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{Royal Palace – Antechamber Outside the Dungeons}
The torches lining the narrow hall hissed as Vienna passed, her footsteps echoing louder than they should have.
Too loud.
But she didn't care.
She'd slipped in through the west armory gate, bypassing the guards with the same efficiency she used to slit throats. But stealth wasn't her aim anymore. It was speed. Precision. Retribution.
She reached the lower antechamber, where stone bled into the darkness and screams were meant to go unheard.
Millis was down there.
And standing between her and the descent—
"Adana."
The queen turned slowly at the sound of her name, her expression cool and amused. She wore night-black velvet embroidered with thread like silver spiderwebs—regal even here, where blood stained the floors.
"Well," she said, smiling faintly, "the lost dog returns."
Vienna's jaw clenched. "Let her go."
Adana raised a brow, unhurried. "Let who go?"
"You know who."
The older woman stepped closer, her tone maddeningly calm. "You mean the girl who's lived in hiding with a traitor for years? The girl who once carried Laraine's secrets? I merely brought her home."
Vienna's hands twitched near her blades. "You're using her to bait Laraine."
"Of course I am." Adana's eyes gleamed like polished steel. "She's leverage. Nothing more."
"She's a healer. She's never touched a sword."
"She's also the only thing that would make your princess pause." Adana's voice dropped to a hush, almost intimate. "You should be thanking me. I gave you time. A chance to choose a side."
"I did choose," Vienna said quietly. Her voice trembled—not from fear, but from the weight of it all. "And I chose wrong."
Adana tilted her head. "So you're here to betray me."
"I'm here to get her out."
A pause.
Adana's smile didn't fade, but it grew colder. "And what will you do after, assassin? Drag her back to the doomed rebellion? Tuck her behind you while Laraine burns this castle down?"
Vienna didn't answer.
She stepped forward—one pace, then another.
Adana's guards tensed, but she lifted a hand. Held them still.
"You've always been her shadow," Adana said softly. "But you were mine first. Don't forget who made you."
Vienna's hand touched the hilt of her blade.
"No," she said. "I remember exactly who made me."
And with that, she moved—swift, sudden. One guard collapsed before he could cry out. Another barely raised a blade before Vienna knocked it from his grip and slammed him against the stone.
Adana didn't flinch.
She simply turned toward the staircase that led into the dark.
"She's in the third cell," she said coolly. "Chained. Bruised, not broken—yet."
Vienna stopped. Her breath shook.
"Why tell me?"
"Because," Adana murmured, stepping close once more, "if Laraine comes, you'll wish I had done worse."
Vienna held her stare a second longer, then turned—and descended into the dungeon.
Her boots rang out like the tolling of a warning bell.
And behind her, Adana smiled faintly, her fingers already reaching for the next thread of the trap.
The hunt had truly begun.
- - -
The dungeon air was cold and damp, thick with the scent of rusted chains and old blood. Torchlight flickered on stone walls, throwing shadows that twisted like ghosts.
Vienna moved fast, but not without caution—knife still drawn, boots silent. Her breath came sharp in her chest. It wasn't the fear of guards or Adana's games that made her heartbeat gallop.
It was the question she hadn't let herself answer:
What if Millis doesn't forgive me?
She found the cell on the third corridor, just like Adana had said.
There she was.
Millis sat slumped in the corner, her wrists shackled, her dress torn at the hem. A bruise darkened one cheekbone. Her hair was matted with dirt. Her eyes—those wide, storm-gray eyes—fluttered half-shut.
But when Vienna called her name, softly, like a curse from a dream—
"Millis…"
Millis stirred.
Her gaze lifted, slow. Dazed.
And when she saw who stood just beyond the bars, her body stiffened.
"You," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "No. No, no—"
"Millis, it's me—"
"I know who you are!" she rasped, shrinking away. "You left. You disappeared. And now you're here, with them?"
Vienna stepped forward, her voice tight with desperation. "I'm not with them. I came to get you out."
Millis laughed—raw and bitter. "You came too late."
Vienna flinched like she'd been struck.
For a moment, she didn't speak. Just stood there, shadows dancing over her face as guilt twisted behind her eyes.
"I didn't know they'd come for you," she said finally. "If I had—"
"But you knew what they were," Millis spat, trembling. "You knew and you still served her."
"I had no choice."
"There's always a choice," Millis said sharply, and her voice broke on the last word.
The silence between them stretched.
Then Vienna did something Millis hadn't expected—she dropped her dagger.
It clattered to the ground.
"I'm here now," Vienna said quietly. "Let me fix this."
Millis didn't answer, but her trembling slowed.
Vienna reached into her coat, pulled out a set of thin iron tools.
She knelt by the lock.
As she worked, she glanced up. "Is it true?" she asked, barely above a whisper. "Are you still… with Laraine?"
Millis blinked. "Yes."
A soft exhale escaped Vienna's lips.
"You kept the pendant," she added, not looking up. "All this time."
Millis said nothing.
The lock gave way with a final click.
Vienna stood, opened the door.
Millis didn't move.
She was watching her—really watching her now.
Vienna reached a hand out.
"I know I don't deserve it," she said. "But come with me."
Millis hesitated.
Then—slowly, painfully—she took Vienna's hand.
The assassin pulled her close, bracing her as she swayed.
And just for a heartbeat, Millis leaned into her.
"…Don't make me regret this," she whispered.
Vienna's grip tightened.
"I won't."
Then, together, they vanished into the dark.
But somewhere above, Adana was already watching.
And in the throne room, the storm was only getting closer.
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