Deep in thought, Alia's attention snapped to the sound of approaching footsteps outside. She instinctively lifted her head, her gaze sweeping toward the door. A soldier passed by in the corridor, his steps unnaturally light, barely making a sound. This detail made her frown—typically, a soldier's boots would produce some noise against carpets or marble floors, yet this man moved with an almost deliberate silence, as if intentionally concealing his presence.
Even more suspicious was the way he wore his military cap—pulled low over his face, casting heavy shadows under the flickering candlelight. It obscured his upper features, making it impossible to discern his expression. This was highly unusual among the disciplined castle guards. Under Marcellus' strict training, every soldier was expected to maintain proper posture and bearing, and none would deliberately lower their gaze to hide their face.
Alia's instincts flared—something was off about this soldier. Her fingers unconsciously tightened around the dagger hidden in her sleeve. The coolness of the hilt pressed into her palm, offering a sense of steadiness and security. At the same time, she discreetly glanced toward the corner of the study, confirming that the pistol remained within reach.
Instead of exposing him outright, she assumed her usual noblewoman's air—casual yet imperious. Raising an eyebrow, she beckoned him over with a lazy wave. "You there, wait a moment." She deliberately let her gaze drift toward the window. "I feel like the window in this study needs reinforcement. Come take a look."
The soldier hesitated, if only for a fraction of a second, before stepping into the room and making his way toward the window.
Alia seized the moment to observe him more closely. His frame was not particularly bulky—if anything, he was leaner than most of the castle guards. But there was an underlying tension in his posture, a quiet strength. His back was straight, his movements unnervingly smooth, silent—like a predator poised to strike. He did not move like a standard soldier at all. If anything, he resembled… an assassin or a thief, someone trained in stealth.
What confirmed her suspicions was his face—when he turned slightly, she realized she did not recognize him.
In the past few days, she had memorized every soldier's face within the castle as a precaution against hidden threats. Even the most ordinary patrol guards were etched into her memory. But this man? She had never seen him before.
Alia's mind went on high alert, though outwardly, she maintained her usual demeanor. Instead, she curved her lips into a half-smile, her tone light but laced with a teasing nobility. "Are you one of the new recruits from the past two days? Your face looks unfamiliar. It's nice to see some fresh faces in the castle. Otherwise, I'd be terribly bored of the same old ones."
The soldier hesitated ever so briefly before replying in an even voice, "Yes, my lady. I was recruited just recently."
Alia's smile didn't waver, but inwardly, her suspicions were confirmed—he was lying.
Marcellus had not recruited any new soldiers in the past two days. In fact, he had been reducing personnel to tighten security. And yet, this man spoke so naturally, so confidently, as if he truly belonged here. It was clear he had an agenda.
She knew that exposing him outright was dangerous. If he was truly an assassin, she was alone and might not be able to fight him off. Worse, she had no idea if he had allies stationed nearby. The smartest move was to stall and find an opportunity to escape.
Feigning indifference, she lazily glanced toward the door and sighed, her tone casual. "Well then, I'll leave it to you. I'm going back to my chambers to rest."
With that, she turned and began walking toward the door at a measured pace, careful not to appear hurried. However, her senses remained on high alert, every muscle coiled, her fingers brushing against the hilt of her hidden dagger, ready to react at the slightest provocation.
Just as her fingertips touched the door handle, the air shifted—
A blur of movement flickered in the corner of her eye.
The next instant, a dark figure closed in, swift and silent.
Bang!
The door slammed shut.
Click.
The sound of the lock falling into place echoed through the room.
Alia's pulse spiked. She moved to draw her dagger, but before she could, an icy touch pressed against her throat.
The razor-sharp edge of a blade traced lightly over her skin, its chilling presence sending a clear message—one wrong move, and blood would be spilled.
"Don't move," the man's voice was low and emotionless, each word deliberate. "Step back and sit down."
Alia's eyes narrowed, her gaze dark with calculation. Though her fingers remained poised on her dagger's hilt, she knew she had to bide her time.
This assassin was far more cautious than she had expected.
But she had never been one to simply surrender.