The desert wind howled through the hidden camp, carrying whispers of betrayal and secrets. Drevas stood in the dim glow of the oil lamps, his sharp eyes fixed on the assassin before him. The report had just been delivered, a contract fulfilled, a princess slain.
But something was wrong.
“You faked her death,” Drevas said, his voice low, dangerous. “Why?”
The assassin shifted, uneasy. “She wasn’t like the others. There was… light in her. We couldn’t extinguish it.”
Before Drevas could press further, a figure stepped from the shadows. Clad in worn but polished armor, her presence was both regal and raw, a warrior forged in tragedy. Cyrillia Sarth, the lost princess of a murdered line.
Her eyes, though hardened by years of survival, still held an unbroken purity. “They’ve hunted my family for years,” she said, her voice steady. “Now they’ve taken the last person I love. My betrothed was dragged to Akasia. If I don’t reach him before the arena claims him, he’ll die fighting for someone else’s amusement.”
Drevas studied her, the way her armor bore the scars of battles fought in exile, the way her spirit refused to bend. She was beautiful, not in the polished way of court nobles, but in the unyielding resilience of a survivor. And yet, despite everything, she had not been corrupted.
A rare thing. A dangerous thing.
“Akasia is a viper’s nest,” Drevas mused. “But if your man is there, time is not your ally.” He made his decision. “You’ll have an escort. And this.” He reached into a chest, withdrawing a cloak that shimmered faintly with enchantment. “It will hide your armor. But not your heart. That, I fear, will always be your greatest weapon and your greatest risk.”
Cyrillia fastened the cloak, the magic weaving around her like a second skin. “And you?” she asked.
Drevas smirked, though his eyes were cold. “I have questions for the ones who want you dead. And they should pray I like the answers.”
As she mounted her horse, ready to ride toward Akasia and the man she loved, Drevas watched her go. A princess who should have been a corpse. A light that refused to fade.
The desert had a way of revealing truths. And this one was just beginning to unfold.
