Chapter 5: Welcome to the Capital

The princess’s eyes bulged, her mouth agape as she stared in stunned disbelief at the scene unfolding before us.

Standing beside her, the newcomer—Sir Timothy—appeared equally taken aback, though for an entirely different reason. He wasn't looking at me with suspicion or animosity. His gaze carried a suffocating, almost painful intensity—a tender mixture of quiet devastation and deep, unspoken yearning that made my breath catch in my throat.

Before I could decipher the depth of that raw expression, Timothy hurriedly wiped it away, masking his vulnerability beneath a layer of lighthearted amusement. His dark brow arched high in a questioning gaze, his eyes darting back and forth between me and Sortitas.

I was currently straddling Sortitas, pinning him firmly to the floorboards. To an outside observer, the position was undeniably intimate and compromised.

Realizing how terrible the misunderstanding looked, I broke the heavy silence before Timothy could speak. "Sortitas and I... he was just teaching me how to defend myself."

"Really now?" Timothy asked, his tone laced with a soft, teasing cadence, though his eyes lingered on me just a fraction too long. "Well, word travels quickly through the keep. I heard you were the one who single-handedly defeated the assassin who nearly took the Princess’s life."

"You see... I was caught off guard during that encounter," I lied smoothly, forcing my voice to remain even. "That is precisely why I was injured. Sortitas was merely ensuring I wouldn't make the same mistake twice."

I stared directly at Sir Timothy with a stoic, unreadable expression, guarding my thoughts behind an icy wall. I needed to ensure he couldn't see through my lie. Yet rather than fixing me with a sharp, calculating gaze, his eyes softened with a fleeting, desperate tenderness. He looked at me as if he were staring at someone he had spent a lifetime searching for—a glance filled with a desperate longing he was barely managing to contain.

Catching himself, he tore his eyes away, swallowing hard before offering Princess Amelia a polished, practiced smile.

"Well, that certainly explains the commotion," Timothy said, though the warmth in his voice didn't quite reach the faint sorrow lingering in his eyes. "What do you have to say, Sortitas? Is the lady's account true?"

Sortitas stared blankly up at me for a long, agonizing moment. I took the cue to shift, awkwardly hauling myself off his chest and sitting up properly on the floor, finally releasing him from beneath me.

As I pushed off, I slipped his concealed dagger back into his grip, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the grain of the wooden floor to avoid meeting his gaze. Sortitas slowly pushed himself up, sliding the weapon away with quiet composure before brushing the dust off his sleeves.

"...What the lady said is true," Sortitas said, his low voice steady. "Given how deeply Princess Amelia concerned herself with the lady’s condition, I felt obligated to teach her a few defensive countermeasures. We must ensure such a close call does not happen again."

At his words, the sharp tension in the room finally began to thaw.

Princess Amelia let out a sigh of relief and rushed across the polished floorboards toward me. She dropped to her knees and clasped my hands tightly in her own.

"My savior! Oh, I am so relieved you are alright," Amelia gushed, her gentle warmth radiating through her touch. "I was terrified for you. It has been three whole days since you finally woke, and I could barely sleep from the worry!"

"Three days?" I blinked, stunned by the sudden gap in my memory.

"Indeed," Timothy chimed in, stepping closer. His voice was light, but his eyes rested on me with a soft, protective warmth that felt almost intoxicating. "Her Royal Highness here made a habit of sneaking away from her council lessons every few hours, just to pace outside your door and check on your recovery, My Lady."

A delicate, pinkish tint flushed across Princess Amelia’s cheeks. "Timothy! That was in confidence!" she huffed, though there was no real anger in her voice.

Despite the risk of raising suspicions, a dark question weighed heavily on my conscience. I needed to know the fallout of that catastrophic night. "What... what happened to that girl? The one I fought?"

Behind me, I felt Sortitas’s posture stiffen. His gaze burned into the back of my neck.

Amelia’s joyful expression dimmed into a somber frown. "Oh. You mean the young woman who was with you? Unfortunately... her body was consumed by the fire. Our royal healers arrived too late; they couldn't save her."

