Return of the General's Daughter

That night, just like the one before, two shadows slithered across the palace grounds, moving with lethal precision toward the southern wing—where the concubine’s chamber lay guarded by only a handful of men.

One of the guards suddenly groaned, clutching his abdomen. "I—I need the latrine," he gasped, already stumbling away before anyone could question him.

The others barely had time to glance at each other before a second shadow slipped silently into the barracks. He moved like a ghost, swift and silent—his presence no more than a breath in the dark. In a flash, he was upon one of the sleeping guards. A sharp strike to the temple, a thud. Unconscious.

He sprinted along the palace wall, ducking beneath torchlight, then vanished into the shadows of a crumbling tool shed nestled against the eastern perimeter.

Inside, the air was thick with rust and dust. Another guard was already bound and unconscious on the floor—his head lolling to the side. Molavi dropped his latest capture beside him and wiped the sweat from his brow, smirking.

"That was too easy," he muttered, unaware that unseen hands within the palace had quietly cleared their path. They were pawns in a far larger game—tools forged for a single ambition that none of them fully understood.

A figure emerged from the shadows—Kasmeri.

He looked colder than steel, every movement coiled with purpose.

"You finish this. I have another task—one that ends with the king’s blood and justice for my mother."

"The fire should create a diversion. Be careful not to get caught. Once you are done, leave the palace and do not wait for me." Kasmeri reminded him.

He placed a firm hand on Molavi’s shoulder, grounding him.