The streets were empty, shrouded in a silver mist from the night rain. Nilla tugged her coat tighter around her shoulders, heels clicking softly against the slick cobblestones as she waved at passing cabs. Most passed by without so much as a glance. Some slowed, then drove off once they saw her alone.
Finally, a black sedan screeched to a halt. The driver's eyes flicked at her, sharp and calculating.
"Where to?"
"The King's mansion," Nilla said, calm and firm. Her tone left no room for discussion.
The driver gave a subtle nod. He had heard the stories—everyone had—about the King. Few dared approach him in the daylight, fewer still at night. Most people knew only to stay out of his way.
The ride was silent except for the soft hum of the tires against wet asphalt. Nilla's mind, however, was alive with possibilities. One step at a time. One chance. Make it count.
At last, the mansion appeared at the top of a small hill, looming like a fortress against the moonlit sky. Its black iron gates rose higher than most buildings, spiked and glinting in the dim light. The walls surrounding it were thick stone, smooth and dark, giving the sense that the mansion itself was watching.
Nilla slid open the car door and stepped onto the gravel path, her heels crunching lightly. She handed the driver a crisp note, and he gave a wary glance before nodding and driving off without a word.
She took a deep breath and approached the massive gates. Two guards, muscular and imposing, flanked the entrance, their dark uniforms immaculate and their expressions unreadable. As she reached the gates, they stepped slightly forward, lips curling into mocking smirks.
"Well, well… what do we have here?" one drawled. "A little mortal girl, wandering to see the King? You do know who you're trying to meet, don't you?"
"Very brave of you," the other added, arms crossed. "Do you really think you can just walk in?"
Nilla's lips curved into a small, cold smile. She didn't flinch. "I'm here to speak with the King."
The guards exchanged a glance and chuckled. "Oh, this is rich. The audacity of you…"
Before they could say more, Nilla moved like lightning. She grabbed the nearest guard's arm and twisted sharply. A groan escaped his lips as he stumbled forward. The other guard lunged at her reflexively, but she grabbed his wrist, spun, and applied a quick joint lock. Both men cried out, their balance lost, and Nilla stood between them, unscathed, calm, and deadly.
From a window high above, a shadow appeared. Someone was watching. Nilla didn't flinch. Whoever it was, they were clearly powerful—but she had faced worse.
The first guard, still wincing, tried to grab a weapon. Before he could, a deep, commanding voice rang out from above:
"Leave her alone! Let her come in."
The words reverberated with authority. Every muscle in the guards' bodies stiffened. They looked up, then glanced at each other, hesitation written plainly on their faces.
"Yes, Your Majesty," one whispered. Their previous mockery evaporated instantly.
Nilla's lips curved into a faint smirk. So much for intimidation—they responded only to true power. She stepped forward as the massive gates swung open with a low groan, the guards silently guiding her inside.
The interior was just as impressive as the exterior—opulent yet intimidating. High ceilings arched over polished marble floors, gold accents catching the pale light of crystal chandeliers. Velvet tapestries lined the walls, and faint scents of incense and something sharp—metallic, almost—lingered in the air. Nilla's instincts tingled. She had entered a lion's den.
The guards led her down long hallways, each step echoing ominously, until she arrived at the main hall. There she was told to wait. Time stretched like taffy. Thirty minutes passed. Forty. The silence was oppressive, yet Nilla remained poised, standing tall in the center of the vast room, her coat brushing the marble. She had faced worse patience tests, and this one only made her more aware, more observant.
Every painting, every pillar, every faint flicker of light was cataloged in her mind. This place had rules. Secrets. She could feel it in the air. She had to learn them.
Finally, from the upper balcony, the soft sound of footsteps approached. Each step was deliberate, measured. Nilla straightened instinctively, her gaze forward. The man appeared at the top of the staircase, descending slowly, like a predator surveying a newcomer.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered, every movement confident and controlled. Dark hair fell slightly over a sharp brow, giving him a naturally dangerous elegance. His eyes were golden-brown, piercing and calculating, framed by high cheekbones that emphasized a jawline like carved stone. A faint scar brushed the corner of one eyebrow, just enough to hint at past battles. He radiated authority without arrogance, power without overt threat, a lethal elegance that made the room seem smaller around him.
His gaze landed on Nilla, studying her carefully, measuring every detail as she did him. The guards around him shifted slightly, giving her a wide berth.
He stopped at the bottom of the staircase, voice smooth, commanding, yet amused.
"How are you, young girl?" he asked. "And why are you here? Coming to see me… is very brave. Disarming two of my men is… talent."
Nilla held his gaze steadily, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Well… thanks, I guess," she said lightly, letting the compliment pass. Then her expression hardened. "But I'm not here to listen to flattery. I'm here for a deal."
The king's golden eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. He moved closer, each step deliberate, exuding both grace and subtle menace. "A deal," he repeated, as though tasting the word. "Do you understand the risks, little one? Few come to me willingly, and fewer leave unscathed."
Nilla's chin lifted, voice firm, unwavering. "I understand the risks. I'm not here to play safe."
He paused, then allowed himself a faint, approving smile, though his gaze remained sharp. "Very well. Speak. You have my attention… for now."