Arya tossed and turned on the silk sheets, her body tangled in the blankets as she tried to escape the relentless grip of her nightmare. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as she found herself standing in a place that was neither real nor tangible—a realm suspended between shadow and light.

Before her, a woman stood, radiant and ethereal, cloaked in a golden light that seemed to pulse like the sun's rays. She towered over Arya, wings stretching wide, their feathers shimmering with an otherworldly glow. Her hair, the color of spun sunlight, was braided intricately down her back, and when she spoke, her voice was a melodic whisper, like the soft patter of rain on leaves.

"Arya," the woman began, her gaze gentle but unyielding. "You will not succeed in your attempt to kill the prince."

Arya's heart pounded, anger flaring hot and sharp in her chest. She balled her fists, defiance blazing in her golden eyes as she sneered up at the figure. "You don't know anything," she spat, her voice venomous. "Valen's blood will paint the Imperial Palace. I will see him dead."

The woman shook her head slowly, a sigh escaping her as if she had heard these words many times before. "No, child. You are destined for more than the spreading of your bloody wings."

Before Arya could snap back, the space around her shifted, the golden light dissolving into a series of visions that flashed before her eyes like fragments of a shattered mirror. She saw herself kissing Valen, their lips meeting in a desperate, heated embrace. The image changed, showing her cradling her swollen belly, the life inside her a testament to something far more profound than she could comprehend. Then came another vision, of her and Valen standing side by side, weapons drawn as they faced a shadowy figure whose presence was shrouded in darkness and malice.

"You are meant to rise from the shadows, Arya," the woman's voice echoed, wrapping around her like a warm, reassuring presence. "You are meant to be more than an assassin. You will bring the empire into the light. And your child... your child will be great."

Arya's heart hammered against her ribs, the air around her thickening as her thoughts spiraled. "I'm not pregnant," she snarled, her voice trembling with both fury and fear. "There's no child. You're lying!"

The woman's expression remained calm, her eyes softening with a kindness that only infuriated Arya more. "It is no lie, Arya. You carry the future within you."

"No!" Arya shouted, her voice breaking as the memory of her drunken night with Valen resurfaced with brutal clarity. She remembered their heated passion, the way they had clung to each other as if they could erase all the pain and uncertainty in their lives. She had forgotten to take the potion afterward, the one that would have ensured no life would take root within her.

Her mind reeled, the weight of the revelation crashing down on her like a tidal wave. She staggered back, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she tried to process what this meant. No, this couldn't be happening. It was a trick, some twisted fabrication meant to torment her.

But the woman nodded, her expression serene, as if she understood the chaos raging inside Arya. "It is true. You are destined for something greater, Arya. You and Valen will face many challenges, but together, you will be unstoppable. Be brave. Step into the light."

Arya shook her head violently, her vision blurring as tears of rage and confusion filled her eyes. "I don't want this," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I never wanted this. I'm an assassin. I don't—"

"You are so much more," the woman interrupted gently, her wings folding around her like a protective shield. "Embrace it, Arya. Embrace who you truly are, and you will find strength beyond measure."

The golden light began to fade, the world around Arya dissolving into darkness once more. She reached out, a desperate cry tearing from her throat, but the woman was already gone, her voice lingering like a fading melody.

"Step into the light, Arya."

With a jolt, Arya awoke, her body drenched in sweat, her heart racing as if she had just run a marathon. She sat up, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven bursts as she clutched her stomach, her mind still reeling from the nightmare—or was it a vision? The words of the golden woman echoed in her head, relentless and unyielding.

"You will bring the empire into the light. And your child will be great."

Arya's hand trembled as she pressed it against her belly, the realization settling over her like a cold, suffocating fog. She was pregnant. She was carrying Valen's child. Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. How would she face this? How could she possibly reconcile who she was with what she was becoming?

She took a deep, shuddering breath, her gaze hardening as she stared out into the darkness of the room. Whatever this meant, whatever path lay before her, she would face it as she had faced every other challenge in her life—with strength, with cunning, and with an unbreakable will.

She was the Blood Angel, and she would not falter.

But even as she steeled herself, the words of the golden woman lingered in her mind, haunting her with a truth she was not yet ready to accept.

"You are so much more."

~

The dining hall buzzed with activity, servants rushing about with platters of food, the clink of silverware against porcelain filling the room as the Imperial family gathered for breakfast. Arya walked in, her expression dark and stormy, her golden eyes sharp as she scanned the faces of those present. Every nerve in her body was taut with tension, her mind still reeling from the nightmare—no, the vision—she had experienced the night before.

I am not pregnant, she told herself fiercely, pushing the thought down as she took her seat. It was just a dream. Nothing more.

She glanced over at Valen, who was seated at the head of the table beside the Emperor. His expression was carefully neutral, but she could see the tension in the way his jaw was set, the rigid line of his shoulders. A surge of satisfaction bloomed in her chest at the chaos she had sown with her little prank. The palace was in a state of panic, whispers of the Blood Angel's arrival spreading like wildfire. Let them squirm, she thought, reveling in the discomfort she had caused. The fear that flickered across their faces only served to amplify her power.

