Glamour, gossip, a night of beauty and enchantment. Aleksandra experienced none of those things.

Noxan balls were not about beauty or celebration. The nobility dressed like fools, there were weapons hidden up everyone's sleeves, and everyone avoided the punch for some reason she didn't want to question. She heard nothing but lies or petty gossip. Women would pass by and, knowing they couldn't get away with touching Aulfr, they settled for bumping into her and stepping on her feet. The only enjoyable thing was being able to hold onto Aulfr's arm through it all. He was a surprisingly comforting presence.

Not all of the ball was as cutthroat as she expected. Though she wasn't the best dancer, she was graceful and beautiful and everyone she was forced to dance with didn't comment on any incorrect steps she made. She was bit disappointed that she didn't get to dance with Aulfr before she tired, but there would be more balls. She could dance with him then, and she would know all the steps.

The event lasted for hours. Not halfway through, her feet already ached and she felt too warm. Not to mention how hard it felt to breathe. She supposed all of this excitement was agitating her wounds a bit too much. Maybe now that Aulfr had spoken about her to everyone, he might allow her to return to their chambers. With her silly silk slippers held in one hand, she turned to find Aulfr in the crowd.

If asked later why she knew she had to move so suddenly, she wouldn't be able to answer. Some deep instinct in her screamed at her to lean to the left. And not half a second later, there was a deadly thrum as a crossbow bolt tore through the air and grazed her bare shoulder, leaving behind a sudden shock of pain. For a moment, she stood there with the most surprised look on her features. And then she hardened. The expression in her eyes could only be described as murderous.

The hall was nearly silent as they watched her turn and identify the man running out the door, supposedly to escape after his failed assassination attempt. Her daggers were already in her hands, her slippers discarded on the floor like so much trash. She glanced at Aulfr and inclined her head slightly. She was going after this assassin no matter what he said. No reason not to be polite about it.

And then she was running. Nobles leaped out of her way, some of them marking themselves with odd symbols of protection against whatever demon had possessed her. She was no more than a hunter in that moment, dead-focused on taking down her prey. The doors opened and then closed behind her, and all was quiet.

For a few minutes, she was gone. Then, out in the corridor, there was a pained scream. More silence. And then she was prowling back into the hall with a disturbingly serene smile plastered on her now-bleeding face. The blighter had tried to shoot her again and had grazed her jaw. The morbid evidence of Aleksandra's success was all over the skirt of her dress, which had been half cut away to allow her to run. It was splattered in blood, as were her tattooed legs and feet, which trailed bloody footprints all the way over to Aulfr. She snagged a small flute of spiced wine as she passed by a frightened servant and came to a halt beside her prince. She looked dangerous. Beautiful. Savage.

"That went quite well," she murmured, taking a sip of her wine. She would only have a sip or two. It wasn't safe to drink more than that. Especially when everything was gray and blurry at the edges of her vision and her ribs felt like fire. But she also felt amazing. She wondered how Aulfr felt about her little performance? Surely, that stunt would cause his reputation to skyrocket.