C HA P T E R T W E N T Y – S I X
It’s getting harder and harder to be around her.
C HA P T E R T W E N T Y – S I X
Olwyn
T he grand hall is a flurry of movement, filled with Sera’s and Thalia’s chatter as they scurry about, preparing for the upcoming ball.
A cascade of flowers, ribbons, and candles adorns the table in front of me, their scents blending into something both calming and heady. The steady hum of activity around us would’ve overwhelmed me just a month ago, but now, it feels almost… invigorating.
I roll up my sleeves, enjoying the loose comfort of the white shirt and breeches I’m wearing, a far cry from the dresses I’ve grown used to. The fabric billows around me as I move between the arrangements, nodding approvingly at the work Sera and Thalia are doing.
“Your Majesty,” Sera says brightly, her arms full of fabric swatches. “Which colour do you think would complement the garden roses? We’re torn between the blush or the deep wine.”
“Wine,” I say after a moment of consideration. “It’ll make them stand out more.”
Thalia raises an eyebrow, glancing at Sera, impressed. “Not bad,” she says with a grin. “You’ve got a good eye.”
I can’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of me. “Only because you’ve both taught me so well the last couple of weeks.”
They both giggle, moving to test out the swatches against the arrangements, when I catch a glimpse of someone in the corner of my eye. A figure—human, female—standing behind them, looking as if she is working on one of the flower arrangements. I don’t recognize her. She doesn’t belong.
Something feels… off.
The stranger’s eyes dart toward me every so often, and an uneasy feeling prickles at the back of my neck. I try to ignore it, to focus on the work at hand, but my gaze keeps sliding toward her.
She’s watching me. Intently.
I glance at the strange woman, then quickly avert my gaze, hoping Sera and Thalia won’t notice the growing tension in my posture. But the woman’s presence continues to gnaw at me.
“Are you alright, Your Majesty?” Thalia asks, raising an eyebrow as she sets down a string of pearls meant to drape the centrepiece, and they roll off the table.
My attention falters for only a second.
But that’s all the time she needs.
The flash of silver is the first thing I register—a dagger slicing through the air, aimed directly at me. My body reacts on instinct, my warm hand moving before my mind even processes the threat. I sidestep swiftly, the blade just missing my neck, and in one motion, I reach out and snatch the dagger from the air, the hilt landing perfectly in my palm.
Sera and Thalia scream, stumbling backward, but I’m already moving, the human guards on the outskirts of the room following me.
She’s running.
I toss the dagger aside and take off after her without a second thought. My boots pound against the marble floor as I give chase, adrenaline surging through my veins. I’m faster than I’ve ever been, my body responding with newfound strength, my focus razor-sharp. How am I this fast? My breath comes in sharp bursts, my thoughts racing as I push myself harder. Is it the training with Iolas? My magic? Or something else? I don’t know, but I can’t question it now—I need to catch her.
The woman darts down the corridor, but she’s sloppy, her movements frantic. I push myself harder, gaining on her with every stride. The pounding of my feet echoes through the marble halls, and yet, I feel like I’m moving faster than I should, faster than my body has ever been capable of. This is beyond my training, I think, it doesn’t make sense.
As we near the grand entrance to the palace, a shadow curls at the edge of my vision.
It moves like it’s alive—dark, and deliberate.
A tendril of black snakes out from the ground, wrapping itself around the woman’s ankle and yanking her off balance. She stumbles, crashing to the floor with a loud thud, but she’s quick. Too quick. She springs to her feet, ripping another dagger free from her belt. Several more guards from the courtyard rush forward, blocking her way forward as they point their swords at her.
I stop just short of her, breathing heavily but not winded as two guard stop behind me. The adrenaline pumps through me, making my limbs feel light, strong. I stare her down, ready for whatever comes next.
“Who sent you?” I demand, my voice steady despite the heat rising in my chest.
The woman laughs. It's a cold, bitter sound, and her eyes gleam with silver, something wild and dangerous.
Behind me, I hear the familiar sound of boots hitting the ground—Altair and Iolas, their presence unmistakable. I can feel Altair’s rage boiling just beside me, his darkness reaching out like it wants to consume the woman in front of me. But even through his fury, his voice remains steady.
The guards step forward but Altair’s voice halts them.
“Olwyn can handle it,” he says, though there’s a dangerous edge to his tone.
Iolas, however, isn’t as restrained. A low growl escapes him, his fangs bared at the woman as he steps closer. His gaze flicks between me and the assassin, clearly torn between letting me finish this fight and tearing her apart himself.
The woman shifts, her grip tightening on the dagger. She knows she won’t be making it home. How badly she gets hurt in the process is up to her now.
She seems to glance over at Altair, something like recognition passing through her eyes, and for a brief moment, I see a flicker of…nervousness.
