In Valeria, ambition greatly inserted itself into the fabric of noble families, alliances were precious currency.
A re handshake or whispered agreent was never enough; bonds required ironclad certainty, sothing that could not be dissolved by changing loyalties or shifting tides of power.
Among the most certain of alliances was marriage. Such unions tethered entire houses to the fortunes of a prince, sealing the fates of families under the weight of nas, oaths, and legacies.
Marriage bound the first prince to Valeria's mightiest military house, a coalition that stood as unshakeable and weakness free as the mountains beyond the empire's borders.
For House Brienne, one of Valeria's oldest and most prestigious families, the union of their only daughter, Lisellie, to a royal was a calculated play. In her hands, she held both their family's honor and a key to the empire's future.
And while many in the empire whispered of love's role in these unions, reality was often far from romantic. More often than not, such matches were forged from necessity, obligation, and ruthless practicality.
Yet, weather or not it was love had beco nothing more than an afterthought to Aric. What he sought tonight was for a result inevitabile regardless of what drove the union between Sylas and Lisellie.
His purpose was simple, singular—an act that would bring either disgrace to Sylas or leave him shattered with heartbreak. Either outco, he knew, would set his plans in motion with a severe push.
He moved his gaze to his accomplice. Serina, her eyes narrowing with focus, pulled her collar up until it concealed her mouth and nose, stopping just below her eyes.
The dark fabric masked her features, making her seem like a darkness with purpose. Beside her, Mandel and Borag mirrored her movents, their own masks raised to conceal the lower halves of their faces, erasing any hint of humanity from their expressions.
Their eyes were sharp, cold, unreadable. Aric watched them for a mont before he, too, conjured a mask, letting it form in his hand before lifting it over his face. With it, he beca just as blank, swiftly they all were but figures cloaked in mystery, his true intentions were now like his identity obscured beneath a wooden layer of secrecy.
A slight flick of his wrist was all he needed to signal the group of three forward. In an instant, they dissolved into motion, their figures blurring as they sped toward the heart of the Brienne estate, their bodies lded to the darkness as though born from it.
Swift and soundless, they moved past the manor's outer walls, slipping through gaps in the patrols with practiced ease. Shadows stretching long across the grounds hid them as they advanced, their forms barely visible even in the moonlight.
The first guard they encountered was young, his face bearing the faint traces of youthful optimism, unaware that death was only just a breath away.
Borag moved forward, his steps ghostly on the cobbled stone. Without hesitation, he struck, his blade a gleam in the night as it slid across the guard's throat. A faint gurgle, the soft spray of blood, and then the guard slumped to the ground, lifeless. Borag withdrew, as silent as he had co, the only evidence of his presence the crimson pooling at the guard's feet.
Aric's team moved like experienced hunter wolves in the shadows, their eyes sharp and unyielding as they surveyed each step, each guard, and each corner with careful precision.
Serina beca as though she were a dancer in the perfect veil of night , her movents terrifyingly precise and graceful as she approached her targets.
Another guard rounded a corner, his eyes scanning the night, but before he could shout, Serina was upon him, her knife tracing a swift arc across his throat. His eyes widened, surprise frozen in his final expression, and then he crumpled into her arms.
With a deft motion, she lowered him to the ground, his body settling without a sound. In another breath, she was gone, blending back into the shadows as though she had never been.
Aric advanced, his own movents mirroring an image of sothing long past, a figure that faded and reappeared with every step. His footfalls made no noise; his breathing was barely perceptible.
He lded perfectly with the silence, his presence almost unreal. Every step he took carried him closer to the heart of House Brienne, a place filled with power, wealth, opulence, and yet none of it would protect them from the chaos he was prepared to bring.
They continued through swiftly, their progress marked by silent deaths and bodies left in the shadows. Most of the guards they encountered were stronger and better trained than those sent to serve Aric by Darius.
Although they were still Estate guards and far from the level of the empires best, they were still sentries but skilled warriors, each one an embodint of House Brienne's strength.
But Aric and his companions were sothing better entirely—shadows with deadly intent, ghosts that moved without a sound. Each guard fell swiftly, their throats slashed before they could raise an alarm. The path behind them was littered with bodies, each one told to their skill and purpose.
As they ventured deeper, the manor's walls rose tall, adorned with carvings and paintings that was proof of the House's long history. Portraits of past lords and ladies looked down with stony gazes, unaware of the violence staining their family's ho in blood.
The grandeur of the hallways was marred by the faint scent of blood, the thick, tallic tang hanging in the air like a silent warning.
Borag moved ahead, his senses sharp as he scanned the hallway. Two guards stood at the far end, their postures tense, eyes flicking toward every shadow.
Aric signaled, and Borag slipped forward, his steps soundless as he approached. One of the guards turned, but Borag was faster. His knife plunged into the guard's throat, and with a swift motion, he twisted the blade, ending the guard's life in an instant.
Before the second guard could react, Serina was upon him, her blade flashing in the dim light as it found its mark. The guard's eyes widened, his mouth opening in a silent scream as he sank to the ground.
They moved on, their pace relentless. Each kill brought them closer to their goal, a single room at the end of a corridor—the quarters of Lady Lisellie Brienne.
Aric could feel his heartbeat steady, his grip tightening around the hilt of his blade. He knew the stakes, understood the consequences of his actions. Yet, in that mont, he felt no hesitation, only a cold determination that pushed him forward.
They reached the final hallway, and Aric held up a hand, signaling his companions to halt. Ahead of them, two guards stood vigilant, their postures alert, their gazes scanning the darkness with an intensity born of experience.
Aric moved forward, his body slipping into the shadows, his form almost invisible in the dim light. He beca a type of darkness, his presence undetectable as he approached. With a swift motion, he struck, his blade slicing through the air and finding its mark.
The guard's eyes widened in shock, his hand reaching for his throat as blood seeped between his fingers. Before he could fall, Aric caught him, lowering him silently to the ground.
The second guard turned, his eyes narrowing as he sensed sothing amiss. But before he could react, Serina was there, her blade finding its mark with deadly precision. The guard's body slumped to the floor, his life extinguished in a heartbeat.
Aric gestured to his companions, and together they advanced, their movents synchronized, their steps soundless. They reached the door, its surface polished and adorned. Aric placed his hand on the handle, his grip firm as he prepared to enter. He took a deep breath, his mind focused, his purpose clear.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushed the door open, his eyes scanning the room beyond. The chamber was dimly lit, a single candle casting a soft glow across the space.
At the far end of the room, Lady Lisellie Brienne lay asleep, her form shrouded in shadows. Her breathing was steady, her face serene, unaware of the danger lurking just beyond her unconsciousness.
Aric stepped forward, his movents silent as he approached. His hand tightened around the hilt of his knife, his gaze fixed on his target.
He felt a surge of adrenaline, a thrill that coursed through his veins as he prepared to strike. This was the culmination of his plan, a mont he had been waiting for. And yet, as he stood there, poised to act, he felt a flicker of hesitation.
But the hesitation was fleeting, a re whisper in the back of his mind. He pushed it aside, his resolve hardening as he raised the blade. This was not a mont for doubt or rcy.
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