Tavia Lark was a name whispered in the dark, a phantom capable of slipping through stone walls. But as Artos knelt beside her, he saw only a woman clutching a side wound, her silver hair matted with mud and iron-scented blood. Against every law of his kingdom, he didn’t call the guards. He carried her to the secret passage beneath the library.

Standing in the moonlit courtyard where they first met, Tavia drew her blade—not pointing it at the Prince, but standing firmly between him and the darkness.

"You should have let me die," Tavia rasped one night, her hand hovering over a concealed dagger. "My contract doesn't expire just because you're kind."

Prince Artos knew the rumors about the Shadow of the North—a faceless assassin sent to end his bloodline—but he didn’t expect to find her bleeding out in his private gardens.