The bloodletting began at dawn.
Nobles dragged from their chambers, stripped of titles and finery, thrown into the black cells beneath the palace.
Councils dissolved into shouting matches.
Alliances crumbled into dust.
The scent of fear was thicker now than the cold morning mist.
And through it all, the Crown endured.
At least, on the surface.
Selene moved carefully through the royal gardens, a cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders, her steps measured and quiet.
Cassian had sent her away from the council meetings that morning, ordering her to "be seen" among the courtiers who still clung to the illusion of normalcy.
She knew what he meant.
Smile.
Survive.
Be the face the court needed to see, while he wielded the blade they feared.
But smiles were no armor against a dagger in the dark.
The gardens were nearly empty, save for a few nobles murmuring behind hedges, and a scattering of servants tending to frost-bitten roses.
Selene's boots crunched against the gravel path as she moved toward the reflecting pool at the center of the grounds.
The water was frozen over, the surface cracked with jagged lines.
Like a mirror shattered by careless hands.
Or by blood.
She paused at the edge, her reflection rippling beneath the fractured ice.
The queen who stared back at her wore a crown of thorns, invisible but heavy.
A prisoner wrapped in silk.
A survivor waiting to become something more.
Selene heard the footsteps too late.
Sharp. Fast.
Coming from behind.
She turned just as a shadow broke from the trees.
A blade flashed in the weak sunlight, aimed straight for her heart.
She moved instinctively.
Sidestepping the first strike, feeling the cold rush of air where steel should have found flesh.
The second blow came faster, lower.
Selene dropped, sweeping the attacker's legs out from under him with a brutal twist of her skirts.
He fell hard, grunting in surprise.
She was on him before he could recover, the hidden blade at her thigh sliding free into her hand.
One swift, merciless motion, and the steel kissed his throat.
He froze.
Breathing hard, Selene tightened her grip.
"Who sent you?" she hissed.
The man only smiled.
A thin, broken thing.
Then his eyes rolled back, and blood foamed at his lips.
Poison.
Selene staggered back, heart pounding.
Another dead attacker.
Another trail gone cold.
Another enemy who would never name their master.
She wiped the blade clean on the assassin's tunic and scanned the gardens.
But there was no one.
No witnesses.
No allies.
Just the frozen pool, cracked and bleeding sunlight, and the echo of her own ragged breathing.
Footsteps pounded down the path.
Cassian appeared through the trees, a sword already drawn, his face a mask of fury.
When he saw the body at her feet, his expression darkened even further.
He reached her in three strides, his hands rough as they caught her shoulders.
"Are you hurt?" he demanded.
Selene shook her head, her fingers trembling despite herself.
"No," she said. "Not yet."
Cassian's grip tightened for a moment, then loosened.
He looked down at the corpse, his jaw clenching.
"They are getting bolder," he said.
Selene forced a bitter smile.
"Or more desperate."
Cassian's eyes lifted to hers, something raw flickering in their depths.
"I will not lose you," he said quietly.
The words struck harder than any blow.
Selene opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came.
Because she knew.
Knew what he was really saying.
Not just that he would protect her.
Not just that he needed her alive for political survival.
Something more dangerous.
Something far more human.
The guards arrived, drawn by the commotion.
Cassian barked orders, low and sharp, sending them scattering to search the grounds.
Selene watched him, feeling the walls she had built around her heart tremble.
She could not afford to trust him.
She could not afford to need him.
And yet.
Standing there in the frozen garden, with a dead man at her feet and the storm gathering overhead, Selene knew the truth.
They were bound together now.
By blood.
By survival.
By the war that would either crown them both or destroy them.
Later, as she sat before the fire in her chambers, nursing a shallow cut across her forearm from the assassin's blade, Selene made herself another promise.
She would not be easy prey.
Not for her enemies.
Not for Cassian.
Not even for the part of herself that wanted to believe in something softer.
She would endure.
She would fight.
She would bleed if she must.
But she would not fall.
Not yet.
Not ever.