Marissa, seated beside Arya, leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Did you hear? Someone painted a bloody angel on Valen's door last night. Everyone's saying it's a warning from the Blood Angel. Father is furious!"

Arya forced a look of concern onto her face, her brows knitting together as she nodded. "I heard. It's... disturbing, to say the least."

Marissa's eyes widened, a mixture of fear and excitement gleaming in them. "Do you really think the Blood Angel is here to kill someone? I've heard so many stories. They say the Blood Angel never misses a target. Do you think it's true?"

Arya's lips twitched as she fought back a smile. What does it matter to me? she mused, Let them believe it. Their fear is my strength. "I wouldn't put much stock in rumors, Marissa. People love to exaggerate."

A slight pang of affection for Marissa flared in her chest—only slightly, she reminded herself. The young woman was amusing, a fleeting distraction in the intricate game Arya played. Yet even that was a weakness. Friends could betray, and loyalty was a burden. She had no friends, not truly. Let her enjoy the thrill of the fear; it's entertaining, but don't forget your purpose, she scolded herself.

Before Marissa could respond, the Emperor's voice boomed across the table, cutting through the low murmur of conversation. "We need to address this threat immediately," Cedric said, his tone hard as steel. "The Blood Angel is a dangerous assassin. We cannot ignore this warning."

Valen, his expression calm but his eyes flashing with irritation, leaned forward. "Father, I've told you, I'm not concerned. I can handle the Blood Angel. This assassin is just trying to scare us."

The Queen, her face pale but composed, placed a gentle hand on Valen's arm. "You can't be so dismissive, Valen. The Blood Angel is not just any assassin. This person has taken down targets with far more security than we have here."

Arya had to suppress a laugh as she took a sip of her tea, feigning interest. The irony of the situation was almost too much. Here she was, sitting right beside them, listening to them debate how to deal with a threat they had no idea was already woven into the fabric of their lives. What a delightful farce this all is, she thought, a twisted thrill coursing through her veins.

Marissa glanced at Arya, her eyes wide. "Do you think the Blood Angel could really get to Valen?"

Arya took a moment to consider her response, the corners of her mouth twitching with barely contained amusement. "I think the Blood Angel is very skilled. It would be wise not to underestimate them."

And it would be wise for you to keep your distance, she silently added, relishing the power she held. Valen's gaze snapped to Arya, his eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher her words. There was an intensity in his look, a challenge almost, and Arya felt a thrill run through her. She knew he was trying to figure her out, trying to piece together who she really was, but he was still so far from the truth.

The Emperor's voice drew her attention back to the head of the table. "I want every resource at our disposal used to find this assassin," he declared, his expression grim. "No one is safe as long as the Blood Angel is out there. And if they're targeting Valen—"

"I'm not worried, Father," Valen interrupted, his voice firm. "This assassin won't get to me."

The Queen's face tightened, her eyes filled with worry. "You're being reckless, Valen. The Blood Angel has never failed to kill their target."

Arya watched the exchange with interest, her mind racing. She had to give Valen credit—he wasn't easily intimidated. But there was a fine line between courage and arrogance, and she wondered how far he was willing to push it. How foolish to think he is invulnerable, she thought, especially with me so close. I hold all the cards.

As the tension mounted, Arya seized the opportunity to probe for information that could be beneficial for the Silent Brotherhood. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "What do we really know about the Blood Angel? I've heard whispers about the organization behind the assassin. Are there any rumors that might shed light on their motivations or their methods?"

The Emperor paused, clearly taken aback by her directness. Valen's expression shifted to one of suspicion, but Arya met his gaze with a calculated calm. She could see the cogs turning in his mind, trying to unravel the connection between her questions and her allegiance.

Cedric frowned, considering her inquiry. "The Blood Angel has a reputation for being meticulous. They are not just an assassin; they are a symbol of fear. Some believe they are part of a larger faction, perhaps even a rebellion against the Crown."

Valen scoffed, his tone laced with skepticism. "Rebellion? That's just a story meant to scare children. If the Blood Angel were part of a faction, we would know by now."

Or maybe we wouldn't, Arya thought, reveling in the irony that the truth was sitting right in front of him. "But we cannot underestimate what we don't know," she countered smoothly. "Even a whisper can reveal valuable information."

Marissa leaned in, her excitement palpable. "I've heard people say the Blood Angel is looking for something... or someone. What could that be?"

Information, my dear Marissa, Arya mused, hiding her amusement. But you wouldn't know it, would you? "That's intriguing. Perhaps the Blood Angel is not only a threat but also a seeker of something greater. It could be beneficial for us to discover what drives them."

She watched as their eyes flickered with uncertainty, the atmosphere thickening with tension. The family was grappling with their fear and their need for control, and Arya was at the heart of it, dancing around their anxieties like a skilled performer.

The Emperor's voice snapped her back to the present. "We need to prepare for the worst. If the Blood Angel is indeed hunting someone or something, it could be an indication of a larger scheme at play. I want every rumor investigated."

Arya kept her face neutral, nodding solemnly as she responded. "Of course, Your Majesty. I will do everything in my power to track down this assassin and uncover any relevant information."

Track down? I'm already here, she thought, a giddy sense of irony washing over her. They were asking the Blood Angel herself to hunt... the Blood Angel. If only they knew. But she forced herself to remain calm, meeting the Emperor's gaze steadily.

