Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~14 min read
Raven’s new quarters were absurdly luxurious compared to the servants’ room.
Vex, the silver-haired spymaster, had escorted her personally. He hadn’t said much during the walk through increasingly opulent corridors—just studied her with eyes that missed nothing and wore an expression that might have been amusement.
“The prince wants you comfortable,” he’d said, opening the door to rooms that were larger than her entire apartment at the Guild. “He says dead assassins are boring, and uncomfortable assassins die too quickly.”
Now, alone in a bedroom that had an actual bed with silk sheets and windows overlooking the shadow gardens, Raven tried to process the past six hours of her life.
She’d infiltrated the Shadow Court.
The prince had known immediately.
He’d offered her a deal to make assassination “sporting.”
And she’d thrown a knife at his face.
The memory of that blade passing through empty shadow made her jaw clench. He’d dissolved like smoke, reformed like it was nothing. Fae magic. She was trying to kill someone who could literally turn intangible.
This was impossible.
But the Guild binding magic in her bones didn’t care about impossible. Complete the contract or die. Those were still her only real options.
Raven moved through the rooms systematically, checking for surveillance. She found monitoring spells in three places and disabled them with the dispelling charms the Guild had provided. Then she found four more hidden in places that suggested whoever placed them knew she’d find the first three.
She left those alone. Let him watch. He clearly enjoyed it.
The main room had a sitting area, a desk with actual books, and a weapons rack that made her heart stutter. Swords, daggers, throwing knives—all pristine, all deadly, all apparently provided for her use.
“Everything you need to plan the perfect assassination,” Draven’s voice echoed in her memory.
He was serious. He actually wanted her to try to kill him.
Raven selected a throwing knife from the rack, tested the balance. Perfect. Better than anything the Guild had given her. She could do real damage with these.
“Do you like them?” The voice came from the shadows in the corner—the darkest ones, where even the floating light orbs didn’t reach.
Raven’s hand tightened on the knife, but she didn’t spin around in surprise. The Guild had trained that reflex out of her. Instead, she turned slowly, deliberately, and faced the darkness.
“I liked my privacy more.” She kept her voice flat. “Is watching me from the shadows going to be a regular thing?”
“Probably.” Prince Draven stepped out of the darkness like he was stepping through a doorway. One moment shadow, the next moment solid—tall, sharp-featured, violet eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “I did mention the shadows in my court are always watching. I thought you’d assume that included yours.”
“It’s creepy.”
“It’s efficient.” He moved further into the room, and she noticed he was dressed more casually than before. No formal court attire, just black pants and a shirt with silver embroidery that probably cost more than her life. “Besides, if I’m going to give you thirty days to plot my murder, I should probably keep track of your progress.”
“You could knock.” Raven set the knife back on the rack, forcing herself not to keep holding it like a security blanket. “Like a normal person.”
“I’m five hundred years old and functionally immortal. Normal stopped applying centuries ago.” He picked up one of the swords from the rack, studying it with the casual familiarity of someone who’d used similar weapons for lifetimes. “These belonged to the last assassin who made it past the second week. She had excellent taste in blades. Terrible taste in poison delivery systems, but excellent blades.”
“What happened to her?”
“She tried to kill me with a poisoned sword during a training session.” He set the weapon down carefully. “I killed her with the same sword. Seemed poetic.”
Raven processed that. “You trained with her?”
“I trained with all of them.” Draven moved to the window, looking out at gardens that existed in permanent twilight. “The ones who survived past the first few days, anyway. How else was I supposed to evaluate whether they were worth keeping?”
“Worth keeping?”
He glanced back, and something in his expression was almost vulnerable. “I told you, I’m looking for an equal. Someone who can match me. All the assassins before you were… lacking. Skilled, yes. Deadly, certainly. But not enough. Never enough.”
“So you killed them.”
“Would you prefer I kept them alive after they tried to murder me?” His tone was mild, but there was an edge underneath. “The Shadow Court isn’t known for its mercy toward failed killers.”
Fair point. Raven walked to the desk, putting space between them. “You said you wanted to formalize the deal. I assume that’s why you’re here instead of lurking creepily in my shadows.”
“I don’t lurk. I observe ominously.” He turned from the window, and suddenly the casual atmosphere shifted. His eyes glowed brighter, and the shadows in the room deepened. “But yes. If we’re doing this, we should establish terms clearly. Fae deals are binding, after all.”
“Binding how?”
