CHAPTER 5 : THE FIRST ATTEMPT

The shadow moved. Lyria shot upright, her body tense and ready to bolt. Every instinct screamed at her—danger. Her heart hammered so loud she barely heard the wind outside the tall windows. Moonlight spilled in, laying silver shadows across the floor, but darkness still pooled in the corners. For a split second, her mind leapt back to the Blood Moon Festival—to the hooded figure who wouldn’t stop watching her. That stranger. The one who tracked her every move at the festival. The one whose gaze followed her like a threat. Nyra—her wolf—growled in her mind. Someone’s here. Lyria reached beneath her pillow, searching for the dagger she kept hidden there. It wasn’t much, just decorative really, but it was better than nothing. The palace should’ve been safe. That was almost laughable now. After tonight, safety felt like some long-forgotten fairy tale. She gripped the dagger tight. Show yourself, she said. Nothing answered. The room stayed still and silent, except for the wind brushing against the palace walls. She took a step forward—cautious, slow. Then another. Every muscle wound tight, ready. The shadow shifted again. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She lunged, dagger raised, not even breathing— The corner was empty. Nobody there. No assassin. No stranger lurking in the dark. Just a curtain, half open, drifting in the breeze. Lyria stopped cold. Confusion took the place of fear for a moment. She scanned the room. Had she imagined the whole thing? No. Nyra never imagined threats. Something or someone had been there. Her eyes darted to the balcony window. One of the large doors stood open. She was sure—absolutely sure—she’d closed it earlier. Dread twisted through her stomach. Someone had come into her room already. And now, they were gone. She rushed to the balcony. Cold night air smacked her face. The courtyard below was empty—no servants, no guards, no movement. Whoever it was had vanished. Back inside, her pulse still raced. Something was wrong. The room felt off—subtle, but she could tell. Years running palace affairs made her good at picking out details others missed. She swept her eyes across the chamber: bookshelf, writing desk, wardrobe. Then she noticed the vanity. The drawer—slightly open. She didn’t leave it like that. She crept over, dreading what she’d find. That drawer held personal letters, old papers, memories. She pulled it open. The contents had been stirred through. Not the careful order she kept them in—shuffled, moved. Someone went through her things. She checked another drawer. Same story. And another. Her wardrobe, too—clothes shifted, books not where she left them. The intruder hadn’t come to steal. They’d been looking for something. But what? Nyra’s growl deepened in her mind. This isn’t random. Lyria knew it, too. Nothing about tonight was random. Not Kael’s announcement, not the accusations, not the lies or forged evidence. And definitely not this. Someone had a plan. Someone wanted her gone. A chill ran over her skin. Who? Selene? The council? Someone else? Lyria hurried to her desk. She checked the compartment under it—her private hiding spot. It looked untouched, at least at first. She knelt and opened it. Relief crashed through her. Her mother’s journal was still there. She flipped through the pages, searching for any sign of tampering. Everything seemed normal. But then she saw the bookmark. She always kept it in the middle. Now, it sat near the beginning. A tiny, easy-to-miss detail. But it was enough. Someone found the journal. Someone read it. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Her mother’s warnings suddenly sounded a lot more urgent. If they discover who you are, they will destroy you. Those words echoed, sharp and cold. What had Evelyn Nightbane known? Why had she lived in fear? Lyria hid the journal away again. Her hands shook—from shock or anger, she wasn’t sure. For the first time, she wondered if her mother hadn’t been paranoid. Maybe she’d just been afraid. Genuinely afraid. A scent drifted through the room—sharp, metallic, wrong. Nyra snapped to attention. Wait. Lyria froze. What? Do you smell that? She inhaled slowly. The smell was stronger near the bed. She turned her eyes to the mattress. And saw it, lying on the blanket—a dagger she hadn’t noticed before. Her heart pounded. She edged closer, moving as if underwater. The dagger was beautiful and menacing. Black blade, silver runes on the handle—symbols she didn’t recognize. Yet it wasn’t the weapon that scared her. It was the way it sat there, on clear display. Deliberate. Meant for her to find. A warning. A threat. Maybe both. She reached for it. Nyra barked in warning—Don’t touch it. Lyria pulled her hand back, startled. Why? Something is wrong. She didn’t argue. She grabbed a cloth, wrapped it around the handle, and lifted the weapon. Almost instantly, the cloth darkened—stains spreading. Poison. A lethal amount. Enough to kill fast. If she’d grabbed it bare-handed, she could be dead already. She shivered. This wasn’t just a message. This was an assassination attempt. Someone had really tried to kill her. She stared at the dagger, letting it sink in. Somebody wanted her out of the way. Not just ruined or chased off. Dead. That meant something. It meant they feared her—what she knew, what she might do. Or what she is. But why? What could make her that dangerous? Before she could chase that answer, someone knocked on her door. Lyria startled, gripping the dagger tighter. Another knock. Firmer. “Lyria?” Talia. Lyria hesitated. After tonight, trust wasn’t easy. But she opened the door. Talia stood there, looking guilty and uncomfortable. Lyria’s anger flared. What do you want? Talia winced. “I came to check on you.” Why? Talia hesitated. Lyria folded her arms. Earlier, you told me to give them space. Talia looked down. “I know.” You abandoned me. The words hung heavy between them. Finally, Talia spoke. “I didn’t know what to say.” Lyria let out a bitter laugh. You could have told them I’m not a thief. No answer. You could have said I’m not a liar. Still nothing. You could have said you believe me. Talia’s face crumpled, but Lyria just felt numb. Sometimes an apology is too late. Talia’s eyes landed on the dagger, and all color drained from her face. What is that? Lyria held it up. I found it on my bed. Talia’s eyes went wide. Someone left that? Yes. Talia went pale. “Oh Goddess.” Lyria nodded. Grim. It’s poisoned. For the first time, Talia actually looked scared. Not just guilty—scared. She understood the danger. “This needs to be reported.” Lyria almost laughed. Report it to who? The council already thinks she’s a thief. The pack thinks she’s hiding something. Even Kael doubts her. Who would listen? Talia seemed to realize the same thing. She just slumped. They stood in silence, knowing the truth. Lyria was alone. Completely. Talia eventually left. Exhaustion swallowed the room again. Lyria hid the poisoned dagger in a locked chest—a reminder and a warning rolled into one. Proof. But it didn’t matter. Proof was useless when no one believes you. The palace quieted. Hours drifted by as Lyria sat by the window, staring out into the silver-lit courtyard. Everything looked so calm, so normal. All a lie. Nothing about tonight was normal. Something moved in the distance. She froze, staring. A figure lingered beyond the palace gardens, near the trees. Tall. Draped in black. Hood pulled low over their face. She recognized them instantly. The stranger from the festival. The one who stared after Kael’s announcement. The one who vanished when everything went wrong. Fear squeezed her chest. The figure stepped into the moonlight, then slowly, straightened an arm and pointed right at her. And then melted into the darkness.