Valen's eyes were still on her, suspicion clear in his expression. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head, trying to connect the dots that weren't even there. He didn't trust her—he never really had—and she was counting on that. His mistrust was a tool she could use, a weakness she could exploit.

As the conversation continued around her, Arya allowed herself a small, secret smile. She would play their game for now. She would act the dutiful Spymaster, offering them just enough to keep them satisfied, all the while planning her next move. And when the time came, when Valen was at his most vulnerable...

She would remind him why the Blood Angel was feared. In that moment, her resolve crystallized: their panic was her victory, and she relished it. With each passing second, she felt the tension thickening around the table like a storm cloud, the Emperor's determination adding fuel to the fire. Let them worry. Let them panic. Their fear is my strength, and soon, it will be their undoing.

Arya glanced at Marissa, still caught up in her excitement, and felt a flicker of warmth. But it quickly faded; she had to remind herself that this connection was fleeting, a mere distraction. Friendship is a liability. I cannot allow myself to grow close.

With a final sip of her tea, Arya's mind whirred with possibilities. The empire was in disarray, and she was at the center of it, wielding her influence like a blade. In this game of shadows, she would be the one pulling the strings, and when the time was right, the Blood Angel would emerge from the darkness, leaving only chaos in her wake. The game had only just begun, and Arya was ready to play.

~

Later that day, as the tourney went on around her. Arya went to find an old friend of hers. The leather shop was bustling with activity, customers browsing the finely crafted goods displayed around the wooden stalls. Arya moved through the crowd with purpose, her golden eyes scanning the faces of the vendors and customers until she spotted Mila, the leather maker, engaged in a lively conversation with a potential buyer. Arya waited patiently, her presence calm and unassuming, until the customer left, satisfied with their purchase.

Mila turned to her with a practiced smile, her dark eyes flicking over Arya's figure in a way that suggested she saw more than just another customer. "Welcome, my lady. How can I help you today?"

Arya returned the smile, her expression polite, even friendly, as she reached into her coat and produced a small, weighty pouch. She set it down on the counter between them, the clink of coins within catching Mila's attention. "I'm in need of some new riding boots," she said casually, her voice low. "But I'm also looking for information."

Mila's expression didn't change, but her eyes sharpened as she glanced around to ensure no one was watching too closely. Then, with a practiced move, she swept the pouch off the counter and into her apron pocket. "Information can be tricky, especially in times like these."

Arya nodded, leaning in slightly as she spoke, her tone casual but edged with intensity. "I need to know why Kael has been hanging around the Imperial City. Why he's taken an interest in my target."

Mila's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at the mention of Kael's name, but she masked it quickly, her gaze steady. "I've seen him around," she admitted quietly. "He's been keeping a low profile, but I spotted him near the bookstore in the market district a few days ago. Didn't stay long, just enough to meet someone and then he was gone."

Arya frowned, her mind racing. The bookstore was a known place for discreet exchanges and coded messages, a favorite spot for those looking to avoid attention. "Did you see who he was meeting?"

Mila shook her head. "No, it was too crowded. I couldn't get close without drawing attention. But it's not like him to be so open. He's usually more careful."

Arya sighed, frustration curling in her chest. She needed more than this. Kael being here wasn't just a coincidence; he had a plan, and she needed to know what it was before he made his move. "He's in the Imperial dungeon now," she said softly, watching Mila's reaction closely. "But I don't want to act without solid proof. If there's anything you hear, anything at all, you let me know."

Mila's expression tightened, concern flickering across her features. "You're playing a dangerous game, Arya. The prince is no fool. If he suspects you're anything other than what you've told them..."

Arya's smile was humorless, a sharp edge to it. "He already does. He doesn't trust me, and he shouldn't. But I'll deal with him when the time comes. Just keep your ears open."

Mila nodded, glancing around once more before lowering her voice further. "I will. But be careful. The palace is on edge, and you're at the center of it. If Kael's after the prince, it's not just about the job. There's something bigger going on."

Arya's mind churned with possibilities as she bought the pair of riding boots she'd mentioned, handing over another pouch of gold. Mila's hands lingered on the coins for a moment before she looked up, her expression earnest. "I'll let you know if I hear anything. Just... don't do anything reckless."

Arya gave her a small, almost affectionate smile. "Reckless is in my nature. But I'll be careful. You do the same."

As she turned to leave, Arya hesitated, then stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Mila, one more thing. The Emperor believes my story, but Valen—" she almost slipped, almost called him the prince, but corrected herself just in time, "—he's watching closely. If you see him snooping around, keep your distance. He's not to be underestimated."

Mila nodded, her eyes serious. "I will. And Arya... be careful. You've got more to lose now."

Arya nodded, her hand briefly squeezing Mila's arm before she turned and left the shop, her mind whirling. As she made her way back to the tournament grounds, the crowd bustling around her, she couldn't shake the feeling that everything was shifting beneath her feet, the game becoming more dangerous by the moment.

Kael was in the dungeons, the Emperor was breathing down her neck, and Valen's suspicion was a shadow that followed her every move. She was balancing on the edge of a blade, one misstep away from disaster.

