As Valaia rode back into the capital, her heart was a storm of emotions. With her memories returned, things needed to be put back in place. There was one person she owed everything to—her lover. The betrayal of being with the princess, of forgetting their love, weighed down on her. She needed to see her, to make things right.

The streets were familiar but carried an air of unease. She couldn’t focus on the cheerful buzz of merchants and buyers. When she approached her lover’s home, she pulled her hood tighter, shielding herself from prying eyes. But the sight before her stopped her in her tracks: a “For Sale” sign hung crookedly on the door.

Panic gripped her chest. She got off the horse quickly, knocking on the neighbour’s door. A man in his late forties answered, his apron dusted with flour. He gave her a wary glance before recognition dawned.

“Ah, you’re Valaia, aren’t you?” he said, folding his arms. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

“Yes,” she said hurriedly. “Where is she? What happened to her? Why is her home for sale?”

The man’s expression softened into one of pity, and Valaia’s stomach churned. “You don’t know, do you?”

Her voice trembled. “Know what?”

He sighed, stepping out onto the stoop. “It was about two months ago. She was at the market, eating at one of the stalls, and… well, she choked on her food. They tried to save her, but it was too late. She’s gone, Valaia. I’m sorry.”

Valaia staggered back as though struck, the words hitting her like a hammer. Her knees wobbled, and she clutched the wall to steady herself. “No… no, that can’t be,” she whispered, shaking her head. “She can’t be dead.”

The man reached out, his voice gentler now. “She was a good woman. Everyone was shocked. Her family came by to sell the house shortly after. There was nothing left for them here.”

Valaia’s vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes. Memories of her lover’s laughter, her touch, her quiet reassurances when things weren’t good flooded her mind. How did she not know? How did she let this happen?

She muttered a faint, “Thank you,” before stumbling away, unable to hear any more.

As she wandered the streets aimlessly, her heart ached with regret and grief. The thought of her lover dying alone, while she had been lost in the web of the princess’s magic, was too much to bear.

She found herself in the city’s quieter outskirts, collapsing onto a stone bench in a desolate garden. Her hands trembled as she gripped the edges of her cloak, her breath shallow.

“I failed you,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

The weight of her lover’s death settled deep in her soul, but with it came a spark of resolve. This wasn’t just grief—it was a wake-up call. The princess, the creed, the nobles—they had all stolen her time, her life, and now her love.

‘I’ll finish the mission, but on my own terms and once it’s over, I’ll set my life back in order.’

Valaia pushed the grief deep down, locking it behind a steel wall as she refocused on her mission. The strange circumstances of her lover’s death gnawed at the edges of her mind, but she couldn’t afford to let it distract her. For now, she had a task to complete.

*

The first noble on her list was Lord Erydon, known for his flashy displays of wealth and fondness for extravagant celebrations. Tonight, his estate was lit up with lanterns and filled with music and laughter as he hosted a grand banquet for his wife’s birthday.

Draped in shadows and dressed in a dark cloak, Valaia infiltrated the estate with ease. Her face was hidden behind a sheer black veil. The loud music and chatter masked her movements as she slipped through corridors and hidden passages, her steps silent.

It didn’t take long to find Lord Erydon. The man had excused himself from the main hall and was now alone in the lavatory, washing his hands in a golden basin.

Valaia emerged from the shadows, her presence immediately chilling the air. He was startled, his reflection in the polished mirror revealing a veiled figure behind him. He spun around, eyes wide with terror.

“Who—who are you?” he demanded, his voice trembling.

Valaia tilted her head, her gloved hand resting lightly on the hilt of her dagger. “A ghost of your past… or perhaps your sins.” Her voice was low, laced with mockery.

“Do you know who I am?” he roared, though his voice cracked. “I’ll have you executed for—”

She raised a hand, silencing him. “Do spare me the theatrics, Lord Erydon. You won’t be telling anyone anything tonight.” Her nose wrinkled slightly, and she gestured to the room. “Though I must admit, this is quite the unimpressive setting for your demise. A toilet? Really?”

His face flushed with anger and fear. “Wait, please—”

She didn’t wait. With a swift motion, her dagger sliced cleanly across his throat. Lord Erydon gurgled, his hands clutching at the wound as he collapsed to the tiled floor, blood pooling beneath him.

Valaia crouched beside his lifeless body, her movements calm. She reached into her bag, pulling out a cloth. Unwrapping it revealed a razor-sharp blade, which she used to sever his head with precision.

She held the severed head up briefly, her veil hiding her expression. “Such a shame,” she murmured, as though speaking to him. “All that wealth, and you couldn’t buy yourself a better end.”

She took his signet ring, slipping it off his finger. Wrapping it in the cloth, she tucked it away in her pouch alongside the head, making sure it would be preserved for the princess.

After wiping her dagger clean, she melted back into the shadows, leaving no trace of her presence except the empty, bloodied shell of a man who had once thought himself untouchable.

The night was still young, and there were more nobles on her list. She steeled herself as she moved through the estate, her mind set on finishing what she started.