Fiama hated being late for anything.

She grew up on a set schedule and was conditioned to always arrive early regardless of the appointment or occasion.

A princess never makes anyone wait.

The irony of it all was that it was her lessons that had delayed from her current endeavor, and it was not lost as she kicked her horse into a full gallop, leaving the oppression of her parents' castle behind her.

She barely even had the time to knot her dark hair into her cap, and her knife belt was draped precariously across her horse's saddle as they whipped through the forested-lined roads. She'd almost forgotten her bindings in the process of dressing in her leathers, and nothing would have been more detrimental to her than a blown cover after so long...

But she dressed and left her rooms undetected, and if there was anything Fiama knew it was the backroads and alleys around her kingdom. And the bandits who stalked them. And the guards who allowed them to do so for an extra bit of coin in their pouches.

Like clockwork, they attacked—almost daily. They didn't discriminate; the first unsuspecting carriage they could descend upon within their allotted allowable time frame would inevitably be their target.

Every day they believed they could remain undetected in their treachery, but Fiama knew better. Her guards were obnoxiously loud and lazy and had no remorse for the bribes they received and who they revealed as their benefactors.

What was the purpose of having scouts if nothing was going to be done to protect their roads? Fiama would ask her parents, their advisors, anyone who would listen when she approached them about the guards' brazen claims.

We've not the money to waste on the rabble, they would respond.

Whether they considered the rabble their people or the ones who stole from them, Fiama remained uncertain.

If only her horse would move faster, she cursed and as she leaned lower over the beast's sweat-slickened neck, she'd show them what the rabble was worth.

Especially when today's target was bound to be their kingdom's most important visitor since Fiama could last remember.

While her parents' nonchalant debauchery threw Morakar into unrelenting turmoil, commerce was at an all-time low. No one wanted to trade with a kingdom that couldn't keep its roads safe, and when its own guards turned a blind eye to the banditry, she knew they were going to implode from the inside out.

Fiama would have none of it.

Even if she had to take matters into her own hands and attempt to dispose of them herself.

All of them.

Especially when the evening's intended target was the emissary from the nearest kingdom and the closest thing to a trade partner their sad province could muster. All political ties were valuable, even if it meant sneaking out into the dead of night to salvage them.

Gritting her teeth, Fiama allowed her eyes to adjust in the dusk's fading light. Poorly tended lamps lined the roads, but when your scouts are being paid off by the very people who are lurking in the shadows, lighting the watchfires oftentimes seemed to be forgotten.

Unbeknownst to them, it was exactly what Fiama hoped for when predicting where the night's attack would be staged.

On that evening, they chose a section of the road almost halfway to Ithoya, which also confirmed her suspicions about the evening's target. Her assumptions were all but solidified when a carriage flying Ithoya's standard of red and blue thrummed into her line of sight further down the road.

She quickly pulled her horse to an abrupt stop before dismounting and leading the animal to the side of the road. Her attention remained on the road as she blindly walked her horse to a patch of greenery far enough out of sight from any passersby before she strapped on her knife belt and moved further down the road while remaining hidden in the shadows.

The sound of trees rustling and metal sliding against leather had her stop in her approach, and she held her breath while she better listened to her surroundings.

Movement in the distance depicted four figures crouching on either side of the road, clinging to the darkness of the dying light as if their lives depended on it.

Their lives, or their purses.

Fiama's advantage was that she saw them well before they could have seen her, and with their focus solely on the approaching carriage, her cover remained solid. It was then she realized the ground would no longer be her safe zone, and instead, she took to the trees with their woven branches creating their own roadway high above the unsuspecting thieves' heads.

All of those lessons in etiquette and refinery certainly paid off in honing her finesse and balance, though she was certain traipsing along the treetops was not what her parents had in mind for their princess when they assigned her to her instructors.

Yet there she was, nimble as a doe and as weightless as a dove as she focused her deadly intentions on the marauders like a wolf seeking out its next prey.

They'd stopped the carriage in its procession by the time Fiama could get close enough to observe the scene below. As expected, the brigands approached on all sides, swords drawn, and, by what she could deduce, at least one of them carried a firearm.

It was worse than she feared. The stakes were too high yet she was already in too deep.

Too many depended on her.

Her kingdom depended on her.

And, by the looks of it, the surrounded carriage from Ithoya needed her as well.

"We're here to escort the emissary to Morakar," the thief with the firearm announced to the carriage driver. Peering into the darkness, it looked as though the brigands wore Morakar's green and black— another deception no doubt supplied by their guards.

The driver, however, didn't move, nor did they say anything in response as they sat there with the horses' reins gripped within their gloves hands. Perhaps they saw through the deception as well.

"Unfortunately, we don't have a coach all our own," the frontman continued with a step forward, the sound of a hammer cocking louder than a nightbird's cry. "So we're going to have to take yours."

That was Fiama's cue. Pulling her scarf over her nose, she leaped across one more branch and swung down to another before she flipped off and landing her dismount on the back of the frontman. Her momentum, however, disarmed the firearm, and she only had a moment to glance up before chaos erupted around them.

