I never thought I'd be involved in an assassination attempt.



I mean, sure, my life had been filled with ridiculous situations, and I had a talent for stumbling into danger, but this? This was a whole new level of nonsense.



It all started with the grand ball—the one that was supposedly meant to bring peace. I knew from the start it was a trap. You don't just invite a bunch of power-hungry nobles into one room, expecting them to play nice. It was like throwing meat into a den of starving wolves and hoping they'd become vegetarians.



But still, I hadn't expected assassins to be part of the festivities.



One moment, the King stood at the head of the ballroom, cold and composed as ever, his golden eyes scanning the crowd. The next, a crossbow bolt whizzed through the air.



Screams erupted. Nobles shoved past each other, scrambling to flee. The guards reacted immediately, drawing their swords, but the attack had already begun.



And what did I do?



I threw a tray.



Not exactly the most heroic move, but it was the closest thing to a weapon I had. The heavy silver platter spun through the air and smacked the assassin right in the face, sending him stumbling backward. The crossbow clattered to the floor.



The King had already drawn his sword, his expression unreadable. Around him, his knights surged forward, cutting through the attackers like a whirlwind of steel.



I should have run. I should have gotten to safety.



Instead, I locked eyes with someone across the room.



Someone I trusted.



Marquis Reynard.



My stomach twisted. He was standing near the back, calmly watching the chaos unfold. And in his hand, glinting under the golden chandeliers, was a dagger.



A dagger meant for the King.



My breath caught. My pulse pounded in my ears.



"You," I whispered.



Reynard smirked. Not the warm, friendly smile he usually wore, but something sharp. Something knowing.



I felt a bitter laugh bubble up in my throat. "Wow. And here I thought you actually liked me."



Reynard sighed, shaking his head. "I do, Thalia. But unfortunately, you chose the wrong side."



I gestured around us. "Did I? Because I feel like I chose the side that isn't currently committing high treason."



His expression darkened. "The King is unfit to rule. You, of all people, should see that."



I glanced at the King—who, at that very moment, effortlessly dodged a blade and took down two attackers with one strike.



"...Yeah, sure. Looks very unfit to me."



Reynard exhaled, looking almost disappointed. "This is your last chance, Thalia. Leave now, and I'll make sure you and your family remain safe."



I blinked. Then, before I could stop myself, I burst out laughing.



"Leave? Oh no, no, no. You don't get it, do you?" I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "You people have been underestimating me since day one. Thinking I'm just some clueless maid. But let me tell you something, Reynard—I survived this palace longer than you did."



Then I did the stupidest thing imaginable.



I grabbed the nearest decorative punch bowl—and hurled it at his head.



It hit him with a loud splash. Red liquid dripped from his face, ruining his pristine white suit.



Reynard let out a slow, controlled breath, his jaw clenching. "...I see."



And then, everything descended into chaos.



~~~



The King's knights moved fast. Within moments, the rebels were overpowered.



Lady Genevieve, who had been trying very hard to blend into the background, suddenly found herself dragged to the front by two guards. She let out an ear-piercing shriek. "This is a misunderstanding! I had nothing to do with this!"



The King didn't even look at her. He just gave a lazy flick of his fingers.



"Take her away."



Her screeching protests could probably be heard in another kingdom.



Meanwhile, Reynard wiped the punch from his face, looking more annoyed than afraid. Even as the guards restrained him, he gave me a knowing look.



"This isn't over," he murmured.



I tilted my head. "For you, it definitely is."



He was hauled off in chains.



And me?



I was standing in the middle of the destroyed ballroom, covered in someone else's blood, holding a broken chair leg like a weapon.



Slowly, I turned to face the King.



He was watching me, his sword still in hand, his golden eyes unreadable.



I braced myself. Surely, after everything, he would yell at me for interfering. Surely, he'd at least scold me for almost getting killed.



Instead, he exhaled heavily and muttered,



"...I knew leaving you alone was a mistake."



And honestly?



He wasn't wrong.