But she would not be outplayed. Not by Kael, not by the Emperor, and certainly not by Valen.

Let the game continue, she thought, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of the Imperial box in the distance. I'm just getting started.

~

The dimly lit bookstore was filled with the scent of old parchment and ink. Arya shut the door behind her with a soft click, ensuring it was locked. The prince was lurking outside, no doubt thinking he was being stealthy. Amateur, she thought with a wry smile.

The bookstore owner, a wiry man with graying hair, glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widening as he recognized Arya. His wife, standing behind the counter, also stiffened, her hand hovering protectively over a stack of ledgers. They both knew Arya too well, had seen what she was capable of when crossed.

Arya's smile was cold, a hint of danger lurking beneath her polite words. "I'm in need of a particular book," she said softly, letting her gaze linger on the spines of the volumes lining the shelves. "Something on Imperial intrigue. I hear you had a visitor asking for such things recently."

The merchant swallowed hard, his expression guarded. "We don't want any trouble, Arya."

"Neither do I." Her tone was light, almost playful, but the undercurrent of threat was unmistakable. She took a step closer, her fingers lightly brushing over the spines of the books as if she were browsing. "But I need to know why Kael was here. What he was looking for."

The man hesitated, his eyes darting to his wife, who was watching the exchange with barely concealed fear. "I don't know anything," he stammered. "He was just here for a book, that's all."

Arya's smile turned sharper, and she leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You know, I've always found it interesting how fragile books are. One little spark and they're gone, reduced to ash." Her fingers brushed over the edge of a particularly valuable-looking tome, her meaning clear.

The merchant paled, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the shelf for support. "He... he wanted a book on the inner workings of the Imperial Court," he said, his voice trembling. "He asked about current alliances, political leverage. I told him I didn't have much, just general histories. But he didn't seem too interested in the books. He left with another man, tall, dark-haired. I didn't recognize him."

Arya's eyes narrowed. This wasn't enough. "Where did they go?"

The merchant looked as if he might collapse under the pressure of her gaze. "I... I heard them mention the water district. There's a warehouse down by the docks, one of the old ones no one uses anymore. That's all I know, I swear."

Arya studied him for a long moment, then nodded, satisfied. She tossed a small, weighty pouch onto the counter, the coins inside clinking softly as they landed. "Thank you for your cooperation."

The wife, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, her voice trembling with barely suppressed anger. "We don't want you coming back here. This is a place of business, not..." she trailed off, clearly afraid to finish the thought.

Arya turned, her eyes locking onto the woman's, and the smile that spread across her lips was anything but friendly. "Be careful what you say, my dear. I'd hate for you to lose something precious because you didn't know when to hold your tongue." Her gaze flicked to the merchant, who was visibly trembling. "Keep her in check, or someone else will."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and headed for the door, unlocking it with a smooth motion before stepping back out into the cool air. The street was busy, people milling about, oblivious to the tension that had filled the bookstore just moments before.

Valen was loitering nearby, trying—and failing—to appear inconspicuous as he watched her. Arya let out a low, amused laugh. She sauntered over to him, her expression mocking as she leaned in, close enough that her breath brushed against his ear. "If you're going to follow me, at least make an effort. Even a child could do better."

Valen's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening at the taunt, but Arya just smiled sweetly, her tone light. "I'm heading to the water district. Since you're so determined to follow, why don't you join me? I'm sure you'd be just as interested in what's happening there as I am."

She didn't wait for his response, turning on her heel and heading down the street, her stride confident and unhurried. She knew Valen would follow; his curiosity and suspicion would drive him to it. And part of her was looking forward to it. Seeing how far she could push him, how much she could poke at his carefully controlled exterior before he snapped.

As she walked, she couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. The game was becoming more interesting by the minute, and she intended to play it to the very end.

~

As they walked through the bustling streets of the capital, Valen's voice took on a sharper edge, his questions relentless. "So, that story you told my father, about your parents and that righteous path? Convenient, wasn't it?"

Arya turned to him, her expression cool, effortlessly maintaining the façade she had built over years of deception. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, I thought you wanted to know about me," she replied lightly. "Should I have bored him with tales of my time cleaning stables?"

Valen's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. "And the attack on your village? The one that supposedly set you on your path?"

Arya's smile didn't waver, but inside she was calculating. Every question, every probe was an attempt to find cracks in her story, to unearth the truth that lay buried beneath her carefully constructed lies. "It happened, as I said. But if you're going to interrogate me, we should at least be comfortable." She tilted her head, mocking curiosity. "Unless, of course, you have other questions you're more interested in."

Valen snarled, his frustration breaking through his usual composure. "Fine. Do you know who the Blood Angel is?"

For a brief moment, Arya's pulse quickened, but she quickly schooled her expression into one of mild amusement. She gave him a knowing, almost teasing smile. "I've heard of him, yes. A damned good assassin, or so they say. But his identity? That's a mystery to everyone." She shrugged, as if the matter were of little consequence.

Valen's eyes bore into her, his skepticism clear. "So you know nothing more than rumors?"

"Rumors are the currency of the court," Arya replied, her tone breezy. "But knowing a rumor isn't the same as knowing the truth, Your Highness." She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If I knew more, I'd tell you. After all, it's my job to protect you now, isn't it?"

