her fallen weapon.

  The masked figure recovered quickly, though their movements were slower now. Blood dripped from beneath the edge of their mask, staining the floor in small, deliberate drops. Cassie lunged again, and this time, her blade found its mark. The dagger slid through their side, just below the ribs.

  A sharp gasp escaped the attacker’s lips, their body stiffening before they staggered back. They glanced toward the shattered window, then at Cassie, who stood poised to strike again.

  “You should’ve stayed out of this,” the masked figure hissed, voice low and venomous. With a burst of movement, they vaulted onto the sill and disappeared into the night.

  Cassie stood motionless for a moment, her breaths coming hard and fast. Her hand tightened on her dagger as her gaze shifted to the floor. Blood trailed toward the window, but the assailant was gone.

  Her eyes fell to the blade embedded in the wall near her desk. Cassie yanked it free and examined it closely, her thoughts racing.

  The air in the barracks was tense when Cassie arrived, the knife still clutched in her hand. Captain Hildiger stood near the entryway, his sharp eyes scanning her disheveled appearance as she approached.

  “Another attack?” he asked grimly.

  “They came into my quarters,” she said, holding up the blade. She handed him the knife, her gaze steady. “They left this behind.”

  He turned it over in his hands, his frown deepening. “I’m doubling the guard around your quarters.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “That won’t stop them. They’re after something bigger than me.” She hesitated, weighing her options before continuing. “I think it’s time I spoke to Dietrich.”

  Hildiger’s expression hardened. “Dietrich isn’t exactly a fan of your presence.”

  “I’m not asking for his approval. I’m asking for answers.”

  Cassie left Hildiger without another word. Servants gave her wary glances as she passed, their whispers barely audible, but she ignored them. If anyone knew the players behind the masked attackers, it would be Dietrich.

  Dietrich’s chambers carried the cloying scent of incense, masking the bitterness of salves and blood. The heavy curtains muted the late morning light, leaving the room steeped in shadow. Cassie stepped inside, noting the way Dietrich’s expression shifted when he saw her. His eyes narrowed, lips twisting into a smirk that didn’t reach his gaze.

  “Well, if it isn’t my brother’s favorite weapon,” he drawled, reclining against a stack of pillows. “Here to bring me another stern message about loyalty?”

  “Here to stop you from making a mistake,” Cassie replied evenly, closing the door behind her.

  Dietrich’s smirk widened. “And here I thought you only took orders. I didn’t realize you fancied yourself a strategist.”

  “I don’t care what you think of me,” she said, stepping closer. “But someone just broke into my quarters. They left this.” She tossed the blade onto the table beside him, its hilt gleaming in the dim light.

  Dietrich regarded it with casual disinterest. “I see my brother’s paranoia is spreading,” he murmured, leaning back. “What does this have to do with me?”

  Cassie crossed her arms. “You know as well as I do that someone’s organizing these attacks. Someone with resources and an agenda.”

  “And yet, you’re here, accusing me of complicity,” Dietrich said, his voice soft but cutting. “Have you considered the possibility that my dear brother planted this? A convenient little diversion to keep everyone looking the other way?”

  Cassie raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “What? I only asked if you knew them or had any dealings with them in the past.” She uncrossed her arms, but her gaze remained sharp, unwavering. “I’m not accusing you, Dietrich. Just trying to figure out who’s behind this.”

  Dietrich's expression hardened, and he took a slow step forward, his gaze fixed on her. “I’ve seen brothers do worse to each other, Cassie. The kind of power Theodoric craves doesn’t come without sacrifices. He wasn’t always the Crown Prince.”

  “You really think Theodoric staged his own insignias at the hunting grounds?” she asked, her tone flat. “You’re not that na?ve.”

  “Na?ve?” Dietrich chuckled, the sound cold and hollow. “Hardly. But I’ve learned not to underestimate Theodoric’s appetite for control—or yours, for that matter.”

  Cassie’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t about control. It’s about survival. Whoever’s behind this wants the wards to fail. They want chaos.”

  “Chaos suits Theodoric just fine,” Dietrich said, his gaze sharpening. “Every rumor, every attack, every failure—it all drives the court into his hands.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back. “The court isn’t his yet. But if you keep playing their game, it will be.”

  For a moment, the room fell silent. Dietrich’s smirk faded, though his expression remained guarded. “You’re bold,” he said quietly. “I’ll give you that. But boldness doesn’t make you right.”

  “I’m not here to be right,” Cassie said, turning toward the door. “I’m here to stop you from being wrong.”

  She left without waiting for his reply, though the weight of his gaze followed her out. Dietrich’s veiled threats lingered in her mind, his smug demeanor as grating as the implications of his words.

  By the time she reached her quarters, the tension of the day pressed heavily on her. She closed the door behind her, bolting it out of habit. Dropping her cloak over the back of a chair, she moved to the desk, eyes scanning the scattered evidence: false insignias, forged maps, and the blade she’d taken from the masked attacker. Each item seemed like a piece of a puzzle she couldn’t yet solve.

  The thought barely formed when a faint rustle drew her attention. Her eyes snapped to the door as she approached it cautiously, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. No sound followed.

  When she opened the door, the hallway was empty save for a folded piece of parchment resting on the floor. Cassie unfolded it carefully, her eyes scanning the sharp, scrawled handwriting:

  Meet me in the west garden at midnight. I can show you the truth about the princes.

  Her fingers tightened on the parchment as her gaze flicked toward the dagger resting on the nearby table.

  The weight of her exhaustion pressed against her, but she couldn’t ignore the opportunity. Whoever sent the note knew something—and in a court where information was currency, this could tip the scales.