The brigands descended upon the driver, but before Fiama could yell a warning to them to watch out, the frontman had regained himself and began to frantically move to get her off his back. She rolled into a defensive position, sliding a knife from her belt and holding it deftly in her hand as she watched him.

He spat out dirt and wiped away blood trickling from his nose as he glared at her with beady eyes and crooked teeth. "Who in Hellas are you?"

"You mean Morakar's guards left out that details?" she responded, voice low and quiet from behind her scarf. "Didn't they tell you these roads were patrolled by a rogue vigilante while they took your coin?"

The frontman scoffed but she could see in his darkened gaze that they had not. "Not that it matters," he tried to counter. "You'll be dead after tonight anyway."

Luckily he couldn't see the smirk beneath her veil. "We'll see," was all she said before she pounced, never giving him a moment to defend himself before her knife grazed across his throat.

Fiama ignored the warm blood spilling over her fingers as she tossed the body aside and stood to survey the scene before her. Two of the men had descended upon the driver, but they looked like they were holding their own well enough by the way the movement of their sword's blade reflected the moonlight. The third remaining thief moved away from the commotion and jetted towards the unguarded carriage.

That was his last mistake.

At full speed, Fiama ran towards him, intercepting his approach before he made it to the emissary inside. At least she hoped he remained within— there was no sign of him outside of the carriage, and for her kingdom's sake, she'd feel extremely horrible if her attempts were thwarted before she even had a chance to begin.

Situating herself between the carriage door and the would-be assassin, she struck fast, her knuckles connecting with bone and flesh, sending the thief stumbling with his face in his hands. His wails of pain caught the attention of the driver, who had just finished dispatching the second brigand before turning their attention to the new target.

Fiama raised a brow, impressed with their efficiency. Perhaps Morakar should take note in Ithoya's training of those responsible for their emissaries, especially in times such as the ones they lived in where it seemed no one was safe from even their own shadow.

But her task was not complete. Not yet.

Her focus turned to the carriage dark and quiet. She hoped she wasn't too late as she approached, hand reaching for the door and turning the handle.

"Emissary—"

There was no one inside.

With no signs of a struggle, it looks as though no one ever was.

"Looking for something?"

A cool, feminine voice chilled Fiama to the bone, and the cold tip of a sword blade against the back of her neck stalled her efforts.

Slowly she stood, dropping her bloodied knife as her hands raised into the air signaling she was unarmed. "What did you do to the emissary?" she asked, making sure to keep her voice low.

A shrill laugh sounded behind her. "Do you think we'd be so foolish, knowing Morakar's record?"

"I had hoped you'd not be," Fiama murmured. She dared a glance behind her. "So, where is he?"

Another laugh resounded, and the sword was lowered. Fiama let out a breath and slowly turned around to face the same driver who had taken down the remainder of the thieves. Using their other hand, they removed the cap to let loose a cascade of blonde hair.

Fiama's eyes widened. "You're—"

"Lady Ziedas of Ithoya, daughter to Emissary Brokand, and you are under arrest for the attempted robbery, assault, and undoubtedly murder of a political figure."

If Fiama's eyes widened any more, they'd have fallen from her head. "I— I was here to save you!"

"And a lot of good that did," Ziedas mused as she glanced towards the three bodies she left in the dust on the side of the road.

Glaring, Fiama dared a step closer. The point of Ziedas' sword flew, meeting her chest and pressing against the bindings underneath. Sucking in a breath, Fiama grounded herself. "I received information that the emissary from Ithoya was coming to Morakar. I know these roads aren't patrolled. I also know you would have died without my help."

"Is that so?" The smirk on Ziedas's lips insinuated she believed otherwise. "If I recall, you were the one who created this chaos in the first place."

"He would have shot you if I didn't take him out."

At that, Ziedas's attention drifted up to the carriage behind them. Fiama dared follow her gaze, which fell upon the hole about the size of a coin, shot straight through the wood and into the main cabin.

"Shit," she whispered.

"It's luck I wasn't actually in there," Ziedas confirmed.

"It's foolish you actually weren't." Fiama turned back to the emissary's daughter.

"I don't think you'll be calling me foolish when I drag you to Morakar with the rest of your band."

Fiama choked on a laugh. "Aye, but there's one detail you're forgetting."

"And what would that be?" Ziedas asked as she arched a delicate brow.

Fiama smiled underneath her scarf. "I'm still alive."

She blew a whistle through her teeth at the same time she dropped, spinning and dragging her leg with her to use the momentum to sweep Ziedas off her feet. She felt slightly guilty for the thud as the unsuspecting lady fell to the ground, but Fiama was not going to give her the opportunity to add one more body to the evening's death toll.

Her horse pounded down the road right on schedule and Fiama sprang up into the saddle before Ziedas realized her chivalrous efforts had been thwarted. As the sounds of the Ithoyan emissary's daughter's curses resounded in the distance behind her, Fiama realized she was still smiling all the way back to Morakar.