The Princess's heart - D.M. Royal FanFic

VIII

The night was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that presses against your ears and makes the world feel as though it's holding its breath. I lay in my chambers, the weight of the day's events still heavy on my mind. The flickering light of a lone candle cast dancing shadows on the walls, their movements a stark contrast to the stillness that surrounded me.

As I began to drift off into a restless sleep, a faint sound caught my attention—so soft it was nearly imperceptible, like the whisper of silk against stone. My eyes flew open, heart pounding as I strained to hear it again. The shadows on the wall seemed to grow darker, more menacing, and a chill crept up my spine.

Then I heard it—a soft click, like the sound of a latch being carefully lifted. I sat up in bed, my breath catching in my throat. My hand instinctively reached for the small dagger hidden beneath my pillow, a gift from Draco meant for my protection. The room was still, save for the faint rustle of fabric, and I realized with a jolt that I was not alone.

The door to my chambers creaked open ever so slightly, just enough for a sliver of darkness to seep in. My heart thundered in my chest, and I gripped the dagger tightly, willing myself to stay calm. I had been trained for many things—diplomacy, courtly manners, even the basics of self-defense—but nothing could have prepared me for this.

A figure slipped into the room, moving with the fluid grace of someone who knew how to remain unseen. Clad in dark clothing that blended seamlessly with the shadows, the intruder's face was obscured by a hood, leaving only their eyes visible—a cold, calculating gaze that sent a shiver of fear through me.

I held my breath, waiting, hoping that the darkness would conceal my presence. But the assassin moved with purpose, heading straight toward my bed. I realized then that they knew exactly where I was, that this was not a random act of violence, but a deliberate attempt on my life.

In a moment of sheer instinct, I threw off the covers and leapt from the bed, the dagger clutched tightly in my hand. The movement startled the intruder, who froze for a split second—just long enough for me to make a desperate lunge at them.

The assassin reacted swiftly, their own blade flashing in the dim light as they parried my strike. I stumbled back, heart racing as I realized how outmatched I was. But fear gave way to a surge of adrenaline, and I lashed out again, this time aiming for the hand that held the weapon.

Steel met steel with a sharp clang, and the force of the impact sent a shockwave up my arm. The assassin grunted in surprise, clearly not expecting such resistance. But they quickly recovered, advancing on me with a deadly focus.

I backed away, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. My mind raced, searching for a way out. The door was blocked, and I knew that calling for help would only bring more danger to those who came to my aid. I was on my own.

The assassin lunged, and I sidestepped just in time, feeling the rush of air as the blade sliced through the space where I had been standing. In that moment, I realized that I could not afford to be on the defensive—I had to strike back, or I would not survive the night.

Gathering every ounce of courage I had, I feinted to the left before spinning around and slashing at the assassin's exposed side. The blade connected, and a sharp cry of pain escaped the intruder's lips. They staggered, clutching their side, and I saw my opportunity.

With a fierce determination, I pressed the attack, forcing the assassin back toward the door. But just as I thought I might gain the upper hand, the intruder suddenly spun around, kicking out with enough force to send me crashing to the floor. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, and the dagger slipped from my grasp, clattering across the stone floor.