The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and cold, unforgiving shadows. Isla had learned to move in silence over the years, her bare feet barely whispering against the cold floors of the palace corridors. She had spent far too much time in these halls, her heart burning with a thirst for revenge. Tonight, she would end it. Tonight, the cruel king would fall.
She tightened her grip on the dagger in her hand, its cold steel familiar against her skin. It had been a long journey to this moment, every step calculated with care, every breath controlled with fury. For years, the kingdom had lived under the thumb of the King’s unknown rule. The people cried for justice, for a leader they could trust. But no one knew who the king was. Only whispers in the dark spoke of a ruthless ruler who reveled in their suffering. No one had seen the king’s face, and no one had dared to challenge the unseen tyrant who ruled with a cruel hand.
But Isla had heard enough. She had seen enough. The king, whoever they were, had taken everything from her—her family, her life, her future. And now, she would take everything from them.
She paused before the towering doors of the king’s private chambers. A cold shiver crawled down her spine, but she dismissed it. The king was just a figure, a shadow, nothing more than a symbol of everything she despised. She wouldn’t let fear stop her now.
Her heart raced as she slipped into the chamber, the door creaking softly in protest. The room was vast and dark, the only light coming from a crack in the thick curtains that hung across the windows. She stepped forward, eyes scanning the room. The king’s chambers were lavish, opulent beyond belief, yet somehow the room felt colder than the stone halls she had walked through.
Isla’s pulse quickened when she saw the figure resting on the large, canopied bed. There, draped in a gown of midnight blue, the king lay, seemingly peaceful in sleep. She had imagined this moment for years, and now it was finally here. She gripped the hilt of her dagger tighter, steadying her breathing.
The king would die tonight. No mercy. No hesitation. Isla took a step forward, but the weight of the moment seemed to slow her movements. She fought to push the hesitation aside. It was too late for doubts. The king had to die.
Her eyes flicked toward the bed again, and a strange feeling gripped her chest. The figure was still, almost unnervingly so. It was too quiet. Too still. Her instincts flared, a cold rush of fear creeping up her spine. She shouldn’t have let her guard down. She shouldn’t have been so eager to end it all.
Isla moved cautiously closer, and as she did, she caught sight of something that made her freeze in her tracks. The figure in the bed—this so-called king—shifted ever so slightly. Isla’s breath hitched in her throat. A shift of fabric, the subtle movement of a body turning.
And then, the bed creaked under the weight of a figure sitting up.
Isla didn’t dare move. She held her breath, her dagger now clenched in a death grip. Her eyes strained to pierce the darkness, to make sense of the shadowed shape before her. The king... it was a woman.
She didn’t know why she was so shocked. It made sense in a way, didn’t it? A woman in power, hidden from the world. She had always assumed the king was a man, a faceless tyrant with the blood of her family on his hands. But this? This changed everything. Isla’s thoughts spun wildly, and for a long moment, she was frozen—trapped in the surreal weight of the revelation.
The woman—no, the king—stirred in the bed, and for the first time, Isla saw the full figure clearly. Her features were soft yet sharp, a striking combination of grace and fierce power. Her long dark hair cascaded around her shoulders, wild and untamed, as though it had never seen a comb. Her eyes were closed, but there was something about the way she held herself, even in sleep, that felt commanding, as though the power she wielded was not of bloodline, but of something much darker.
Isla’s hand trembled as she lowered the dagger. What had she walked into? Her mind raced, trying to comprehend what she had just seen. The king was a woman? It was impossible. No one had ever said anything about this. How had the kingdom been ruled by this woman without anyone knowing?
Was she really the king, or was she... a servant, a pawn of some greater force? But Isla knew better than to assume. She had learned to trust nothing and no one in this world.
The woman on the bed shifted again, her eyes fluttering open. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips, but there was something so unsettling about it that Isla’s blood ran cold. It was too calm. Too knowing.
Isla’s heartbeat thudded in her ears. She didn’t know what to do. Every part of her screamed at her to retreat, to flee into the shadows and never return, but her anger, her burning hatred, rooted her in place. She had come for justice. She had come to end this tyranny. But now—now everything had changed.
The king, no, the woman, sat up fully, the silken sheets falling away from her slender form. Isla’s eyes traced the curves of her body, the way she moved with the effortless grace of someone who had never known fear. The woman’s gaze seemed to pierce the darkness, and for the first time, Isla wondered if she had been seen.
“Who are you?” The voice was soft, almost mocking in its calm. It was a voice that demanded respect, a voice that belonged to someone who was accustomed to having the world bow at her feet.
Isla’s mouth went dry. She wanted to speak, wanted to confront the woman in front of her. But the words caught in her throat. She was facing the very thing she had been hunting for years—and yet, here she was, unsure of her next move.
The woman’s eyes narrowed as she tilted her head slightly, the flicker of a smirk still playing at the corners of her lips. “You think you can kill me, don’t you?” The words felt like a trap, like the woman was reading her every thought.
Isla’s breath hitched. It was as if the woman knew everything. The plans, the hatred, the desperation. It was too much. How had she known?
But Isla couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not now. She wasn’t the type to cower. Not before anyone. Not even before the king.
“No.” Isla’s voice was steady, though her heart hammered in her chest. “I came to end you. To stop this kingdom from burning any longer. You—”
“You came to kill me,” the woman interrupted, her voice icy, smooth as silk, and utterly devoid of fear. “But now you’re not so sure, are you?”
Isla’s mind whirled. She had to escape. She had to rethink everything. She couldn’t let the woman see her weakness. She couldn’t allow her anger to blind her any longer.
With a sharp inhale, Isla turned on her heel, the dagger still in her hand, and bolted for the door. She could feel the woman’s eyes on her back, watching, waiting. She heard the faintest chuckle echoing in the stillness of the room. It was a sound that sent a shiver down her spine.
She reached the door, her pulse pounding in her ears, but before she could escape into the hallway, a soft voice, barely above a whisper, stopped her dead in her tracks.
“Leaving so soon?” The words were laden with something dark, something ancient. “You’ll find that I am not so easily slain. And neither is your anger.”
Isla didn’t dare look back. She could feel the weight of those words wrapping around her like chains. Slowly, she closed the door behind her, her breath ragged, her mind a whirl of confusion and fury.
The king was a woman. And she wasn’t done yet.
As Isla melted back into the shadows, she realized that the war she had imagined was only just beginning.
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