105

105


The great hall gleamed under the warm glow of countless lanterns and chandeliers, each casting dancing shadows on the faces of nobles and envoys gathered for what was supposed to be a night of diplomacy. The air buzzed with polite conversation, clinking glasses, and the soft rustle of embroidered gowns and silk cloaks.

Scheuer moved with practiced ease among the guests, her sharp eyes missing little. She was no stranger to courts and their hidden undercurrents—the whispered plots, the dangerous games behind smiles. Tonight felt different, though. The laughter had an edge, the smiles were too quick to fade, and beneath it all, a low tension hummed in the air like an electric charge.

As she passed near the side entrance, a subtle shift caught her attention—a hurried movement in the shadows, two figures exchanging a small, folded piece of paper. Scheuer’s instincts snapped alive. She paused, pretending to adjust the sleeve of her cloak while her eyes narrowed. She needed to know what they were planning before it was too late.
She slipped quietly toward the figures, careful not to draw attention. The hall was crowded, the voices loud, but she heard a few words whispered between the men: “Tonight… Baldwin… strike… no mistakes…”

Her heart thudded. An assassination plot. The realization hit her like a cold blade.
Scheuer’s mind raced. How much time did she have? She needed to warn Baldwin—and fast.

Scheuer pushed through the crowd, eyes scanning for Baldwin. She spotted him near the raised dais, talking quietly with a few council members. His clothes were fitted, look every bit of the gentlemanhe was, October stood tall and composed, the light from the chandeliers catching the edges of her light hair.
Scheuer’s voice was steady, but urgent as she reached Baldwin’s side. “They’re coming for you tonight.”
Baldwin’s eyes sharpened immediately. “How sure?”

“I saw them. Men passing secret orders. An assassination attempt.”
October stepped closer, her voice calm but hard. “We need to act now.”
Baldwin nodded. “Alert the guards. No one leaves the hall.”
Scheuer’s gaze flicked back toward the shadowed corner where she had seen the conspirators. She knew the moment was slipping away like sand through fingers.

Minutes later, the grand hall was alive with tension. The chatter had faded into murmurs, and the guards moved among the guests, eyes alert. Baldwin and October stood near the center, flanked by their closest allies.
Suddenly, a sharp clang echoed from the far side of the room. A figure burst forward—a dagger gleaming under the light. Gasps filled the air, but Baldwin’s instincts kicked in. He pushed October behind him and drew his sword with fluid speed.
The attacker lunged again, but Baldwin was ready. Steel met steel with a harsh ring. The room erupted into chaos.
Scheuer grabbed a fallen candlestick and swung it at a second assailant charging from the opposite side. The man staggered but recovered quickly, pulling a small pistol from beneath his cloak. Shots rang out, shattering glass and sending guests diving for cover.
October moved with surprising swiftness, pulling a hidden blade from her boot. She intercepted a guard who had been stabbed and pushed him to the ground, taking his sword to defend Baldwin and Scheuer.
The hall was no longer a place of diplomacy. It was a battlefield.

Baldwin’s sword danced in the dim light, parrying and striking with lethal precision. Each movement was calculated, deadly, but he was outnumbered. Another attacker lunged from behind, catching Baldwin’s shoulder with a harsh blow. Pain flared, but Baldwin gritted his teeth and spun, slashing the man’s arm.
Scheuer was fierce—she fought with the desperation of someone who knew what was at stake. Her blows were swift and hard, keeping attackers at bay while she searched for the mastermind behind the chaos.
October’s eyes burned with determination. She moved like a shadow, cutting down anyone who threatened Baldwin or the innocent guests. Her breath came in sharp gasps, but she never faltered.
The room was a storm of movement—steel flashing, cries of pain, the acrid smell of smoke from a torch knocked over in the fray.

Amid the chaos, a figure emerged—a noble with a cruel smile, holding a poisoned dagger. Scheuer recognized him immediately as one of the king’s supposed allies, a man known for his ambition and ruthless tactics.
He made a beeline for Baldwin, weaving through the battle with terrifying skill. Scheuer’s heart leapt. She pushed forward, knocking aside a stumbling guard, and caught the noble’s wrist just as he aimed for Baldwin’s neck.
They grappled fiercely. The noble hissed, “You’re too late, Scheuer. The North will fall tonight.”
Scheuer’s eyes narrowed. “Not while I still breathe.”
With a sharp twist, she disarmed him and shoved him to the ground. Baldwin, bloodied but unbowed, pressed his advantage and ended the threat with a swift stroke.

The hall fell silent except for ragged breaths and the occasional groan of the wounded. Guards quickly secured the conspirators. Baldwin, though injured, stood steady, his gaze locked on October and Scheuer.
“We survived,” he said quietly, voice rough. “But the threat is not over.”
October wiped a streak of blood from her cheek and nodded. “We’ll be ready next time.”
Scheuer took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the night settle over her. “This was only the beginning.”