Lyra moved first.
She always did.
Her dagger flashed toward Kael's throat
But the king was faster.
His hand snapped up, catching her wrist mid-strike. His grip twisted sharply.
Pain shot up her arm.
The dagger slipped from her fingers and clattered against the stone floor.
Lyra didn't hesitate.
She lunged forward, driving her free hand toward his throat—
Kael caught that wrist too.
Now both her arms were trapped.
Locked.
Controlled.
For a brief second, they stood inches apart beside the bed.
Breath against breath.
Strength against strength.
Lyra pushed harder.
Twisted.
Shifted her weight—
Nothing.
His grip didn't move.
Didn't strain.
Didn't even tighten.
"You're persistent," he said.
Calm.
Almost amused.
Lyra drove her knee upward toward his side—
Kael stepped aside effortlessly.
Her balance shifted and in the next second, everything flipped.
Her back hit the wall.
Hard.
Air rushed from her lungs.
Kael's hand pinned both her wrists above her head with a single grip.
One hand.
That was all he needed.
Lyra's chest rose sharply as she tried to pull free.
Failed.
The difference in strength between them was not just noticeable—
It was humiliating.
"You're done," he said quietly.
Lyra lifted her chin, glaring at him.
"Kill me then."
The words came sharp.
Certain.
Unyielding.
Kael didn't move.
Didn't react the way she expected.
Instead, he studied her.
Not like an enemy.
Not like prey.
Like a puzzle.
"You're not afraid of death," he said.
It wasn't a question.
Lyra's jaw tightened.
"Should I be?"
"Most people are."
"I'm not most people."
Something flickered in his gaze.
Interest.
Lyra forced herself to hold eye contact.
"You destroyed my homeland."
There it was.
The truth that had driven her blade.
For the first time—
Kael's expression shifted.
Not guilt.
Not anger.
Something quieter.
Something harder to read.
"You believe that," he said softly.
Lyra stilled.
"What does that mean?"
Before he could answer—
The chamber doors burst open.
Guards flooded in.
Steel flashed.
Boots struck stone.
"Your Majesty!"
Lyra's pulse sharpened.
This was it.
If they surrounded her—
She was dead.
Kael didn't even look at them.
"Leave."
The guards froze.
Confused.
"But—"
"Leave."
This time, his voice carried something sharper.
Not loud.
But absolute.
The kind of authority that didn't need force.
The guards hesitated.
Lyra saw it clearly now—
They were afraid of him.
Not loyal.
Not devoted.
Afraid.
They stepped back.
Slowly.
Reluctantly.
Then turned and left.
The doors closed again.
Silence returned.
Heavy.
Tense.
Unnatural.
Lyra stared at him.
"You trust them that little?"
"I trust them exactly as much as necessary."
His grip loosened.
Then released her completely.
Lyra dropped her arms, stepping back immediately.
Creating space.
Distance.
Control.
She rubbed her wrists, ignoring the lingering sting.
Her eyes never left him.
"Why am I still alive?" she asked.
Kael bent slightly, picking up her fallen dagger.
The blade caught the candlelight.
Sharp.
Clean.
Deadly.
"A good weapon," he murmured.
Then—
He held it out to her.
Lyra didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't understand.
"Take it."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You expect me not to stab you again?"
"If you could," he said calmly, "you already would have."
Her stomach tightened.
Because he was right.
And they both knew it.
Slowly—
Carefully—
Lyra took the dagger.
Their fingers brushed.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
A strange, electric tension flickered between them.
Gone as quickly as it came.
Kael stepped back.
Giving her space.
Trusting her.
Or testing her.
Lyra wasn't sure which was more dangerous.
"Tell me something," he said.
"What?"
"Why do the rebels want me dead?"
Her grip tightened around the dagger.
"You know why."
"Do I?"
"You slaughtered thousands when you conquered Valeria."
The name hit the room like a blade.
Valeria.
Her home.
Her past.
Her reason.
Kael's gaze didn't waver.
"War is rarely that simple."
"Spare me."
Her voice sharpened.
"You don't get to rewrite what you did."
Kael's expression hardened—just slightly.
"I have survived twelve assassination attempts in the last three years."
Lyra blinked.
"Twelve?"
"Yes." He responded.
"And you're still alive."
"That tends to happen."
There was something dry in his tone.
Something almost… tired.
He turned and walked toward the window.
Lyra watched him carefully.
Every movement.
Every shift.
Still alert.
Still ready.
"Tell me," he said quietly, looking out into the night, "did they ever explain why they keep sending assassins?"
Lyra hesitated.
The answer came slower than she expected.
"No."
Kael nodded once.
As if confirming something.
"That's unfortunate."
Her frown deepened.
"What is?"
He turned back toward her.
She saw it flood his countenance.
The undeniable look of exhaustion.
"You're fighting a war you don't understand."
The words unsettled her.
Deeply.
"Stop speaking in riddles."
"Riddles?"
His gaze sharpened.
"If I wanted to play games," he said quietly, "you wouldn't still be standing."
Silence stretched again.
Lyra's grip tightened on the dagger.
Something was wrong.
Everything about this was wrong.
This was not the tyrant she had imagined.
This was something else.
Something worse.
"Why didn't you kill me?" she asked again.
This time, he answered immediately.
"Because you're useful."
The word hit harder than it should have.
"Useful?"
"Yes."
Lyra let out a sharp breath.
"I came here to kill you."
"Exactly."
"That doesn't make me useful."
"It makes you capable."
Her frustration flared.
"You have an army."
"Yes."
"Knights. Soldiers. Commanders."
"Yes."
"So why would you need an assassin?"
Kael went still.
Not physically.
But something in the air shifted.
Darkened.
His shadow stretched behind him—
And for a split second…
It moved.
Lyra's breath caught.
But Kael stepped forward before she could react.
Closing the distance between them.
His gaze locked onto hers.
Intense.
Unyielding.
"Because," he said quietly, "the enemies threatening this kingdom…"
A pause.
Then—
"Aren't human."
The room felt colder.
Lyra's grip tightened instinctively.
"What are you talking about?"
Kael didn't answer directly.
Instead, he studied her again.
As if measuring something.
Deciding something.
"I have a proposal for you."
Lyra let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
"You must be joking."
"I'm not."
"I broke into your chamber to kill you."
"Yes."
"I'm still considering it."
"I know."
Silence.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
Then Lyra tilted her head slightly.
Curious despite herself.
"What kind of proposal involves an assassin?"
Kael's gaze darkened.
The faintest hint of something dangerous flickered beneath his calm exterior.
The kind of danger that didn't come from men.
Or war.
Or politics.
But something worse.
"The kind," he said slowly…
"…that keeps you alive."