By nightfall, the palace had chosen its memory.

The Emperor had control.

Edric had authority.

Rosaline had grace.

Zarek had mystery.

And I…

Well.

I had survived.

Again.

You would think they’d start taking the hint.

But courts are stubborn things. They require repetition.

And I have always been very good at making a point.

The assassin lived.

That was intentional.

Somewhere beneath the palace, behind doors that had never appeared on official plans, he knelt before a figure hidden in shadow.

His arm hung useless at his side.

His breath came thin and wet.

“You saw the guard?” the figure asked.

“Yes.”

“And?”

The assassin swallowed.

“Not human.”

A pause.

“And the woman?”

The assassin’s mouth trembled.

“She did not fear death.”

The figure was silent for a long moment.

Then came a soft laugh.

Not amused.

Pleased.

“Then we stop aiming for death.”

The assassin lifted his head.

The figure turned toward the dark corridor beyond.

“We aim for exile.”

See?

That was the part everyone missed.

Death is simple.

Messy, yes. Inconvenient, often. But simple.

Exile, though…

Exile is elegant.

Exile lets cowards call cruelty mercy.

Exile lets empires pretend they have not committed murder, only geography.

And for a woman born under the Sapphire Omen, returned to the land they had already tried to bury…

Exile was not punishment.

It was a door.

They simply had not realized who they were sending home.

By nightfall, the palace had chosen its memory.

The Emperor had control.

Edric had authority.

Rosaline had grace.

Zarek had mystery.

And I…

Well.

I had survived.

Again.

You would think they’d start taking the hint.

But courts are stubborn things. They require repetition.

And I have always been very good at making a point.

The assassin lived.

That was intentional.

Somewhere beneath the palace, behind doors that had never appeared on official plans, he knelt before a figure hidden in shadow.

His arm hung useless at his side.

His breath came thin and wet.

“You saw the guard?” the figure asked.

“Yes.”

“And?”

The assassin swallowed.

“Not human.”

A pause.

“And the woman?”

The assassin’s mouth trembled.

“She did not fear death.”

The figure was silent for a long moment.

Then came a soft laugh.

Not amused.

Pleased.

“Then we stop aiming for death.”

The assassin lifted his head.

The figure turned toward the dark corridor beyond.

“We aim for exile.”

See?

That was the part everyone missed.

Death is simple.

Messy, yes. Inconvenient, often. But simple.

Exile, though…

Exile is elegant.

Exile lets cowards call cruelty mercy.

Exile lets empires pretend they have not committed murder, only geography.

And for a woman born under the Sapphire Omen, returned to the land they had already tried to bury…

Exile was not punishment.

It was a door.

They simply had not realized who they were sending home.