The wind tugged at Elara's cloak, carrying with it the scent of rain that had yet to fall. It threaded through her hair like invisible fingers, lifting strands that clung stubbornly to the edge of her hood. Somewhere in the depths of the city, a watchman's bell chimed the late hour, each toll echoing faintly against the stone walls of sleeping houses.
She knelt low, fingertips brushing the cool slate of the rooftop. The surface was slick from the day's earlier drizzle, and the faint grit beneath her gloves spoke of weeks without proper cleaning—perfect for muffling her movements. Her eyes narrowed on the palace. Even from here, its towers rose like silvered spears into the moonlight, the windows glowing with soft amber fire.
Beneath her calm surface, her thoughts ran sharp and swift. The job was simple—or it had been, when she first heard it explained. Slip past the guards. Lift the sealed letter. Vanish into the night. No one would even know it was missing until morning. But nothing about the palace was ever truly simple. Its walls were layered with history and secrets, its corridors patrolled by men trained to notice the faintest disturbance.
And tonight, rumor whispered, the prince himself was restless, walking the halls instead of sleeping in the safety of his chambers. That had been an inconvenience she hadn't accounted for.
She shifted her weight, tested the next rooftop with the ball of her foot, and leapt soundlessly across the narrow gap. The city unfurled below like a dark ocean, its streets winding and narrow, lanterns glowing faintly in scattered pools of light. Somewhere, the distant clatter of hooves rang against cobblestone. Somewhere else, laughter drifted from a tavern, quickly swallowed by the night.
Above it all, the palace stood apart—aloof, unyielding. The stone walls seemed carved from the night itself, their sheer height a statement of power rather than defense.
Inside those walls, Kael stood before a tall window, the moonlight turning the polished steel of his armor into liquid silver. The faint scent of oiled leather clung to him, mingling with the cool breeze that slipped through the narrow gap in the casement. He should have been resting—tomorrow's council meeting promised hours of tedium—but his mind was too crowded.
Whispers of unrest in the borderlands, of a brewing rebellion, gnawed at him. The faces of his father's advisors, each one a master of politics, swam in his thoughts. And beneath those concerns was something less tangible—a feeling, as if the air itself were shifting, like the moment before a storm breaks. He had learned to trust such instincts; they had saved his life more than once on the battlefield.
He ran a hand over his jaw, the faint rasp of stubble catching on his palm. Duty was a heavy thing. It was a weight he'd been trained to carry since boyhood, but some nights, the burden pressed harder.
A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision. His hand went immediately to the hilt of his sword, though he told himself it was nothing—perhaps the wind stirring the torchlight in the courtyard below. Yet, for reasons he could not name, his pulse quickened.
On the parapet above, Elara stilled, every muscle tightening. She had not expected him to be awake, much less standing in plain sight. The light from the chamber showed his features, catching on the line of his cheekbone, the faint crease between his brows.
He looked… less like the untouchable royal her employers had painted him to be, and more like a man who carried too much on his shoulders.
It was dangerous to think about him in such human terms. A prince was a target, a symbol—never a person. But still, something in her chest shifted, unsettled. She had seen kings and generals before, each of them guided with arrogance, but there was a stillness to Kael that made her hesitate.
From somewhere deep in the palace, a door slammed. The sound cracked through the night like a whip. Elara's head snapped toward it, her ears straining.
Footsteps followed—measured but urgent. Voices, low but growing clearer.
Her pulse drummed in her ears. She could retreat now. Disappear into the city's shadows, and no one would ever know she had been there. The letter would remain where it was, safe behind locked doors. But retreat would mean failure, and her employers were not forgiving.
She drew a slow breath, steadying herself. There was no margin for error tonight.
Sliding down from the parapet's peak, she pressed herself flat against the cold stone. The palace wall loomed before her, the narrow seam between two windows just wide enough for her fingers to find purchase. Her boots caught on a ledge barely thicker than her thumb. She began to climb, moving with deliberate precision.
Inside, Kael turned from the window, unsettled by the faint rustle he thought he'd heard outside. He crossed the chamber in silence, pausing near the heavy drapes. His instincts urged him to look, to confirm the source—but something in him hesitated. Paranoia was an easy trap in the palace; every shadow could not be an assassin.
And yet…
Outside, Elara reached the lower edge of the prince's balcony. She crouched in the shadow of the stone balustrade, listening. The voices inside the palace had grown louder, close enough now that she could pick out individual words. Orders. Patrol shifts.
She had minutes—no, seconds.
Her gaze flicked toward the open balcony doors. The faint glow of candlelight spilled out, pooling on the pale marble floor within. She could hear the faint scrape of boot leather—one man's steps, not a guard patrol.
Her heartbeat matched the rhythm of those steps.
A single misstep could cost lives. One discovery could ignite a war. And one encounter, could bind her to this man in ways she could neither predict nor control.
She exhaled, her breath vanishing into the night. And then she moved fast— toward the danger.
The rain began to fall in the distance, soft at first, a whisper against the rooftops. The first drops touched her hood as she reached for the balcony rail.
The night had shifted. What began as a theft might end as something far more dangerous.
The rain quickened, beading along the rail as Elara vaulted soundlessly over it. Her boots touched the marble without a sound, the cool surface almost slick beneath her weight. She remained low, the shadows wrapping around her like a second cloak.
Inside, Kael paused mid-step. There—again. That faint whisper, too deliberate to be the wind. His sword slid halfway from its sheath with the quiet rasp of steel on leather.
"I don't recall inviting anyone to my chambers," he said into the quiet, his tone even but edged.
Elara stilled. He wasn't shouting for guards. That was… interesting.
She let the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle him, then stepped from behind the heavy drape. The hood still shadowed most of her face, but the glint of her eyes behind the mask caught the candlelight.
Kael's gaze locked on her instantly—assessing, measuring. Not a maid. Not a courtier. Her stance spoke of someone who knew how to move quickly and strike hard if needed.
"That's because I wasn't looking for an invitation," she said softly, her voice carrying a note of cool amusement.
His grip on the hilt tightened, though he made no move toward her. "You're bold, breaking into a room guarded on three sides."
"Boldness is a matter of perspective," she replied, taking slow steps towards the balcony. Her eyes flicked toward the desk near the far wall. If she could get to the letter in the drawer before the voices in the hall reached the door, she could still make it out unseen.
Kael noticed the glance. "Whatever you came for, it isn't here for the taking."
"Everything's here for the taking," she murmured, letting the hint of a smile curl her lips.
A knock rattled the door, sharp and urgent. "Your Highness?" a voice called from outside.
Elara moved before Kael could answer, crossing the space between them in three swift steps. Her hand brushed his forearm—light, quick, more a warning than a touch—as she slipped past him toward the open balcony.
He caught her wrist. She froze, meeting his eyes fully for the first time. There was no fear there, only an unsettling mix of defiance and something almost like curiosity.
"Who sent you?" he asked, low enough that the words wouldn't carry beyond the walls.
She leaned in just enough for her breath to ghost against his jaw. "If you have to ask, Highness, you already know the answer."
The door handle turned. Kael's grip loosened—deliberately. In that heartbeat of freedom, Elara vaulted back over the balcony, vanishing into the rain-slick night.
By the time the guards entered, dripping from the downpour, the prince was alone by the window, his sword still in hand, the echo of her voice lingering like the scent of rain.
And somewhere across the city, Elara was already running—not from fear, but from the knowledge that she had just stolen something far more dangerous than the letter.