The morning air in the castle’s northern courtyard was brisk, laced with the earthy scent of dewy stone and burning oil from the lanterns. Nox stood quietly in line with the other new guards. His limp had lessened, masked further by a low-dose health draught taken before dawn. It hadn't been strong enough to fully heal the damage -- he couldn't risk drawing attention with a miraculous recovery -- but enough that his movements were more smooth, almost ordinary. He'd practiced the gait in the privacy of his shared quarters, over and over until the adjustment felt natural.

He’d dressed early, donning the fresh uniform provided by the captain of the royal guard. The new face was holding up well, even after he had stared at it long enough for most magic to begin giving way. His scar had shifted position and his nose held a bend that suggested it had once been broken in a street brawl, not sliced in battle. He'd even adopted a new posture -- shoulders set a touch higher, spine less relaxed. The soldier he portrayed now was sturdy, grounded, and quiet. A stable hand one day, now a replacement guard in an overburdened system. Just another face in the sea of replacements. And this time, he was exactly where he needed to be.

"You're with the Princess' personal escort today," the sergeant had said. "Keep your head down, follow orders, and don’t speak unless spoken to."

Perfect.

He joined the flank of armored figures that took formation around Princess Rosalie’s chamber. When the door finally opened and she stepped out, every guard straightened slightly. Nox held still, his chin tucked and gaze forward. From the corner of his vision, he saw her scan each man. She paused when her eyes landed on him.

He did not react. Internally, though, his mind stirred. He could feel her stare linger just a second too long. Just enough for him to mark it as a hazard. Still, her gaze moved on.

As they walked through the castle corridors, Nox maintained perfect composure. Each step was measured. Each hallway mapped silently. Guards rotated every few hours, and Rosalie’s path seemed, so far, to follow the usual noble routine: from her chamber to the tutor’s study, then later to the gardens or library. She wasn’t unpredictable, not yet, and that would make things easier. The chaos of new staff, rotating duties, and castle repairs created a fog of confusion. If he struck now, no one would know which face to blame. The witch’s potion would still hold for a few more days, perhaps a week if he rationed his supplements carefully. That was enough. Barely. But he needed to act before the dust settled and the staff began learning each other’s names, and certainly before he would have to go back to the old crone for a refill.

Rosalie faltered briefly mid-step on the way to her tutor’s study. Nox caught it. A short, sharp hesitation. The kind born from realization.

She remembers something. But she did not speak. She picked up her pace, continuing on as if nothing had occurred. Nox allowed himself to exhale slowly, controlled. She had nothing solid, only the shadow of a servant's face glimpsed in a hallway and a spectacularly vague description of an assailant by her cousin. Suspicion, not certainty.

Once she was inside the study, Nox resumed his position against the wall outside, alongside two other guards. Through the heavy door, he could hear muffled tones -- the unmistakable droning of her elderly tutor, going on about planetary alignments and the wisdom of the stars. Nox almost smiled. Astrology. A science used by those who feared unknown futures but rarely prepared for them.

He had no use for stars. Only shadows.

Time passed slowly.

Rosalie eventually emerged, her face pinched with the mild frustration of someone who had endured an hour of intellectual torture. Her gaze flicked toward him again, but this time, it was different. Less casual. More deliberate. He felt her eyes trying to peel back layers of his disguise, to reconcile a vague impression in her memory with the living man standing before her.

Still, Nox did not meet her gaze. He kept his expression blank, his posture the same, and his thoughts shielded. To the outside world, he was merely another face in armor, another man conscripted to watch her footsteps and keep her safe from an enemy that no one could see.

The irony nearly amused him.

When she walked on, he followed again with the others, always two steps behind. She did not look back. Nox, however, let his thoughts linger. This needs to end soon. The longer he remained, the more likely she would recognize something -- not in his face, but in his silence, in his walk, his breath, the quiet pressure of presence. A princess watched more than people thought. She was bored and curious at the same time. A dangerous combination.

He decided then, with all the finality of a closing blade: By week’s end, it will be done.

He would choose his moment carefully. Maybe during the evening meals when servants rotated and guards were half-asleep. Maybe during her garden walks, when the scent of flowers and fading sunlight gave cover to anything subtle. It wouldn’t be tonight. No -- too early, and the new guards would still be under scrutiny. But after a few days, when routine had returned, when they all believed the danger had passed? Then he would strike.