Chapter 40: Chapter-40

Black clothes, masked face, twin daggers spinning toward the fox knight’s throat with lethal precision. He barely got his armored forearm up in time—metal shrieked against steel in a sound that made Elara’s teeth ache. Then he drove his elbow into the assassin’s ribs. The crack of bone was sickeningly audible.

The assassin didn’t even pause. Just pivoted with fluid grace that shouldn’t have been possible and lunged straight for Elara.

She threw herself sideways, rolling across the floor. Not fast enough—fire traced across her upper arm as the blade caught her sleeve and the skin beneath. She kicked out on pure instinct, all her Taekwondo training snapping into place. Her foot connected solidly with the assassin’s knee.

It felt like kicking a steel pillar. The assassin barely stumbled before recovering, and Elara’s heart sank. *These aren’t normal fighters. They’re too fast. Way too fast.*

Glass exploded inward. Another black-clad figure dove through the window in a spray of glittering shards. A third materialized from the doorway so silently Elara hadn’t heard them approach at all.

Three of them. Three professional killers. One exhausted princess who could barely stand. One knight.

The odds were terrible.

Steel clashed against steel as the fox knight threw himself between Elara and two of the assassins, his sword moving in desperate arcs. The third assassin stalked toward her with terrifying focus, dagger raised, eyes cold and empty through the mask.

Elara’s breath came in ragged gasps. Her arm burned. There was blood on her sleeve—her blood.

Then—footsteps. Heavy boots thundering down the corridor outside.

“Your Highness!” Voices shouted, getting closer.

The assassins went utterly still for a heartbeat. Their eyes flicked toward the door—quick professional assessment. Mission compromised.

The door exploded inward, hinges groaning.

Four household guards burst through with weapons drawn, taking in the chaos in an instant—their princess bleeding on the floor, masked attackers, shattered furniture, glass everywhere.

“Protect the Princess!” the lead guard roared.

But the assassins were already moving. Not attacking—retreating. They moved as one unit with practiced synchronization that spoke of extensive training together.

One of them hurled something small and dark. It hit the floor and erupted into thick black smoke that filled the room in seconds, choking and acrid. Elara’s eyes watered instantly. Someone was coughing. Shouts of confusion echoed through the chamber.

“Seal the exits!” A guard’s voice cut through the chaos.

By the time the smoke cleared—five agonizing seconds later—all three assassins had vanished like they’d never been there at all. The window stood empty, curtains billowing in the night breeze. The servant’s passage door hung open, revealing the dark corridor beyond that none of the guards had been watching.

“Search the wing!” the lead guard commanded, voice tight with frustration. “Find them! Now!”

Half the guards took off immediately, armor clanking as they ran. The others moved to secure windows and check behind furniture for hidden threats.

The fox knight dropped to his knees beside Elara. “Your Highness, are you hurt? Where—”

“My arm.” Elara’s voice shook slightly, which annoyed her. “Just a cut. Not deep.”

His hands were gentle as he pulled bandaging from his belt and wrapped her arm. The wound throbbed with each heartbeat, sharp and insistent, a reminder of how close the blade had come to something vital.

More guards flooded in—eight, then ten, filling her chambers with armed bodies and worried faces. One of them kicked through her scattered contracts. Another crouched by her chair, examining the throwing blade still embedded in the wooden back.

“Clean strike,” he muttered, running his finger along the blade without touching the edge. “Professional work. Expensive steel. These definitely weren’t amateurs.”

A grizzled bear-clan knight—Tormund, one of her senior household guards—pushed through the crowd and bowed quickly. “Your Highness, we need to move you to the inner chambers immediately. If they sent three, there may be more. We can’t secure this space properly.”

Elara nodded, but her mind was already working. “Who would send them?”

Tormund’s expression went carefully neutral. “That’s… difficult to say, Your Highness.”

The answer told her everything. Beast knights were bred from birth to be loyal to the royal family—all of it, not just individual members. They were conditioned to serve, to protect, to never speak against imperial interests. Which meant Tormund knew exactly who was behind this but couldn’t say it out loud.

Because it was someone royal. Had to be.

Elara had only been in this body for a few days, and even she could guess that much. The assassins were too skilled, too well-equipped, too precisely informed about her schedule and her room layout. This wasn’t some random attack by outside enemies. This was internal. Family.

The realization settled in her stomach like ice. One of her siblings—or maybe even the Empress herself—had just tried to have her murdered in her own chambers.

“Your Highness?” Tormund was watching her carefully.

Elara looked around at the destruction. Shattered glass crunching under boots. Her contracts scattered and stained. The dagger in her chair that had been aimed at her head. The thin line of blood seeping through the bandage on her arm.

She’d watched that blade coming for her heart. Had seen it descending with perfect clarity and known—really, truly known—that she was about to die. Again. That cold moment of absolute certainty had been worse than the pain, worse than the fear. Just… finality.

If the guards had been even ten seconds slower, she’d be dead right now.

“Your Highness,” another guard called from the corridor. “We’ve secured the immediate area. Tripled patrols on all approaches to your wing.”

Elara forced herself to breathe evenly. “Good. Move me to the inner chamber. And…” She hesitated, then continued, “Send someone to check which wing those assassins fled toward. I want to know whose territory they used for their escape route.”

Tormund’s ears flattened slightly—reluctance, maybe respect. “Yes, Your Highness. We’ll… look into it discreetly.”

As the guards helped her to her feet and began escorting her to the more defensible inner rooms, Elara caught the fox knight’s eye. He looked shaken in a way she’d never seen before—his usual calm professionalism cracked around the edges.

“You saved my life,” she said quietly.

“It’s my duty, Your Highness.”

“Still. Thank you.”

He just nodded, but something in his expression softened slightly.

They moved her to the stone-walled inner chamber, the one with reinforced doors and no windows. Guards positioned themselves at every possible entrance. Someone brought fresh bandages and medical supplies. The whole wing was on high alert now, everyone tense and watchful.

And Elara sat at the small desk in that fortress-like room, surrounded by armed guards and the memory of how easily death had found her, and began making plans.

Because one thing was absolutely clear: staying in this palace meant dying eventually. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but soon. Someone wanted her dead badly enough to send professional killers. That someone had resources, information, and no hesitation about murdering family members.

She needed to leave. Not dramatically, not obviously, but soon.

Before the next attempt succeeded.

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Next day in Emperor court.

The Emperor received her in his private study—the same room where he’d tested her loyalty just days ago. Elara forced herself not to think about that as she entered and bowed.

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