In the Shadows

Chapter 18: A Failed Assassination Attempt

Skye paced along the dimly lit corridor, her steps echoing off the stone walls. Her court had always been a place of intrigue, its sprawling halls concealing whispers and hidden motives. But today, as she passed each familiar archway and door, she felt a prickle of unease, like eyes were watching from the shadows.

It was well past midnight, the court asleep save for the sentries at the main gates. Even they, however, did not notice the silent, cloaked figures that slipped past, blending seamlessly with the darkness. Skye, on edge and unsettled from the day's events, had wandered here to clear her mind. Her father's fragile health, her mother's worried glances, and the ever-present tension with her brother, Callan, weighed heavily on her. Her instincts had led her here, to the isolated wing of the court where the nights seemed deeper, the silence more oppressive.

Turning the corner, she heard the faintest rustle. She stopped, head tilted, waiting for a sign of what she might've heard. A trick of the wind, she tried to reassure herself. But there it was again—soft, barely a whisper, but enough to raise the hair on the back of her neck.

Just as she turned, her instincts roared to life, screaming at her to move. She threw herself to the side as a blade sliced through the air where her throat had been moments before. Her eyes darted up, catching the glint of steel, the pale flash of a hand disappearing back into the shadows. A second attacker materialized from her right, daggers poised and aimed to strike.

Heart pounding, Skye reacted instinctively. Her power surged forth, a wave of raw energy rippling from her core. Her attackers hesitated, visibly startled, but they recovered quickly, charging at her in unison. She lifted her hands, calling on the dark, crackling tendrils of power that had both comforted and frightened her since she was young.

The force exploded outward, throwing the assassins back against the walls with a sickening crunch. They slumped to the floor, but more figures emerged from the shadows, encircling her. Their faces were hidden beneath dark hoods, but she could see the glint of determination in their eyes. They were here to finish the job.

"Enough," she growled, her voice shaking but steady, anger and defiance sparking in her chest. She let the energy build, swirling around her, making the air vibrate with its intensity. She could feel the familiar pull of her powers reaching out to her, promising safety, strength—but with a cost.

The next attack came swiftly. A cloaked figure lunged, and Skye retaliated, releasing another wave of power, this time more forceful. It connected with her attacker's chest, sending them flying back with a scream. She felt a savage satisfaction at the sight, but something within her warned that she was treading a dangerous line. The power clawed its way through her, surging higher, brighter, until her vision blurred, and she could feel it threatening to consume her.

A voice cut through the haze, low and familiar, grounding her.

"Skye!"

Azriel.

He appeared out of the shadows, his wings unfurling like the night itself, slicing through the darkness with deadly precision. He moved with lethal grace, dispatching the remaining attackers with a series of swift, practiced motions. She watched, transfixed, as he fought, every move calculated, efficient, deadly. In moments, the corridor was empty, the assassins either dead or fleeing.

Skye struggled to steady her breathing, but the energy inside her roared louder, relentless, demanding to be unleashed. She clenched her fists, fighting to contain it, but it surged through her like wildfire, consuming, hungry. Azriel approached her, his gaze piercing, and she could see the concern etched on his face.

"Skye," he said, his voice steady but firm, "you need to let go. You're losing control."

"I—I can't," she stammered, her voice barely audible. "It's too much..."