Valen didn't look convinced, but before he could press further, she turned sharply down a side street, her pace quickening as they neared the water district. "Kael's been seen here recently," she explained, changing the subject. "I need to know what he's planning, if he's working alone or with others. The better I understand his motives, the better I can protect you."

"Protect me?" Valen echoed, his tone incredulous. "You expect me to believe that?"

Arya's smile turned wicked as she glanced back at him. "Believe what you want, Your Highness. But if I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have woken up this morning."

He couldn't argue with that. Instead, he remained silent, his gaze scrutinizing her every move as they continued through the narrow, winding streets.

When they reached the edge of the harbor, Arya stopped abruptly, her eyes scanning the rows of warehouses lining the docks. She spotted a merchant she recognized—a smuggler who had provided her with information more than once in the past. As they approached, the man's eyes widened in recognition, and his demeanor shifted to one of barely concealed fear.

"What do you want?" he demanded, his voice shaky. "I've told you before, I don't know anything about Kael."

Arya's smile was predatory as she leaned in, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. "You'd better not be lying to me. Last time you held out on me, I nearly cut your tongue out, remember?" She glanced over her shoulder at Valen, who was watching the exchange with narrowed eyes, then softened her tone, adopting a more pleasant facade. "I'm just looking for some information, that's all."

The merchant glanced nervously at Valen, then back at Arya. "Please, don't cause trouble here. I... I heard Kael was around, but he's gone now. He's been seen near one of the warehouses at the end of the docks, but I don't know anything else, I swear."

Arya's eyes flashed with irritation, but she forced herself to nod. She couldn't press him too hard, not with Valen watching her every move. "Fine. But if I find out you've been holding back, I'll be back, and we'll finish what we started." She gave him one last, wolfish grin before turning on her heel and walking away.

Valen fell into step beside her, his gaze suspicious. "What was that about?"

Arya shrugged, feigning ignorance. "Just making sure he knew not to waste our time. It's nothing."

"It didn't look like nothing," Valen muttered, but Arya ignored him, focusing instead on the task at hand. They needed to find that warehouse and figure out what Kael had been doing here. Every step they took, every piece of information they gathered, was a step closer to unearthing Kael's plans—and to ensuring her own survival.

As they made their way through the maze of warehouses, Arya cursed the golden woman again, her thoughts returning to the supposed prophecy that haunted her. Pregnant, she scoffed inwardly. Ridiculous. But as much as she tried to dismiss the thought, it lingered, a nagging doubt at the back of her mind that she couldn't quite shake.

Finally, they reached the end of the docks, where a row of abandoned warehouses loomed over the water. Arya paused, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the buildings. There was something off, a strange stillness that set her on edge.

"Here," she said softly, pointing to one of the warehouses. "This is where he was last seen."

Valen's gaze shifted between her and the building, his expression unreadable. "And what exactly do you plan to do now?"

Arya glanced at him, a dangerous smile playing on her lips. "We're going to find out what Kael was after. And if we're lucky, we might just catch him in the act." She hesitated, then added, her voice serious, "Stay close, Your Highness. I don't want you getting hurt."

Valen snorted, but there was a grudging respect in his eyes as he nodded. "Just try to keep up."

Arya smiled, a thrill of anticipation coursing through her. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it head-on. And with Valen at her side—whether he knew it or not—she had every intention of coming out on top.

~

Arya and Valen stepped into the warehouse, the stale air closed in around them, thick with an unnatural stillness. Dust motes drifted in the faint light that seeped through cracks in the walls, barely illuminating the vast, empty space. Arya's jaw clenched, irritation simmering beneath her skin. They had followed a lead here, and it felt like another dead end.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, slamming her boot into a nearby crate with a crack. "What kind of information was that?" She shot an accusing glare at Valen. "I should burn that entire bookstore to the ground for wasting my time."

Valen raised an eyebrow, visibly measuring her mood. "Let's not go overboard. We still have—"

A metallic clank echoed through the warehouse as the heavy door behind them swung shut, the slam reverberating through the darkness. Arya whipped around, her heart pounding as she rushed to the door, throwing her shoulder against it. But it held fast, locked tight. Valen joined her, both of them heaving against the solid wood, but it wouldn't budge.

"What in the depths is going on?" Valen muttered, glancing around with a rising edge of urgency.

"Just—hold on!" Arya snapped, panic creeping into her voice. The walls seemed to close in as the silence stretched, thickening like fog.

Suddenly, a guttural growl broke the stillness. Arya's eyes snapped toward the far end of the warehouse, where something massive lumbered out of the shadows. A mutated minotaur, grotesque and twisted, with muscle-bound limbs and eyes glowing a blood-red, filled the space. Its breath rattled as it snorted, the sickening scent of rot filling the air.

The minotaur lowered its head, its sharp, cracked horns aimed right at them. Then, with a thunderous bellow, it charged.

Arya's instincts kicked in. She dropped into a low stance, unsheathing her dagger in a fluid motion as she scanned for weak points. "Stay sharp!" she shouted, her voice ringing out as the beast bore down on them.

