63. Chapter 63
R en slipped into her room after an evening at the tavern with Elira.
After finding out about the events yesterday when speaking with Zakhar, she needed an evening of going out into the town.
She couldn't help but feel guilty for nights of indulging in drink and revelry with Elira, yet these nights kept her going.
Her stomach still felt pleasantly full, but her pride ached from yet another swift defeat at darts. Elira’s precision was inhuman, every throw a perfect strike that left Ren muttering about unfair advantages and reflexes.
Ren was already half-grinning at the thought of telling Mirella about it, gossiping over a bottle of wine before sinking into the steaming hot springs.
Through staying in Pyraelia, Ren admittedly found herself growing almost fond of these small indulgences like the warmth of good food in Pyraelia, the hum of laughter in the taverns, the simple comfort of being clean and unhurried for once.
She tugged at the ties of her outer tunic, already anticipating the heat of the baths—
Then froze mid-motion.
There, sitting neatly in the middle of her bed, was a wooden box. It was plain, unadorned .
“Someone left a gift for you,” Mirella trilled from her corner, her voice lilting in a sing-song mockery. “Go on – open it.”
Ren narrowed her eyes, staring at the box as though it might sprout claws and leap for her throat.
“Go on,” Mirella pressed. “What are you waiting for?”
“Who left this?”
“You’ll know as soon as you open it.” Mischief glimmered in Mirella’s tone, like a child waiting for their prank to unfold.
Ren crossed her arms, unmoving.
Mirella sighed dramatically. “Trust issues, Ren, honestly.”
Ren shot her a glare that could have curdled milk. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
She picked up the box, half expecting it to be heavier. But it was feather-light. She tilted it slightly, waiting for a rattle, a shift.
Nothing.
Gingerly, Ren slid her fingers over the lid, lifting it open as though disarming a trap.
Inside lay ribbons.
Dozens of them. Satin, silk, cotton—some glossy, some matte. All folded with care, arranged neatly in a rainbow of color. Crimson. Indigo. Gold. Forest green. Every shade imaginable, waiting like treasures in the modest box.
Strapped to the lid was a slip of parchment, tucked securely beneath the band. Ren’s chest squeezed as her eyes fell upon the familiar handwriting, the elegant cursive she had already memorized.
Ren’s hand shook as she tugged the note free, unfolding it with a reverence she couldn’t disguise.
I remember what you told me—the ribbons you stole as a girl because you wanted to have something that was yours. You shouldn’t have had to steal to feel that way. If I’d been there, I would have given you all the ribbons you could have ever wanted.
So here they are, darling. Yours. Always yours.
—Kaelin
Ren she sank on the bed, the note trembling in her hand. She blinked hard against the heat rising in her eyes .
It was foolish how something so small could unravel her, how one slip of parchment and a box of ribbons could feel more valuable than any piece of jewelry.
A smile tugged at the corners of Ren’s mouth. She touched the ribbons, the silks cool and smooth beneath her fingers.
Mirella’s voice broke through the haze. “Well, well, well.”
Ren jerked, shoving the note to her lap as though hiding a guilty secret. But Mirella was already swooping in, ever so insightful. “What’s that, Ren? Is that… a smile? Gods above, I didn’t think your face even knew how to do that.”
Ren scowled, though the expression wavered, betrayed by the softness still curling her lips. “Shut up.”
“Oh, this is rich.” Mirella jiggled excitedly, her drawers drumming together in mock swoon. “Whoever gave you that box must be very, very special. Look at you—smiling like a maiden in love.”
Ren’s cheeks flared.
Mirella only cackled, her laughter bouncing around the chamber like bells. “Oh, I am never letting you live this down. Never.”
Ren rolled her eyes, trying to school her face into its usual mask of steel. But even she couldn’t smother the warmth blooming in her chest, the way her heart ached with something dangerously close to hope.
Because Kaelin had cared enough to remind Ren she didn’t need to steal scraps of beauty anymore.
Not when someone wanted to give her the world.
Ren braided her hair that night, fingers weaving with deliberate precision as she threaded a violet ribbon through the plait.
The color reminded her of twilight skies she caught once or twice here in Pyraelia when strolling the gardens. Ren caught her reflection in the mirror and allowed herself a fleeting moment of admiration before exhaustion lulled her to her bed.
For once, she felt like sleeping in her own room. The quiet was comforting, a stillness she hadn’t realized she’d missed. She slipped beneath the blankets, the faint hum of the palace beyond her walls fading into calm.
