The sunlight streaming through the velvet curtains felt less like a morning wake-up call and more like a countdown. Zavi sat bolt upright, his heart hammering against his ribs as a translucent, flickering blue screen hovered in his peripheral vision.[WARNING: LIFEFORCE EXPIRATION IMMINENT. 24 DAYS REMAINING.]Zavi stared at the glowing numbers, his breath hitching. "Twenty-four days? Are you kidding me? I just got here!"He scrambled out of the plush four-poster bed, his silk robes tangling around his legs. The memory of the original owner—a pampered, sickly noble candidate—was a jumbled mess of useless etiquette and obsession with a woman named Serafia.A sharp, rhythmic knock sounded at the door."Master Zavi? Lady Serafia has arrived for your scheduled tea. She is waiting in the conservatory," a servant called out.Zavi wiped a cold sweat from his forehead. "Right. The tea date. The one that ends with me getting framed for treason in three weeks."He threw on a coat, his hands tre

The morning air at the royal training grounds was crisp, smelling of damp earth and sharpening stones. Zavi stood on the gravel circle, the weight of the practice sword feeling like an anchor in his hand. Jeremy was already there, pacing like a caged panther, his blade gleaming under the pale sun."Ready to be humiliated, Zavi?" Jeremy barked, pointing his tip toward Zavi’s chest."I’m ready for this to be over," Zavi replied, his voice dry. "Can we skip the monologue?""Big talk for a man with one foot in the grave," Jeremy sneered."Is that all you’ve got? I thought you were supposed to be a threat, not a critic," Zavi countered, rolling his neck.Jeremy lunged. His footwork was precise, his blade singing through the air. Zavi sidestepped, his heart hammering against his ribs."Moving a bit slow today, Jeremy?" Zavi taunted, purposely dropping his guard by pulling his right shoulder back."Don't mock me!"Jeremy swung again, a vicious overhead arc meant to cleave a shoulder. Zavi de

"Now," Serafia said, her voice dropping to a velvet hum. "Let’s discuss your 'lifeforce,' shall we?"Zavi felt the air leave his lungs. He stumbled back, his shoulder blades hitting the cold, marble-veneer of a decorative pillar. "What? What are you talking about?"Serafia tilted her head, her gaze sharp, piercing through his feigned confusion. "You mutter in your sleep, Zavi. And you stare at the air as if you’re reading a script only you can see. Do you think I’m blind? You’re counting something. Something that’s running out.""I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just sleep-deprived. You’d be, too, if people were trying to hunt you down."She stepped closer, the hem of her gown whispering against the floor. She wasn't just close; she was occupying his entire field of vision. "You’re a terrible liar. But it’s cute. Do you really think I don't know who you are?""I'm Zavi. I’m a noble candidate. I'm exactly who you think I am.""You’re a man who doesn't belong here," she cor

"You wrote the countdown?" Zavi’s voice echoed in the cavernous, stone-cold study. "What are you talking about? Are you trying to kill me?"Prince Alaric leaned against the mahogany desk, his posture infuriatingly relaxed. He let out a dry, hollow chuckle. "Kill you? Why would I waste such a delicious anomaly? The countdown is an incentive, Zavi. A nudge. Nothing motivates a man like the sound of his own pulse ticking away.""You’re insane," Zavi said, taking a shaky step back. "I’m not a research project for your twisted entertainment.""Aren't you?" Alaric flicked a gold coin across the surface of the desk. "You’re a man with no history, no origin, and no loyalties. You’re the perfect vessel for a little… investigation. Tell me, what is the lovely Lady Serafia planning behind those gilded walls?""I don't know what you mean," Zavi retorted, trying to keep his hands from trembling."Don't play the saint with me," Alaric snapped, his smile fading. "She’s grooming you, Zavi. She treats

The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut behind them, sealing away the frantic screams of panicked nobility, the scent of crushed gardenias, and the cold reality of the dead assassin slumped against the marble pillar. The corridor of the West Wing was dim, illuminated only by the intermittent amber glow of wall-mounted magelight sconces that cast long, grotesque shadows against the damask wallpaper.Zavi stumbled slightly as Serafia pulled him along, her grip on his hand unyielding, almost bruising in its intensity. The adrenaline that had surged through his veins during the brief, violent clash was beginning to ebb, leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache in his upper left arm. The wound wasn't deep—merely a shallow slice carved by a professional's blade—but it leaked a steady, warm trickle of blood that soaked through the fabric of his sleeve, staining the fine linen dark."Serafia, slow down," Zavi muttered, wincing as she navigated a sharp turn toward the private stairwells. "You’re go