Valen drew his sword, his grip firm. The creature's hooves thundered across the warehouse, and they leapt aside just in time, narrowly avoiding its deadly charge. Arya darted in, her body a blur as she sliced at the beast's flank. Her dagger sank in, but the minotaur barely flinched, swinging its massive club toward her in a brutal arc.

She ducked, rolling away just as the club crashed into the ground where she'd stood moments before. Her frustration spiked. Why hadn't she remembered? She'd heard stories, whispers of the firstborns in the imperial family who could shift into dragons under extreme emotions. Legends dismissed as myth, until now. Fury burned within her as she realized her own oversight had placed her at risk.

"Focus!" Valen shouted, moving in with precision, his blade slicing a deep gash along the creature's leg. The minotaur roared, staggering for a moment before swinging its club with deadly force. Valen ducked, the club grazing him, but he held his ground.

Arya seized the opening, her movements sharp and calculated. She circled around to the creature's back, leaping onto a crate to gain height. With a fierce cry, she aimed her dagger at its neck, muscles coiling as she prepared to strike.

But as she jumped, the minotaur whipped its head around, catching her mid-air. Its club struck her side, sending her hurtling across the floor with a harsh thud. Pain flared through her ribs as she gasped for breath, the impact ringing in her bones. She tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt sluggish, her vision blurring.

"ARYA!" Valen's shout cut through her daze, but he didn't have time to reach her. The minotaur turned, raising its club high above him, prepared to strike.

A deep, primal growl resonated from Valen's throat, low and furious. Arya struggled to her feet, her vision clearing just in time to see Valen's form ripple, his features distorting as scales of obsidian black began to emerge. In moments, his body elongated, limbs thickening as he transformed, filling the warehouse with his massive form. The air around him pulsed with a raw, ancient energy, like the awakening of something primordial.

Valen, now a towering black dragon, loomed over the minotaur. His scales gleamed in the dim light, his eyes molten with fury, and his presence exuded a terrifying power that seemed to vibrate through the air. He released a roar so powerful it shook the very walls, sending the minotaur skittering back, momentarily paralyzed by the dragon's might.

Arya's heart hammered as she took in the sight. This wasn't the controlled ally she'd known moments ago; this was a creature driven by raw, unchecked power. She steadied herself, fists clenched. He could turn that power on her just as easily—and she'd been foolish enough to forget.

The minotaur lunged again, but Valen's dragon form was faster. He swiped a massive claw, raking it across the creature's chest and sending it sprawling back with a howl of pain. Without a moment's hesitation, Valen unleashed a torrent of flames, the fire blazing a deadly orange as it engulfed the minotaur. But even as the beast succumbed to the flames, Valen's fiery gaze remained fixed on Arya, his pupils narrowed to slits.

She held her ground, her body tensing as his draconic eyes locked onto hers, fury still simmering in their depths. He loomed closer, his maw inches from her, his breath hot and sharp as he growled—a warning that dared her to stand down. But Arya's golden eyes narrowed, her gaze unwavering. She refused to show an ounce of fear.

"If you think," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous, "that I'm some dumb minotaur, you're dead wrong."

A flicker of recognition crossed his draconic eyes, his anger wavering for a split second. But Valen still exuded a primal energy, as if he were only barely holding back the urge to snap.

Arya's voice cut through the tension, her tone a fierce warning. "Don't even think about turning that dragon on me." She leveled her dagger at his enormous form, her hand steady. "If you ever let that creature decide I'm a target, I won't hesitate to end you." Her threat hung in the air, crackling with icy resolve.

Valen let out a low rumble, his massive head lowering slightly as if to meet her challenge. But slowly, his scales began to recede, his form shifting back into that of a man. His breathing was heavy, ragged as he regained his human form, his face still flushed with the remnants of his fury.

He looked up at her, catching the sharp edge in her gaze. "I... I wasn't going to hurt you." But the rawness in his voice betrayed the struggle he had felt to control himself.

Arya's lips tightened, and she crossed her arms, her gaze unyielding. "Explain. Now."

Valen took a steadying breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as he met her gaze. "It's not something I can control at will," he admitted. "The shift... it only happens when my emotions are out of control. High levels of stress, anger... when I don't have a choice."

She let out a bitter laugh, her anger simmering beneath the surface. "Convenient. So you had no control?"

He shook his head, his expression earnest. "No. It's part of being a firstborn. We're trained to keep it in check, but sometimes it..." He hesitated, his jaw tightening. "Sometimes it takes over."

Arya's eyes narrowed, taking in every nuance of his expression. She knew the power he held was formidable—and dangerous. Her mind calculated the risks and possibilities, recognizing that his shifting could either be an invaluable weapon... or a threat she couldn't afford to ignore.

"Well," she said coldly, voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. "You'd better get control of it." She took a step closer, her tone a venomous whisper. "I won't be caught off guard by it again. The next time I see that dragon and you lose control..." She let the threat hang in the air, her meaning crystal clear.

Valen's gaze held hers, his face solemn as he nodded, understanding her unspoken warning.

As they moved toward the door, Arya's mind was a whirlwind. She'd planned for every possible move Valen might make—but this? This was a new, unpredictable variable. As they finally pushed the door open, stepping into the cool night air, Arya took a deep breath, her resolve only strengthening. She would not let herself become vulnerable—not to him, and certainly not to the dragon.

