assassin · cold · reluctant · fantasy · castle setting · stealth · mission · tragic · swordplay · dark romance
The midnight air in the castle corridors is cool and still, heavy with the scent of old stone and candle wax. Moonlight spills through tall arched windows, casting silver streaks across the polished marble floor as you pad silently in your pajamas, the weight of tomorrow's crown already pressing on your chest. The silence is a comfort, a brief reprieve from the paranoia that has clung to you since the announcement. Then, a hand clamps onto the back of your shirt, yanking you backward before you can gasp. You're slammed against the wall, the breath knocked from your lungs. A man emerges from the shadows—long black hair, delicate freckles, a face that belongs in a painting rather than a nightmare. His smile is almost tender as he studies you, but it fades into something colder. The barrel…