“Who sent you?” I repeat, and I sense Altair stiffen.
But she just laughs again, her amusement cutting through the tension like a knife. “You think I’m going to tell you anything, little queen ?” she sneers.
And then she lunges.
She’s fast, but this time, I’m faster. My training with Iolas and Altair kicks in, my body moving with a precision and strength I hadn’t even realised I’d developed. I sidestep her wild swing easily, ducking under her arm and spinning behind her. Before she can recover, I land a hard blow to her ribs, sending her staggering.
She grunts, slashing at me with the dagger, but I’m already moving again, dodging and weaving, keeping just out of her reach. She’s sloppy, desperate, and that gives me the advantage. Each strike I land throws her further off balance, until finally, with a well-aimed kick, I knock the dagger from her hand, sending it skittering across the floor.
I press forward, grabbing her wrist and twisting it behind her back, pinning her against the wall. She struggles, but I hold her fast, the strength in my arms surprising even me.
“Who sent you?” I ask again, my voice low and firm.
She spits at my feet, laughing through her laboured breaths. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Her tone is laced with malice, an eerie sense of certainty that makes my skin crawl. She doesn’t seem afraid—not of me, not of Altair or Iolas, not of anything. And that terrifies me more than I’d like to admit.
I grip her wrist tighter, pinning her harder against the wall, trying to push down the rising panic in my chest. She struggles, but I hold her fast. She is weaker than me now. It's strange, but the thought of my strength fills me with a twisted sense of pride. But it also leaves me feeling vulnerable—because I shouldn’t be strong enough to take someone like this down, not so easily. Not without years of training like Iolas. Like Altair.
A cold laugh escapes her again. “You have no idea what's coming, do you?” She sneers, and the venom in her words sends another wave of unease rippling through me. Her gaze flicks toward Altair, and I see a glint of recognition—something dark and sinister. “When they come for you… when they come for him… it’ll be too late.”
I don’t know what pushes me over the edge, but the moment she mentions Altair, the world blurs. I can’t let her live, not after she’s tried to take my life. Not after she’s hinted at something more, something darker coming our way.
She can’t be freed. She’ll come for me again. For him. For all of us.
There’s only one way to ensure that doesn’t happen.
I let her go.
She hisses, turning to attack me again, but I’m faster. Before she can strike, I grab the dagger from the ground. Without thinking, without hesitating, I plunge it into her chest.
The sound of metal piercing flesh is sickening—wet, final. Her body jerks, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as her dull brown eyes widen in shock. Blood spills from the wound, warm and thick, soaking through her tunic and onto my hand.
Her hands scramble uselessly at my wrist, her strength already fading, her breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps.
I stand there, frozen, watching as the life slowly drains from her eyes.
I can feel my heart hammering in my chest, and my breath catches in my throat as I realise what I’ve done.
She sags against me, her blood staining my hands as her body growing heavier, until finally, she collapses to the ground in a heap.
For a long moment, there’s only silence. The world seems to have stopped around me, everything frozen in place as I stare down at her lifeless body. Blood pools around her, staining the ground floor beneath our feet.
My hands are trembling.
“You...” Altair’s voice is quiet, soft, but there’s something heavy in it, something raw and unspoken. His eyes are on me, wide with a mix of emotions I can’t quite name.
Iolas, on the other hand, seems completely still, his nostrils flaring as the scent of death fills the air. He bares his teeth, his growl low and dangerous, his eyes flashing as he stares down at the corpse.
But no one speaks.
I let go of the dagger and stumble back, the sharp clang of it hitting the floor echoing in the vast hallway. I can’t breathe, can’t think. My chest feels tight, like there’s a weight crushing me, suffocating me.
“Leave!” Altair commands his men, and they leave the three of us.
“I—” My voice cracks. I can’t even finish the sentence.
Altair steps forward, his dark shadows slithering around the edges of the space, watching. Protecting. He reaches out slowly, as if afraid to spook me. His fingers brush my arm, steadying me.
“Olwyn, love” he murmurs, his tone soft now, almost coaxing. “You had no choice.”
I shake my head, unable to meet his gaze. “I—killed her.”
He takes another step closer, his hand resting on my shoulder. “She came to kill you. It was self-defence.”
But it doesn’t feel like that. The rush of adrenaline is gone, replaced by a hollow, gnawing sensation that twists in my gut. I look down at the blood staining my hands, unable to reconcile the image with the person I thought I was.
Altair’s grip tightens on my shoulder, his face unreadable, but his voice low and firm. “You saved yourself.”
Iolas stands a few paces back, his eyes still locked on the body. His hands are clenched into fists, and I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his entire frame is coiled like a spring ready to snap. But he says nothing.
“Let’s go,” Altair says quietly, taking my hand, his touch firm but gentle as he leads me away from the scene. I let him guide me, unable to find the strength to argue.