"Let's find Kael. Whatever he's planning, we have to end it," she said, her voice firm and clear.

Valen nodded, his own determination mirroring hers. "Agreed. But we watch each other's backs from now on. I don't want to be caught off guard again, either."

Arya smirked, a flicker of challenge lighting her eyes. "If you can keep up with me, that shouldn't be a problem."

~

With each agonizing step, Arya felt a sharp stab of pain shooting through her ankle, radiating up her leg. She clenched her teeth, fighting against the urge to wince as Valen supported her weight. It was infuriating to lean on him like this, relying on his strength when she'd rather crawl on her hands and knees than show any weakness. But the pain was undeniable, and she suspected her ankle was more than just twisted—perhaps even broken.

Valen's arm was firm around her waist, his presence irritatingly steady. She could sense his concern as he glanced down at her, but she refused to meet his gaze, her pride burning hotter than her injuries. She was Arya, the Blood Angel. She didn't need anyone's help, least of all his.

"You know, you don't have to be so stubborn," Valen said, his voice breaking the tense silence as they made their way through the palace corridors. "If I hadn't been there—"

"I know," Arya snapped, her frustration bubbling over. "I'd have been killed. Trust me, I'm very aware." She clenched her jaw, the humiliation of the situation gnawing at her.

Valen frowned, but his voice remained calm, almost probing. "Why would the book merchant send you there, though? It was clearly a setup. He knew what would be waiting for you."

Arya shrugged, cursing quietly under her breath. The merchant's betrayal stung more than she cared to admit. She should have seen it coming, should have known better than to trust anyone. "Maybe he wanted me dead," she muttered, her eyes narrowing as she thought of the book merchant. "Maybe he's just stupid. Either way, he's going to regret it."

Valen raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the dangerous edge in her voice. "You know him, don't you?" he asked, his tone more curious than accusatory. "It seemed... personal."

Arya stiffened, giving him a curt nod. She wasn't about to divulge her past connections to him. "He's nobody," she said flatly. "But he will pay for wasting my time."

Valen was silent for a moment, his grip on her tightening slightly as they approached the infirmary. "You need to be careful," he said quietly. "If you hadn't brought me with you, that thing would have torn you apart."

She turned her head sharply to look at him, her eyes blazing with defiance despite the pain coursing through her. "I don't need your concern, your highness. I've survived worse than this."

His gaze softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Clearly, you have. But it wouldn't hurt to have someone watching your back, would it?"

Arya huffed, the words of the golden woman echoing in her mind, her infuriating prophecy haunting her thoughts. Destined for more than spreading bloody wings, the woman had said. Arya wanted to scream, to tear that image out of her mind, but she forced herself to stay composed, her pride refusing to let her break in front of Valen.

They finally reached the infirmary, and the Imperial physician quickly approached them, his eyes widening as he took in their battered forms. "What happened?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Just a little disagreement with a minotaur," Valen said lightly, though there was an edge to his voice. He helped Arya onto a nearby cot, his touch gentle but firm. "She took most of the hits."

Arya shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted. "I'm fine," she insisted, though the pain in her ribs made her voice waver. "Just—just look at my ankle."

The physician nodded, his hands moving deftly as he examined her injuries. "A sprain and some broken ribs," he announced after a few moments, his expression serious. "You need rest, Lady Arya. Moving around too much will only make it worse."

"I don't have time to rest," Arya growled, wincing as the physician began wrapping her ankle. "I need to see someone. In the dungeons."

Valen stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "No, you don't," he said firmly. "You need to rest. You're not going anywhere in this condition."

Arya's temper flared, her hands clenching into fists. "You don't get to decide that," she snapped, her voice cold. "I'm going to see Kael. Now."

Valen's expression hardened, his posture rigid as he looked down at her. "If you don't watch your tone," he said slowly, a hint of amusement in his voice, "I might just order you to stay in bed."

Arya rolled her eyes, biting back the string of curses that came to her lips. "Then you can kiss my ass, your highness," she retorted, sarcasm dripping from her words.

To her surprise, Valen laughed, a low, genuine sound that seemed to lighten the tension between them. "I'll pass, thanks," he said, his eyes gleaming with something she couldn't quite place. "But you need to rest. Just this once, listen to reason."

The physician handed her a pair of crutches, and Arya reluctantly took them, still seething with frustration. "Fine," she muttered, her pride stinging. "But this isn't over."

Valen nodded, his smile fading as he met her gaze. "I know. But for now, let's get you to your room."

He stayed by her side as they made their way to her quarters, his presence steady and infuriatingly comforting. Despite her irritation, Arya couldn't help but feel a strange sense of gratitude—though she'd never admit it. As they reached her door, Valen paused, his expression serious once more.

"Rest, Arya," he said softly, his voice almost gentle. "We'll deal with Kael when you're ready."

She glared at him, but there was no real heat in it. "You really don't know when to shut up, do you?"

Valen just shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I guess not."

With one last look, he turned and walked away, leaving Arya alone with her thoughts—and the burning resolve that, no matter what, she would see this through.