"I see..." I murmured softly, letting my gaze fall to the floor.

It took every ounce of my training to suppress the solemn, mournful expression threatening to break my composure. I forced my face to remain flat. Princess Amelia was blissfully unaware that the companion she pitied was the very assassin who had tried to slit her throat.

Part of me felt a cold sense of relief—with the body burned beyond recognition, there was no physical evidence left to link me to the plot. But beneath that relief lay a bitter, churning guilt. Amelia was treating me like a hero, completely ignorant of the fact that I had been sent to the capital with the exact same mission: to end her life.

And Timothy... the silent, agonizing affection radiating from him made the web of lies I was spinning feel infinitely heavier.

To steer the dangerous conversation away from the dead, I cleared my throat and looked around the lavishly decorated chamber. "Forgive me, but... where exactly am I?"

Amelia giggled softly, the heavy mood lifting as quickly as it had arrived. "Oh, you don't know? You are resting in the primary guest suite of the Inner Keep."

"You're in the heart of the Royal Capital, My Lady," Timothy added softly. As he bowed his head toward me, his eyes caught mine for a lingering, quiet second, brimming with a secret adoration he couldn't quite hide.

The morning sun beat down on the busy cobblestone thoroughfares of the Royal Capital. The city was a sprawling, chaotic metropolis, bursting at the seams with noise, vibrant color, and the sharp scents of roasted meats and unwashed crowds.

It had been years since I last stepped foot inside the capital’s outer walls, and the claustrophobic energy of the grand market was almost overwhelming.

I pulled the deep fabric of my heavy cloak tighter around my face, navigating the sea of pushy merchants and bustling commoners. Princess Amelia had insisted on gifting me an ornate silk mantle before I left the keep, but I had flatly refused. A royal cloak emblazoned with the silver crest of the ruling house would have drawn every eye in the city straight to me. Instead, I had borrowed a plain, dark traveler’s cloak from Sortitas—functional, inconspicuous, and smelling faintly of iron and rain.

Still, as I walked, my mind kept drifting back to Timothy. The way his eyes softened whenever he looked at me, the gentle tenderness behind his casual banter... It scared me. A man who looked at you with that much devotion was dangerous; he would notice the smallest flaws in my facade. He would notice if I slipped.

"Hey there, miss!" a burly farmer called out from behind a wooden stall stacked high with produce. "Why not buy some fresh root vegetables? Straight from the southern farms this morning!"

"It's okay. Thank you," I replied quietly, keeping my head down and continuing my march through the crowded square.

I had ventured out into the city under the guise of regaining my strength, but in truth, I needed to survey the terrain. I needed to know the escape routes, the guard shifts, and the blind spots of the city walls if my cover was compromised.

Suddenly, a sharp, panicked scream pierced through the rhythmic hum of the marketplace.

"Thief! Stop him! Somebody catch that thief!"

Before I could even register the cry, a dark figure slammed brutally into my shoulder, nearly knocking me off my feet. The impact jolted me backward, but my instincts instantly took over.

I whipped around just in time to see a slender individual darting through the panicked crowd. The fugitive was also clad in a heavy, ragged cloak, weaving expertly between fruit carts and screaming civilians with a stolen leather satchel clutched tightly under one arm.

Without a second thought, my body moved on pure muscle memory. I kicked off the hard cobblestones and bolted after the target, sprinting as fast as my recovering legs could carry me. I sprinted past bewildered guards and dodged startled merchants; my eyes locked entirely on the fleeing cloak ahead.

High above the chaotic streets, perched gracefully atop the stone balustrade of a soaring clocktower, the prince looked down upon the chase.

Unnoticed by the screaming crowds and the running girl below, the prince leaned against the ancient masonry, a sudden surge of exhilaration sweeping through him. The wind whipped wildly through his golden hair as a bright, thrilled grin broke across his face. Beneath the radiant sky, his striking blue eyes shimmered with pure delight and boundless energy, utterly thrilled by the events unfolding in the streets below.