I relax, smiling a little as they brush past me into the room. Itdoesn’t take more than a few minutes for them to emerge. Everything is fine. I need to calm down.
“Forgive the carelessness, Lady Arlet,” the servant says with a bow. “It won’t happen again.”
“Do not worry,” I respond, and watch as he walks away.
I enter my room shortly after, and listen as the door is closed behind me and locked.
It is quiet.
I look around, still not seeing any sign of a bath. I walk to the partition and then begin to remove my gown. It falls to the ground when another sound comes from inside the room.
I freeze, and my hands go to cover my chest. Slowly, I creep to the edge of the screen to look. No sooner than I reach the end, a hand comes around my throat from behind and begins to squeeze.
Gasping and choking, I thrash against the intruder. They don’t react. Don’t speak. I can’t even see their face.
Fucking hell,the voice in my head says.
I try to scream, to alert the guards outside, but another hand covers my mouth.
I only have one option left. One I dislike using.
Help me,I beg.Help me like you did in the forest.
For a heartbeat, there is nothing.
Then something answers.
It does not feel like a voice so much as a pressure—like a tide surging up through my bones. The world sharpens. The cold hand around my throat, the smell of sweat and leather behind me, the faint rasp of breath against my ear.
And beneath it all? A dark heat.
About time you asked,the Cursed One murmurs.
Power floods my limbs so suddenly my vision flickers. The hand at my throat tightens, but my panic is already receding, replaced by something colder. Something steadier. My fingers, which had been clawing uselessly at the attacker’s wrist, suddenly grip with terrifying strength.
The intruder seems to realize something has changed.
They grunt in surprise when I wrench their arm downward. Themotion should be impossible with the position I’m in, yet their grip slips just enough for me to drag in a ragged breath.
Good,Cursed One says.I do love their fear.
My elbow snaps backward into their ribs. Hard.
The attacker curses and staggers, the hand over my mouth loosening. I twist in their grasp, driven by instinct that is not entirely my own. My hand catches their wrist again—thenbends.
There is a sharp crack.
The intruder cries out, finally losing their grip around my throat.
Air rushes into my lungs. I spin, and for the first time, I see the assassin. He’s dressed in dark clothing, face wrapped in cloth, eyes wide with shock.
He reaches for the dagger at his belt.
I move first.
The strength in my body is wrong. Too fast. Too certain. My hand closes around his throat the same way his had closed around mine only moments ago.
The Cursed One’s presence coils tighter inside my chest.