The night was calm—too calm. The moon wore a halo, a ghostly ring cast by its own light reflecting off the scattered clouds. Trees passed like rows of silent sentinels, their dark green leaves trembling slightly in the wind, like young boys pretending to be palace guards but unable to hide their nervous fidgeting.
I pulled aside the velvet curtain on my window. The quiet awkwardness inside the carriage had become suffocating. Even the unsettling darkness outside felt more breathable.
The ride was steady. Smooth. Deceitfully uneventful.
Rose sat across from me, dressed in a fitted midnight gown. Her wolf-cut hair had been tamed into deliberate elegance, and she wore a scent—citrus-like, faint, sharp—but I couldn't place the fruit. It smelled clean. Dangerous. A contradiction, like everything else about her.
The stillness shattered.
A sharp whinny from the horses. A jolt. The carriage lurched to a stop. I stumbled, crashing into Rose's side. She didn't flinch—alert and eerily calm, like a blade pulled half out of its sheath.
Her eyes met the Count's. A silent exchange.
You want a bite of this or shall I handle it?
The Count glanced at Regina, who looked up lazily from her book as though considering whether the disturbance was even worth acknowledging. She gave a faint wave of her fingers.
Permission granted.
Rose was already halfway out the door before her dress had fully settled. From the slit running up her left thigh, she drew a wicked-looking dirk—gleaming steel hidden in silk.
Then came the sounds.
Screams. Wet and sharp. Like fabric being torn underwater. And then silence.
I sat frozen, ears full of echoes, skin tingling with adrenaline. My hand instinctively twitched toward summoning Paige, heart screaming at me to do something.
And then… Regina's hand landed gently on mine.
She didn't look at me, not at first. Just kept flipping pages. Then she turned her head ever so slightly and met my gaze.
That was all it took. Something in her look steadied me. It wasn't warmth—it was certainty. Arrogant, disturbing certainty. Like a storm calmly assuring you it had already chosen who to drown.
The System spoke with chime :
Yeah… you should listen to her.
Don't be rash.
(For once, the system's voice held no mockery.)
Rose returned minutes later, dress stained with dark smudges of blood, like a painter caught in the wrong medium. She looked annoyed, like someone who'd been forced to take out the trash during a dinner party.
She sighed and flopped into her seat. The Count, who had been reading a document—gods know where he'd pulled it from—looked up and asked without much interest:
"Bandits?"
Rose rolled her eyes. "That's what they called themselves. Rookies. Couldn't scare a tavern cat. More like crooks who wandered a little too far past our borders."
Her gaze flicked to me. Then to Regina, who hadn't even looked up from her book.
"Well then," the Count muttered, folding the document neatly. "This is Crown land. Patrols will handle the… rest."
He handed Rose a napkin.
Outside, I saw no bodies. But I didn't need to. The sounds had painted enough. The blood on the wheel. The smell of iron in the air. My eyes had been spared, but my imagination was not.
As the carriage began rolling again, Regina turned a page, humming softly.
The capital awaited.
And I was starting to wonder if I was the only one in this carriage who hadn't killed someone before breakfast.