Moonlit Vows Of Vengeance

Chapter 112: Assassination Attempt

The balcony doors had been closed moments ago. Now they hung open.

My breath caught. I hadn’t moved them. And no wind had been strong enough to force those iron hinges apart.

I took a slow step backward, my bare feet whispering across the cold stone floor.

I didn’t call out. Instinct told me not to.

Then something shifted. A flicker of movement in the corner of my eye — too quick, too quiet.

I turned.

A blade glinted in the dark.

My body reacted before my thoughts did. I twisted violently, the dagger slicing past my throat by mere inches. The edge grazed my collarbone, nicking skin. Pain bloomed sharp and instant, followed by warmth as blood trickled down my chest.

The assassin didn’t speak. They were fully cloaked, face hidden behind a jagged black mask. No scent. No sound. Just deadly precision.

I stumbled back, heart racing. My body screamed for power that wasn’t there. No divine light shimmered under my skin. No burst of wolf strength came to my limbs. I was slower. Clumsier.

And the assassin knew it.

Their blade came again — a gleaming curve that caught the moonlight. I ducked, but not fast enough. The edge slashed across my upper arm, cutting through fabric and flesh. I hissed, stumbling sideways, clutching the wound as crimson bloomed under my fingers.

Void dust.

I could feel it already — the sluggish burn under my skin, not just pain but dampening. Whatever remained of my divine energy, however faint, it was being dulled by the toxin. That wasn’t an ordinary blade.

They didn’t come to scare me.

They came to finish me off.

My back hit the edge of the bed frame as I tried to retreat, but the assassin was fast — unnaturally fast. Their next strike came like a blur, aimed straight for my stomach.

I grabbed the nearest object I could — a silver candelabrum — and threw it.

It struck their shoulder with a metallic clang, knocking them just slightly off balance. Enough for me to roll out of the way as their dagger buried itself in the mattress.

I scrambled toward the balcony, ignoring the pain. Maybe someone would see. Maybe if I fell over the edge, I’d survive the drop and draw attention.

But I didn’t get that far.

The assassin was already between me and the doors again.

Their blade was raised.

Their silence was more terrifying than any scream.

The blade missed my throat by an inch.

The flash of steel caught the corner of my eye and I dropped to the ground, pain lancing through my hip as it hit the stone floor. A second blade whistled past where my chest had been a breath ago.

I rolled.

Instinct. Reflex. Years of training in a body that no longer held divine power but remembered war like it was stitched into its bones.

My heart thundered against my ribs as I scrambled to my feet, blood roaring in my ears. The assassin moved fast—faster than a normal wolf. Not shifting. Just... precise. Silent.

Clothed in shadow.

A dagger gleamed in their hand, and I saw no hesitation in their movements.

I threw the nearest object—an old candleholder—straight at their face.

They ducked, but it gave me enough time to lunge toward the edge of the chamber, my bare feet slapping against the cold stone. I needed space. I needed light. I needed anything.

"Guards—!" My scream caught in my throat.

The assassin moved again.

This time, I felt the burn—a searing line across my upper arm. I stumbled, catching myself against a stone pillar. The world narrowed to a blur of blood and smoke and sharp, burning air.

I dropped low, swept a broken shard of marble from the floor, and slashed up as the assassin closed the distance. It caught their leg—a deep, angry gash. They hissed, stumbling.

"Why?" I gasped, breath heaving. "Who sent you?"

They didn’t answer.

Instead, they raised the dagger again.

I flung a nearby velvet curtain over them.

The moment of blindness gave me the opening I needed—I surged forward and drove my shoulder into their chest, sending us both crashing to the floor. My injured arm screamed, but I gripped the shard tighter, raising it.

"Say it," I whispered, hand trembling. "Say who sent you."

The assassin stilled beneath me. Their mask fell sideways—wolf ears beneath, but I didn’t know them.

Then—footsteps.

Loud. Clanging. Rushing.

The chamber doors burst open.

