Nightfall came quietly.
Too quietly.
The palace gleamed under lantern light, laughter spilling from the banquet halls as nobles drank and danced, oblivious.But in the hidden corridors, in the shadows no one cared to look at — the real game moved forward.
Evelyne stood at her mirror, adjusting the thin chain around her neck.No jewels.Just a simple charm — old, worn, but significant.
A relic from her childhood.From before everything shattered.
Her reflection stared back at her, cold and sharp.Gone was the fragile princess the world believed her to be.Underneath the silk and smiles, Evelyne was steel now.Tempered.Waiting.
She turned as the door creaked open.A slender figure stepped inside, cloaked and hooded.
"You're late," Evelyne murmured without looking.
The figure knelt."My lady. I had to ensure I wasn't followed."
Evelyne's fingers brushed the charm at her throat."You brought what I asked for?"
The figure nodded and produced a rolled parchment, bound in black thread.
She took it carefully, slicing the thread open with a small silver blade.Her eyes scanned the lines, each word another confirmation.
The merchant guilds in the lower city.The discontented second sons of minor houses.The mercenary bands near the southern border.All names. All possible pieces.
Her lips curved — not in joy, but in grim satisfaction.
"Good," she whispered."Very good.Let them all think Leonhart is the only one gathering power.Let them fix their eyes on him."
She folded the parchment."And when they finally look at me, it will already be too late."
Meanwhile, across the palace grounds—
I stood alone in my study, my hands steady as I penned the last letter.An invitation sealed with black wax.One that would reach Sera and her rebels by dawn.
The time had come to test the loyalty of my pawns.No, not pawns.Soldiers.Weapons.
But even as I worked, a flicker of unease nagged at me.A whisper at the back of my mind.
Because Evelyne hadn't moved against me directly — but I felt it.Like the faint scent of smoke before the flames appeared.
She was gathering her own pieces.Of course she was.She was my sister.Cut from the same cursed cloth.
Far away, beyond the gilded walls, a different kind of game unfolded.
A hooded assassin crept through the sleeping streets, feet silent against cobblestones.His target?A merchant known to be loyal to Duke Albrecht — a man whose loyalty had suddenly become a liability.
The assassin's blade flashed once in the dark.By the time the merchant's body slumped to the ground, the killer was already gone.
And somewhere, hidden in the slums, the first whispers spread like wildfire:
The balance is shifting.The court is bleeding.The fangs are bared.
By morning, the palace was abuzz with the news:An important merchant dead.Murdered in his own home.No sign of forced entry.No witnesses.No suspects.
The vultures gathered again, this time circling faster.
Evelyne sipped her tea, face serene as the ministers panicked.She didn't glance my way.I didn't glance hers.
But the silence between us cracked and roared louder than any words.
We both knew:
The game had changed.The first blood had been drawn.And neither of us was backing down.
Later that day, as I stood overlooking the city from my balcony, I muttered:"So, sister… you make your move."
I smiled then — dark, razor-edged.
"Good.Let's see how many pieces you can claim before I steal them from under your nose."
Down below, in the alleyways and dens of vice, my own agents moved like shadows.Letters were delivered.Coins changed hands.Blades were sharpened.
And in the east, Sera's reply arrived:Three simple words, written in red ink.
"We are ready."
The storm was gathering.
And soon, this kingdom would drown in it.