As Ren’s eyes grew heavy, she heard Mirella sigh from the other side of the room. “Falling in love. Makes me wonder what that might feel like.”
Ren smiled faintly into her pillow but didn’t answer; sleep found her before she could.
But sleep did not keep her.
Her instincts snapped her awake at the unshakable awareness of another presence in her room.
Ren scanned the room. Mirella’s figure sat in her corner, perfectly still, likely deep in her trance-like version of sleep.
But someone else was here.
Through the darkness, Ren’s gaze fell on a shadow in her doorway. Ren willed herself to remain limp, feigning sleep, waiting to see if the intruder would withdraw.
They didn’t.
Their steps were soft, deliberate, bringing them closer with each breath Ren drew. Her muscles tensed beneath the sheets, hands curling into fists, Ashrend’s hilt waiting only inches away.
The figure stopped beside her bed.
Ren shot upright, steel flashing. Ashrend met another blade, already drawn. The crash of steel clanged through the silence as Ren locked eyes with her intruder.
The hood obscured their features, shadows swallowing their face, but Ren felt the heaviness of their stare.
“Wrong room, I take it,” Ren hissed, teeth bared. Her sword pressed harder against theirs.
With a burst of strength, Ren twisted, hooking her legs around the figure’s waist, driving upward to throw them off balance. For a moment, she almost succeeded.
But the figure moved faster.
Gloved fingers shot out, wrapping tight around Ren’s throat, and Ren was slammed back against her mattress.
Her breath vanished in a choke. The intruder’s weight pinned her, the pressure on her windpipe fierce enough to blur the edges of her vision.
For a terrifying heartbeat, she thought they would crush the life from her .
Then their grip loosened, enough to allow air to scrape back into her lungs.
Ren coughed. She lashed out with Ashrend, steel singing as she carved through the space between them. The hooded figure only leaned back, avoiding the strike with a casual grace.
Their blade pressed against her throat in turn, the cool bite of metal kissing her skin.
“Leave this palace,” the stranger whispered, voice low, threaded with menace. “Tonight.”
Ren’s lips curled, her voice steady despite the blade. “You’ll have to do better than threats. If you’re going to kill me, at least try to make it interesting. Who are you?”
The hooded figure tilted their head. “Names are for the living, and if you’re not careful, you won’t need mine.”
Ren narrowed her eyes. “You’re not answering my question.”
“That’s because you never learned when not to ask one.
” The blade at her throat eased away just enough for them to step closer, close enough that she could feel the whisper of their breath against her ear.
“You speak when you should listen. You rush when you should think. And that—” they paused, voice dipping lower, “—will be your downfall. You clearly are in no position to make demands.”
Ren’s jaw clenched. “Then I’ll die trying. It must be easy to sound brave when no one knows your face.”
Then Ren spat up at the figure.
The intruder went deathly still.
Then, the first punch cracked against Ren’s cheekbone. The second came harder, snapping her head to the side. She wheezed, tasting blood, but swung her fist anyway, but it only met air.
Fuck.
A third blow caught her in the ribs, and the world tilted. Ren gasped, the sound torn from her lungs as she rolled off the bed, landing on the floor in a huff of limbs. Another strike from the intruder’s boots, another—the hits came in rhythm, efficient, unrelenting.
“Get off me, you coward, you bastard—” Ren managed in fury as each assault came. But her breath caught when stars burst behind her eyes. The edges of the room blurred, the world narrowing to a pulse and the metallic tang of her own blood .
Through the haze, she caught the glint of the stranger’s blade sheathing, the shimmer of a cloak shifting toward the door. The figure paused only once.
Then they were gone, leaving Ren slumped on the floor.
Her cheek throbbed, her ribs ached, and blood dripped from her split lip, but her mind was already racing. She’d pushed their buttons on purpose. If they’d truly meant to kill her, she’d be a corpse cooling on the stone by now. No, this was a warning.
Still, there’d been something in those blows, more than temper, more than pride. Each strike had landed with precision, with intent. This was a message, carved into her with bruises and blood. Stay out of it. Leave while you can.
Ren pressed a trembling hand to the floor, forcing herself upright. And though fear bristled along her nerves, she couldn’t ignore what she’d seen in those last moments—the swagger in the intruder’s stance, the cocky tilt of their head, the effortless confidence in every movement.
It was familiar. Maddeningly so. But she couldn’t place it.
Whoever they were, they knew her.
And they wanted her gone.