“Magically.” He held out one hand, and darkness pooled in his palm like liquid. “If we make a formal agreement, neither of us can break it without severe consequences. It keeps everyone honest.”
Raven studied the shadow magic in his hand. “What kind of consequences?”
“The unpleasant kind.” His smile was sharp. “But it also means I can’t kill you early just because I get bored, and you can’t back out just because you get scared. We both commit fully.”
“I don’t get scared.”
“Everyone gets scared, little assassin. They just show it differently.” He closed his hand, and the shadows dissipated. “So. Terms. Thirty days, starting tonight at midnight. You have full access to the palace, training yards, libraries, armories. You can use any method you choose to kill me—poison, blade, magic items, elaborate traps, whatever your creative mind devises.”
“And you’ll just let me?”
“I’ll defend myself appropriately.” His grin widened. “But I won’t hunt you. Won’t set traps. Won’t use my full power to simply crush you in the first five minutes. Where’s the fun in that?”
Raven leaned against the desk. “What’s to stop me from waiting until you sleep and driving a blade through your heart?”
“You could try.” He didn’t sound concerned. “But I don’t sleep often, and when I do, the shadows guard me. The last assassin who attempted that approach is still technically alive. She just wishes she wasn’t.”
“The dungeons.”
“The dungeons,” he confirmed. “I keep the failures around as object lessons. Morbid, perhaps, but effective.”
“And if I succeed?” Raven met his eyes. “If I actually manage to kill you within thirty days?”
“Then you’ve earned your freedom, your payment, and the right to brag that you killed the unkillable Shadow Prince.” He paused. “You’ll also inherit my throne. Fae law is very clear on this—kill the ruler in formal challenge, become the ruler. My court would accept you.”
“I don’t want to rule anything.”
“Then you probably shouldn’t kill me.” His expression turned serious. “I’m not joking about that part, Raven. If you drive a blade through my heart, you become the Princess of the Shadow Court. It’s not optional. The magic of the throne transfers automatically.”
She hadn’t considered that. The Guild just wanted him dead—they’d never mentioned the political consequences. “What if I refuse the throne?”
“Then the court descends into chaos, various nobles try to kill each other for power, and the Shadow Court likely destroys itself within a year.” He said it matter-of-factly. “So I’d prefer you either fail to kill me, or accept the responsibility that comes with success.”
“That’s a lot of pressure for an assassination contract.”
“Well, I am a prince. Killing me should come with some weight.” He moved closer, and she forced herself not to step back. “So? Do you accept the terms? Thirty days, full resources, fair chance at killing me in exchange for either your freedom or a throne?”
Raven thought about the seventeen dead assassins. Thought about the Guild binding magic that would kill her if she refused the contract. Thought about that impossible payment and the freedom it represented.
Thought about violet eyes that saw too much and a smile that suggested he wanted her to succeed.
“One question first.” She held his gaze. “Why do you actually want this? The truth, not the ‘I’m bored’ excuse.”
For a moment, she didn’t think he’d answer. Then he sighed, and it was the most human sound she’d heard him make.
“Five hundred years is a long time to be alone,” he said quietly. “I’ve ruled this court for three hundred of those years. I’ve killed thousands, collected more secrets than any being in existence, and mastered magic that most fae can’t even comprehend. And all of it is meaningless because there’s no one to share it with. No one who sees me as something other than a monster or a conquest.”
He looked at her, really looked at her, and the vulnerability in his expression was startling.
“You walked into my court ready to kill me. Not because you hate me, not because you want my power, but because it’s a job. A challenge. That’s the most honest thing anyone has offered me in centuries.” His smile turned sad. “So yes, I want you to try. I want to see if you’re good enough to succeed. And if you are—if you actually manage to kill me—then at least I’ll die knowing someone was finally worthy of the attempt.”
“And if I’m not?” Raven asked. “If I fail like the others?”
“Then you’ll rule beside me, and I won’t be alone anymore.” He extended his hand. “Either way, I win. So do you. It’s the best deal anyone has ever offered you, and we both know it.”
He was right. Infuriatingly, impossibly right.
The Guild would kill her for failing. But this deal meant failure came with a crown instead of a grave.
And if she succeeded? Freedom. Payment. Everything she’d ever wanted.
Raven looked at his extended hand. “Thirty days. Full access. Fair fight.”
“Fair fight,” he agreed.
“And if I take the throne, you’ll help me not destroy the court immediately?”
