The wind howled through the dense forest, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and pine. Shadows danced across the moonlit ground as Murtasim Khan moved with the stealth of a predator, each step calculated, each breath controlled. He had a singular purpose tonight—a mission that, for most, would seem unthinkable. But for Murtasim, it was routine. This was his life, his expertise: infiltration, elimination, and silence.
His black cloak blended seamlessly with the darkness as he approached the towering stone walls of the enemy castle. His target lay inside, asleep in her chambers, unaware of the death that would come for her before dawn. **Meerab**, daughter of the enemy king. A name he had heard many times in the whispers of his allies and enemies alike. She was said to be beautiful, intelligent, and strong-willed—traits that had made her a political pawn in the bloody game of power her father played.
But none of that mattered to Murtasim. She was just another target, another contract to fulfill. And when dawn broke, she would no longer be a threat to anyone.
He scaled the castle walls with ease, his gloved hands finding purchase on the jagged stone. The guards were few tonight, and those that were stationed outside were easily bypassed. They had no idea that one of the deadliest assassins in the land was among them, his blade thirsty for royal blood.
Reaching the balcony of the princess’s chambers, Murtasim crouched low, surveying the area. The faint flicker of candlelight illuminated the room through the thin, gauzy curtains. There was no movement inside, save for the gentle rustling of fabric as the night breeze stirred through the open window. All was quiet.
He slipped into the room, his movements as silent as death itself. The room smelled faintly of jasmine, the floral scent delicate and intoxicating. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light, and there, lying peacefully in her bed, was his target—Meerab.
---
Murtasim’s hand tightened around the hilt of his dagger as he approached the bed, his heart steady, his mind clear. He had done this countless times before. His reputation was built on the blood of those he had eliminated. There was no room for emotion, no room for second thoughts.
But as he stood over her, ready to strike, something unexpected happened.
His gaze fell on her face, soft and serene in sleep, and for the first time in his life, Murtasim hesitated.
She was beautiful—more so than any description he had heard. Her dark lashes fanned out against her cheeks, her skin glowing softly in the candlelight. Her long hair spilled across the pillows in loose waves, and the steady rise and fall of her chest with each breath was almost hypnotic.
A knot tightened in his chest as he watched her, his dagger still poised in the air. He had never faltered before—never hesitated when the time came to end a life. But there was something about Meerab, something about the way she looked so peaceful, so unguarded in her slumber, that made him falter.
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the weakness that had suddenly overcome him. **Focus, Murtasim. She’s just another target.**
But as he raised his dagger to deliver the fatal blow, her eyes fluttered open.
---
Meerab’s eyes met his, wide with shock and confusion as she jolted awake. She gasped, sitting up quickly, her hand reaching for the dagger under her pillow, but Murtasim was faster. In an instant, he had her pinned, his dagger pressed against her throat.
“Don’t move,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous.
She froze, her chest rising and falling rapidly as fear flickered across her face. But her gaze remained defiant, even as her life hung in the balance. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice trembling but strong.
