Prologue

Seven Nights Assassin

Thundering horse hooves clash against the ground on the stillest night of autumn. The grass before them is a deep blue, the moon glows white above them. The forest is thick and dark, an owl calls from a tree branch, a wolf howls from a hill. The princess rides in front of the nameless assassin, the pink sleeves of her dress flutter in the wind. Her hair is down and flying around her face.

The nameless assassin knows they must stop soon, both their bodies ache, and the princess has never ridden a horse for this long. They are far from the royal palace, not even the king’s fastest and most skilled trackers would be able to catch them now.

She, the assassin, pulls on the reins, halting her horse. She looks over her shoulder and sees nothing but pine trees curving and twisting, as if they have stopped mid-dance. The bow on her back, the quiver of arrows on her hip and the silver daggers hidden beneath her clothing are a gentle yet dangerous reminder of what might come and that she has to be prepared.

The assassin searches for a shadow among the trees, perhaps a brethren has followed them and sought to bring her back to the Black Lotus, but the assassin sees nothing and no one. She sighs, then urges her horse forwards.

She tries to rid her dark thoughts by thinking about the princess and how the king must be looking for her, searching the entire palace, every nook and cranny, even the royal gardens; the flowers have probably been trampled. The king must be angry, so angry that he might start a war. The assassin thinks about her Black Lotus brothers and sisters who are expecting her and the masters she knows she has disappointed.

But the assassin has fallen in love. What is she to do? Deny the call of her heart?

First she struck a deal, then she broke a sacred bond, and now she has stolen a princess who does not want to be a princess; who does not want to be anything or anyone but herself.

The princess has stopped and is waiting at the edge of the forest where the path leads up to a great and tall mountain. She smiles softly when the assassin reaches her, and the assassin notices that the princess’ tears have dried but her eyes are still red and puffy.

«Soon.» The assassin says quietly, and she hopes soon comes sooner rather than later.

They begin their ascent of the mountain, riding side by side, the princess leans over and places her hand on the assassin’s thigh. The touch burns, and the assassin hides her blushing face in her cowl.

«Thank you.» The princess whispers. Her voice is warm with kindness, her eyes soft with gratitude.

The assassin nods, feeling the princess’ eyes on her, slowly pulling her apart, soon there will be nothing left for the assassin to hide and the princess will know every part of her.

It scares the assassin because she is afraid the princess will leave her. She has taken many lives, many names, there is blood on her hands that she cannot wash out. She is not innocent, and there is nothing she can do to redeem herself. But despite that she still tries, and perhaps stealing away the princess who begged to be stolen is her first act of kindness?

And the princess, who’s beauty could render a person speechless, is also kind in a way that makes her seem foolish. She shows everyone around her that kindness; the king who would make her his bride, and even the nameless assassin who stole the princess away from the royal palace and everything she is familiar with.

They find rest on top of the mountain. They secure their horses to a thin tree, then they take shelter from the strong gusts of wind behind a large rock. They huddle close together, wrapped up in several blankets and wait for sleep to carry them away to the world of dreams.

The princess untucks her hand from the blankets and slowly pulls down the assassin’s cowl. When the cowl is gone, the princess gasps lightly when she feels the assassin’s breath against her white and cold knuckles.

The assassin sits still as a statue while the princess looks at her. She in a deep breath, she has never been so afraid before.

But the princess is kind, and she presses a gentle kiss to the corner of the assassin’s mouth.

When the princess pulls away, the assassin sees her clear as day in the dark night. Her eyes are round and wide with hope, her cheeks are red, her hair is disheveled and wild around her face. The princess’ mouth is open, a question lingers on her tongue but she does not speak, as if her voice is lost.

«Byulyi.» The assassin whispers raggedly, scared. «My name is Byulyi.»

The princess’ smile is breathtakingly kind and Byulyi’s breath is caught in . The princess cups Byulyi’s cheek and leans in for another gentle kiss.