~

The last rays of the setting sun bathed Arya's balcony in a warm, golden light. The gentle breeze carried the distant sounds of the tourney—a faint cheer, the clash of steel, the murmur of a crowd. But here, above the hustle and noise of the palace, it was peaceful. An unexpected calm after the chaos of the last few days.

Arya sat cross-legged in her chair, her posture relaxed but alert, a stark contrast to her usual deadly grace. Her hair, usually a sleek cascade down her back, was haphazardly piled into a messy bun, a few stray strands catching the light like threads of fire. She wore simple leggings and a loose, oversized sweater that hung casually off one shoulder, giving her a softness that Valen hadn't seen before. Her feet were bare, one idly swinging over the edge of the chair, toes tapping lightly against the wooden rail.

Valen found himself stealing glances at her as they poured over the documents and items retrieved from Kael's pack, but his focus kept drifting. Arya, the fierce, enigmatic woman who had fought beside him, was disarmingly beautiful in this unguarded state. There was no armor, no sharp edges—just her. And it was almost mesmerizing.

"Are you listening?" Arya's voice cut through his thoughts, a teasing lilt in her tone.

He blinked, snapping his gaze back to the pile of papers between them. "Of course," he said, though the slight flush on his cheeks betrayed him.

She arched an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Really? Because I'm pretty sure I just said I was thinking of setting the library on fire to see what secrets the ashes might hold."

Valen chuckled, shaking his head. "I think I would've remembered that part."

"Uh-huh," Arya said, leaning back in her chair, the hint of a smile still playing on her lips. "Focus, your highness. We're trying to figure out what Kael was planning, remember?"

He nodded, forcing his attention back to the scattered notes and maps. But his eyes kept drifting, caught by the way the fading light turned her golden eyes almost amber, the shadows accentuating the soft curve of her cheek. There was a strange intimacy in this moment—shared silence and unspoken understanding. They were still adversaries, in a way, each hiding pieces of themselves. But there was also respect, a grudging acknowledgment of each other's strengths.

They had fought together, bled together, and now they were piecing together the puzzle of Kael's intentions, side by side. He didn't trust her, not entirely, but he couldn't deny the bond forged in the heat of battle. She had stood her ground against the minotaur, fearless and fierce, and he'd seen a different side of her since then. The sharp-tongued, cunning woman was still there, but there was also a hint of something more—a depth that intrigued him.

"What is it?" Arya asked suddenly, and Valen realized he'd been staring again.

He cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Just surprised, I guess. You're... different like this."

"Like what?" she asked, her tone guarded but curious.

"Like..." He gestured vaguely at her. "Like you're not trying to kill someone."

She laughed then, a sound that was both genuine and rare, and Valen found himself smiling despite himself. "Believe it or not, your highness, I don't always have a dagger up my sleeve."

"Could've fooled me," he teased, and she rolled her eyes, but there was no heat in it. They fell into a comfortable silence again, the soft clinking of utensils and the rustle of papers the only sounds between them.

"Why do you do it?" he asked after a while, his voice quiet. "Put yourself in danger like this?"

Arya looked at him, her gaze unreadable. For a moment, he thought she might brush him off with some sarcastic remark, but then she shrugged, her expression thoughtful.

"Sometimes," she said slowly, "you do what you have to. For reasons that don't always make sense to anyone else."

He nodded, understanding more than she probably realized. His life, his responsibilities—they were a different kind of cage, but a cage nonetheless. "Yeah," he murmured. "I get that."

They fell silent again, but it wasn't awkward. Instead, it was the silence of two people who, despite everything, understood each other on some level. Valen found himself relaxing, the tension he usually felt around her easing into something almost... comfortable.

"You know," he said after a moment, his voice light, "you could make a decent courtier. Maybe even a general, with your strategies."

Arya snorted, shaking her head. "You've got to be kidding me. I'd rather stick a fork in my eye."

Valen laughed, the sound echoing in the still evening air. "Fair enough. But you're good at this," he said, more seriously. "Finding answers. Getting things done."

She glanced at him, her expression thoughtful. "And you're not as useless as I thought you'd be," she said, her tone teasing but with a hint of sincerity. "For a prince."

He smirked, leaning back in his chair, the warmth of the evening settling around them like a blanket. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Don't get used to it," she shot back, but there was a smile in her eyes, a softness he hadn't seen before.

They ate in companionable silence, the last of the sunlight fading into twilight. For once, there were no secrets between them, no hidden motives or veiled threats. Just two people sharing a meal, exchanging quips, and trying to make sense of the mess around them.

As the stars began to dot the sky, Valen found himself glancing at her again, unable to help it. She was beautiful, in a way that was raw and unrefined, and there was something about her that drew him in, made him want to know more.

But he knew better than to ask. Arya was a mystery he wasn't sure he wanted to solve—not yet, anyway.

Instead, he picked up his glass, raising it in a mock toast. "To surviving minotaurs, and figuring out whatever the hell Kael is up to."

Arya rolled her eyes but picked up her own glass, clinking it lightly against his. "To staying alive," she said with a smirk, her eyes gleaming with that familiar fire.

They drank, and for the first time in a long while, Valen felt something like hope. Whatever came next, at least they'd face it together.