Kieran’s voice tore through the air. "Athena!"

He was on the assassin in seconds, yanking them from beneath me, slamming them against the wall so hard the stone cracked. Three guards swarmed in behind him.

I collapsed back, trembling, my hand covered in blood—my own and theirs.

"Athena, are you hurt?"

I looked up.

Kieran was beside me now, his face white with rage and fear.

"I’m alive," I rasped, heart pounding. "Barely."

His hands moved to my arm, to the cut—already clotting. But his eyes were on me, searching for more.

"Get them out of here," he barked to the guards. "I want them alive. I want names."

I stared at the ceiling, my breath still coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

That had been close. Too close.

And if Kieran hadn’t come—

No. I couldn’t think about that.

But the message had been sent.

Someone wanted me dead.

The chamber felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

Even with the assassin gone—dragged off in silver chains and silence—the air didn’t lighten. My lungs fought for breath, my skin coated in a mix of cold sweat and blood. The torches still flickered like they hadn’t just seen death try to kiss me.

Kieran crouched in front of me, his brows drawn tight, his jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle jumping at the edge of it.

"Athena," he said, voice low, steady, but trembling at the edges. "You’re sure you’re not hurt?"

"I’m fine," I whispered.

"You’re not fine. You’re covered in blood."

"I’ve had worse."

His eyes searched mine, as if trying to see if I was lying—if I was already slipping through his fingers. And maybe I was. Because something inside me had cracked wide open when that dagger nearly slit my throat.

He reached out slowly, like I was something breakable. His hand hovered just beside my jaw, not touching, until I leaned into it without realizing.

"You could have died," he said, softer this time. noveldrama

"But I didn’t." My voice cracked. "Because you got there in time."

"No," he murmured, his voice rough with anger and shame. "I should have never left you alone in the first place."

I shook my head, exhaustion threading through my bones. "Don’t blame yourself. Whoever sent them knew what they were doing. They waited until they were sure I was vulnerable."

He stood abruptly, pacing like a caged animal, dragging both hands through his hair.

"This wasn’t just a random attack," he growled. "It wasn’t a protest or a reckless act from a loyalist hiding in the shadows. This was trained. Precise. They knew the palace. They knew your rooms. They knew your routines."

My stomach turned.

He was right.

It wasn’t just a warning.

It was a declaration.

"They know I’m weak," I said aloud, the truth scraping like sandpaper in my throat. "They know I don’t have my power. And they’re coming for me before I get it back."

Kieran turned toward me, his gaze burning.

"They’ll have to go through me first."

He stepped toward me again, eyes scanning my face like he wasn’t sure what to believe.

"I should double the guards—"

"No. That’ll only scare the court and stir more suspicion. We need to act like nothing has changed."

Kieran cursed under his breath. "This isn’t some political game. You nearly died."

"I’ve nearly died before. I didn’t stop then. I won’t stop now."

He stared at me like he wanted to argue—like he needed to scream—but then something in him shifted. He came closer again, slowly, until his hands were back on my arms, grounding me.

"Then let me stay with you. Just until we know more. Just until we figure out who sent them."

I hesitated.

Not because I didn’t want him close.

But because I was afraid of what his presence did to the storm brewing inside me.

Still, I nodded. "Okay. Stay."

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

"I’ll question the assassin myself."

I looked down at my bloodied fingers.

There was a quiet promise in his voice. One I didn’t know what to do with.

I moved past him slowly, toward the far end of the room where the window stretched out over the hills beyond the palace. The moon was already beginning to rise—pale, fractured light filtering through the broken glass.

I stared out at it, heart still pounding.

A warning, maybe.

Or a challenge.

Whoever had sent the assassin wasn’t finished. That much was clear.

I turned back to Kieran, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Send out a false report. Say the assassin failed and was executed. Tell them I’m unharmed. Let them think they underestimated me."

His eyes narrowed with understanding. "You want to draw them out."

I nodded. "Let them believe I still have power. Let them come to finish what they started."