“Is it the duchess or the emperor this time?”

It was a simple question, but his eyes were filled with sympathy towards his young mistress. ‘Is it your aunt or your father who wants to kill you?’ This was a cruel question for anyone, much less a 16-year-old girl.

“It’s my aunt this time. I don’t know yet whether it’s an assassin or a spy, but I’m sure she’s going to secretly send someone.”

“If it’s a spy, we need to examine the new servants. And then…”

He couldn’t bear to say the rest. Apollonia, however, casually finished his words instead.

“If it’s an assassin, the key is to know when they’ll strike.”

“Yes, it’ll take months. She’ll either be trying to avoid notice by the emperor, or she’ll need to take the time to persuade the emperor to her plan.”

Under normal circumstances, that would be a rational analysis. However, Petra was the type of person to attack immediately; she wouldn’t give her opponent time to prepare.

“Three days.”

Apollonia cut him off.

“It will come in three days, before the heat of the banquet cools down.”

It would come before the scandal of Catherine Loenheim was forgotten; what a fine shield that scandal would be to cover up the assassination of the princess.

Sid blinked for a moment, but he quickly accepted her words. The words of his young mistress often seemed prophetic, and though it may have been hard to believe, they usually came true. The fact that she was still alive was proof enough.

“We’re running out of time.”

“I’ll use the strategies I mentioned before. That will be enough.”

Apollonia nodded reluctantly. Sid continued to read her anxious mind.

“Just in case we could avoid it – why don’t we find a body double for you?”

“Absolutely not.” Apollonia cut him off. Such a simple trick would be recognized easily from a hundred meters away by Petra’s assassin.

“If a report that I escaped reaches Petra’s ears, I’ll die anyway. We need to let her assassin get into my bedroom. And then make sure they never leave.”

Sid once again accepted her ruthless judgment.

“Don’t worry. The spirit stone was made so that only two people can break it. I’m one of them, and the emperor is the other. No matter how great Petra’s people are, it would be impossible for them to get close enough to kill me.”

She nodded again, with more certainty this time.

“Maybe the problem is that we can’t let them run away after they fall into our trap. If we succeed in our plans, how can we escape my aunt’s suspicions?”

“I’m sure you’ll succeed. Don’t worry.”

The two people raked through their plans time and time again, looking for any possible mistake. Everything was reasonable and possible. She would get through the crisis.

What they didn’t expect was the fact that there was a genius on Liefer’s side that even Petra herself didn’t know about.

Apollonia’s prediction was right. An assassin visited her soon after the banquet, less than three days later.

It was midnight.

Once the Queen’s welcome party had finished, silence once again blanketed the lively capital that night. The street in front of the imperial palace was quiet. Yet one dark silhouette was moving through the shadows.

His name was Uriel Biche, and he was the shadow’s sword.

He was a servant of the Liefer family, and he had dedicated his entire life to working as their spy and assassin. He’d been found in the shantytown by Safiro, the man who trained the Liefer’s thieves and other shadow messengers. Safiro considered him to be the most precious gem he’d ever discovered.

Safiro’s trained disciples were known throughout the kingdom as ‘Safiro’s wolves’. They were all orphans, hardened, and sharpened through hellish training and torture.

As Safiro grew older, and it became difficult for him to work so actively as before, their numbers decreased, but any mention of ‘Safiro’s wolves’ still made every swordmaster in the country quiver. Yet none of them were like Uriel.

At the age of thirteen, he was already the best assassin Safiro had ever trained. Over the next four years, he carried out every mission he was given quickly and flawlessly, and never left a single trace of his presence.