Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~8 min read
Raven woke to the realization that she’d let two perfect kill opportunities pass yesterday.
She stared at the ceiling of her too-comfortable chambers, mentally reviewing every moment. The dance—she’d had a blade, perfect proximity, total surprise advantage. And then later, on the balcony—he’d been distracted, vulnerable, leaning with his back to her.
Two clean shots.
Two failures.
Because she’d wanted to talk instead of act.
“I’m compromised,” she said to the empty room.
The Guild had warned about this. Assassins who spent too long with their targets sometimes developed attachments. Saw them as people instead of objectives. The solution was immediate reassignment and memory modification if necessary.
Except Raven didn’t have backup. Didn’t have reassignment options. Didn’t have anything except fourteen days left and a growing certainty that she was failing the contract for all the wrong reasons.
Or maybe all the right ones, depending on perspective.
A shadow moved wrong in the corner of her vision. She threw a pillow at it on reflex.
Draven materialized, catching the pillow. “Good morning to you too. I’ve learned to recognize when you’re throwing projectiles affectionately versus homicidally. That was definitely affectionate.”
“It was not.”
“You chose a pillow instead of a knife. That’s basically a love letter in assassin language.” He set the pillow on her desk. “Get dressed. We’re doing something different today.”
“Different how?”
“I’m taking you somewhere outside the palace. No training, no politics, no assassination attempts. Just…” He searched for words. “Existing. Being people instead of prince and assassin.”
Raven sat up. “Why?”
“Because you’ve been here sixteen days and haven’t seen anything except palace, gardens, and the inside of my study. Time to actually experience the Shadow Court.” His expression was softer than usual. “Besides, after last night, I think we both need a break from the game.”
“The game where I try to kill you?”
“That one, yes.” He moved toward her door. “Twenty minutes. Wear something comfortable. And bring at least three weapons, because I know you won’t feel safe otherwise.”
He disappeared before she could argue.
Draven took her to a market.
An actual market, in the lower city of the Shadow Court, where regular fae lived and worked and apparently didn’t spend all their time plotting murder.
“This is where my people actually exist,” he explained as they walked through stalls selling everything from enchanted fabrics to weapons to food that glowed. “The nobles play their games in the palace, but this is the real heart of the court.”
Raven watched him move through the crowd—easier than in the palace, more relaxed. Vendors called out greetings. Children waved. He stopped to examine wares with genuine interest, haggling over prices like he hadn’t ruled this court for three centuries.
“They like you,” she observed.
“The common folk? Yes. They know I protect them from the nobles’ worst excesses.” He purchased something from a food stall—sweet pastries that smelled like starlight. “The palace is politics and power. This is purpose. Protecting people who can’t protect themselves.”
He handed her a pastry. She bit into it and nearly groaned at the taste.
“Good?” He smiled at her expression.
“The fae court has been holding out on the mortal realm. This is incredible.”
“Food is one of existence’s genuine pleasures. I’ve spent decades learning recipes, tracking down rare ingredients.” They walked toward a fountain carved from living shadow. “What pleasures did the Guild allow you?”
“None.” The word came out flat. “Pleasure was distraction. Distraction was weakness. We ate for fuel, slept for function, trained for perfection.”
“That’s not living. That’s just… not dying slowly.” He sat on the fountain edge, and she sat beside him. “What would you do if you could? If the Guild didn’t exist, if the contract didn’t exist. What would Raven Storm choose?”
No one had ever asked her that.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve never had choices before.”
“Then let’s figure it out.” He gestured to the market. “What interests you? What draws your attention?”
Raven looked around. The market was chaotic, colorful, loud. So different from the Guild’s sterile compounds.
Her eyes caught on a stall selling books. Old ones, new ones, some that appeared to be moving on their own.
“Books?” Draven followed her gaze. “You like reading?”
“I don’t know. The Guild only gave us tactical manuals and target dossiers.” She stood, drawn toward the stall despite herself. “But you have that library, and sometimes I look at the books and wonder what’s in them.”
“Then let’s find out.” He stood too, leading her to the stall.
The vendor was an elderly fae with silver eyes. “Your Highness. And companion. Looking for anything specific?”
“Whatever she wants,” Draven said simply.
Raven browsed, fingers trailing over spines. Stories. Poetry. Histories of places she’d never been. Instructional books on things that had nothing to do with killing.
She picked up a small volume—poetry about stars and shadows. It felt indulgent. Unnecessary.
Perfect.
“That one,” she said.
Draven purchased it without hesitation, handed it to her like he was giving her something precious instead of just a book.
They spent the next hour exploring the market. He bought her a blade from a smith who recognized quality when he saw her examine the balance. Took her to a stall selling music boxes, laughed when she looked confused about why anyone would need a box that only played music.
“Because beauty for beauty’s sake is valid,” he explained. “Not everything needs practical purpose.”
“That’s inefficient.”
“That’s human.” He wound the music box, and delicate melody spilled out. “The Guild trained efficiency into you. But humans—mortals—they need more than just function. They need art, music, stories, pointless beautiful things that make existence bearable.”
Raven listened to the music and felt something crack in her chest. Something that had been frozen since childhood.
“I don’t know how to be human,” she whispered. “I only know how to be a weapon.”
“Then I’ll teach you.” Draven said it like a vow. “Same way you’re teaching me to feel alive again. Fair exchange.”
They stayed in the market until sunset, and Raven learned things she’d never known about herself. She liked poetry. Enjoyed music. Was drawn to beautiful but useless things. Smiled at children playing. Felt something warm when vendors treated her like a person instead of a threat.
She’d spent sixteen days trying to kill Draven.
But today, she was just Raven. And he was just Draven.
No contracts. No courts. No assassination attempts.
Just two people who’d found something unexpected in each other.
On the way back to the palace, walking through shadow-roads that shifted reality, Raven finally voiced the thought that had been building all day.
“I could have killed you twice yesterday. The dance and the balcony.”
“I know.” He didn’t sound surprised. “I was waiting to see if you would.”
“Why didn’t I?” She needed him to explain it, because she couldn’t.
“Because you stopped seeing me as a target.” He stopped walking, turned to face her. “Same way I stopped seeing you as an interesting challenge. We became people to each other. And people don’t casually murder people they care about.”
“I’m not supposed to care.”
“But you do.” He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was gentle, intimate. “And that terrifies you because it means choosing between the person you were forced to be and the person you actually are.”
“What if I don’t know who I actually am?”
“Then we figure it out together.” His smile was soft. “Fourteen days left. Plenty of time to decide what you want instead of what they told you to want.”
They returned to the palace, and Raven went to her chambers carrying a book of poetry, a perfectly balanced blade, and a music box that served no practical purpose.
She set them on her desk like treasures.
The Guild had given her weapons, skills, purpose.
But Draven had given her choices.
Had shown her she could be something more than just efficient.
Could be someone who liked poetry and music and pointless beautiful things.
Could be human instead of just weapon.
Raven opened the poetry book and read until midnight. Every word felt like discovering a part of herself the Guild had tried to erase.
And somewhere in the palace, Draven sat in his study, working on breaking binding magic that would free his assassin from the people who’d stolen her humanity.
Because if she was going to choose her future, it had to be her choice.
Not theirs. Not his.
Hers.
Fourteen days to figure out what that choice was.
But Raven was starting to suspect she’d already made it.
The question was whether she was brave enough to admit it.
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