“I’ll teach you everything before you kill me.” His smile was genuine. “Can’t have my kingdom falling apart because my assassin-queen doesn’t understand fae politics.”
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.” He kept his hand extended. “Do we have a deal?”
This was a terrible idea. The worst idea. She should refuse, should find another way, should do literally anything else.
But the binding magic burned in her bones, and the freedom she’d never had dangled in front of her like a blade just out of reach.
Raven took his hand.
The moment their skin touched, shadow magic erupted from his palm. It wrapped around their joined hands, cold and alive, weaving patterns that glowed violet and black. She felt it sink into her skin, felt it connect to something deep inside her.
“Thirty days,” Draven’s voice echoed with power, with magic, with the weight of ancient oaths. “Raven Storm will attempt to kill Prince Draven Shadowfire using any means available. She will have full access to resources and fair chance at success. If she succeeds, she claims freedom and throne. If she fails, she rules beside him as equal. Both parties bound by shadow and oath.”
The magic flared once, blindingly bright, and then sank into her skin. Raven gasped as she felt it settle somewhere behind her ribs—a cold weight that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
“What was that?” She pulled her hand back, staring at the faint black marks that traced patterns across her palm before fading.
“Binding magic. The deal is sealed.” Draven showed her his own palm, where identical marks faded into his skin. “You can’t back out now, and neither can I. We’re committed.”
“You could have warned me.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” His grin returned. “Besides, you were going to accept anyway. The Guild doesn’t exactly give you a choice, does it?”
She stiffened. “How do you know about the binding magic?”
“I’ve been alive for five hundred years, Raven. I know about most forms of magical coercion.” His expression turned sympathetic. “The Guild binds its assassins through blood magic performed in childhood. Refuse a contract, and it kills you from the inside out. I’ve seen it before.”
“Then you know I couldn’t have refused this.” Anger sparked in her chest. “Your ‘deal’ wasn’t a choice at all.”
“Actually, it was.” He stepped back, giving her space. “You couldn’t refuse the contract to kill me. But you could have tried to complete it the hard way—sneaking, hiding, the way you started. I gave you the option of doing it the easy way. That was the choice.”
Raven wanted to argue, but he had a point. As much as she hated to admit it.
“Thirty days,” she said instead. “Starting midnight tonight.”
“Eleven hours from now.” Draven moved toward the shadows in the corner. “I suggest you sleep. Tomorrow, Vex will give you the palace tour, introduce you to key personnel, and provide you with my complete schedule. After that, the attempts on my life may begin.”
“You’re very casual about someone trying to murder you.”
“Wait until you poison my dinner.” He paused at the edge of darkness. “I have a whole speech prepared about quality versus quantity in assassination attempts. You’ll hate it.”
Despite herself, despite everything, Raven almost smiled. Almost.
“One more thing,” Draven said, half-dissolved into shadow already. “The other assassins all failed because they saw me as a target. Just an objective to eliminate. If you want to actually succeed, you’ll need to see me as a person. Understand how I think. Learn what I want.”
“Isn’t that giving me an advantage?”
His laugh echoed from the darkness. “That’s the point, little assassin. I want this to be interesting. And you can’t kill who you don’t understand.”
He disappeared completely, leaving her alone in the luxurious rooms with a head full of confusing thoughts.
Raven looked at her palm where the marks had been. She could still feel the echo of magic, cold and binding.
Thirty days to kill a prince.
A prince who wanted her to succeed.
A prince who was five hundred years old, lonely, and apparently thought dying to a worthy opponent was better than living forever alone.
She’d killed seventy-three people. Politicians, criminals, targets the Guild pointed her toward.
But she’d never killed someone who wanted to die.
Never killed someone who offered her a throne if she failed.
Never killed someone whose eyes held the same emptiness she saw in her own reflection.
This was going to be complicated.
Raven moved to the window, looking out at the shadow gardens. Somewhere in this impossible palace, Prince Draven Shadowfire was probably watching her through the darkness. Waiting to see what she’d do next.
Seventeen assassins had failed.
But none of them had been given the resources, the access, the knowledge she now had.
And none of them had been offered a deal that made failure something other than death.
She pressed her palm against the cold glass.
“Thirty days,” she whispered to her reflection. “Let’s see if a bored prince can be killed by an empty assassin.”
In the shadows, Draven smiled.
The game had officially begun.
And for the first time in five hundred years, he had no idea how it would end.
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