Assassin Playing Princess

"What?!"

The servant flinched at the sharpness of Ivy's voice.

"Well… since the paperwork that was submitted didn't mention you bringing a personal maid into the marriage, they laid her off," she said timidly.

Ivy let out a long, irritated sigh. "Of course the Lady Ivy wouldn't bring anyone," she muttered under her breath, then started walking. "Have someone bring her."

The servant hesitated. "But… Your Highness… she has to pass through proper clearance. We can't just bring her."

Ivy paused mid-step and turned to face her. "What's your name?"

"Selva. I've been assigned to be your personal maid, Your Highness."

Ivy smiled, but something in that smile made Selva tense. "I don't like repeating myself, Selva."

Selva quickly dipped her head. "Yes, I'll have someone bring her right away."

She formed a tiny cloud in her palm, whispered a few words into it, and sent it drifting into the air. Ivy raised a brow.

"What was that?"

"It's my magic, Your Highness. I can record my voice into a cloud and send it as a message—but only within a fifteen-meter radius."

"I don't like her having such magic," Veyra said through their mind-link.

They were thinking the same thing.

"She feels too… conveniently placed," Ivy said inwardly. "It's almost like someone planted her near me to pass along information."

"The question is—who is she working for?" Veyra asked.

"Let's watch her first," Ivy replied.

"Would you like to take a bath before heading to the wedding chamber?" Selva asked with a practiced smile.

"Yes. And make sure Anya is brought to me," Ivy replied, letting Selva lead her to the bathing room.

The scent of lavender and warm citrus filled the air as they entered. Steam curled from the surface of the marble tub, where gentle ripples glimmered beneath the magic lighting. Fire stones embedded in the walls kept the room warm, cozy, and serene.

Selva helped Ivy out of her gown and jewelry, wiping away the makeup on her face before pouring fragrant oils into the bath. Once Ivy was submerged in the warm water, a soft sigh escaped her lips.

"Leave me," she said, not looking up. "Send Anya in when she arrives."

"Yes, Princess." Selva bowed and stepped out.

A few minutes later, Anya came bursting in.

"My lady…" she sniffled, overly dramatic as always. "Do you know how heartbroken I was when they told me you weren't bringing me?"

Ivy chuckled. "It was just a paperwork mess. Don't worry—I'll fix that tomorrow."

Later, after her bath, Ivy sat before the dressing mirror while Anya laid out the dresses the palace staff had prepared.

"Which one do you want to wear?" Anya asked.

Ivy barely glanced at them. "I don't know. Anything easy to take off."

Anya blushed. "My lady… d-do you intend to… with the prince?"

Ivy smirked. Such an innocent girl. A little teasing wouldn't hurt.

"Well, it is our wedding night, isn't it?"

Anya looked like she might faint. "But you just met! Isn't that something you do when you're in love?"

Ivy smiled. "It can also happen when two people find each other attractive. And I, for one, find my new husband… very attractive. I bet he looks even better in his birthday suit."

"H-His w-what, my lady?" Anya stammered.

Ivy laughed, walking over to the rack and picking a lace dress that dropped just above her knees—comfortable and easy to slip out of.

"This one."

Anya blinked. "Are you sure, my lady?"

"Completely. Don't worry."

Hesitantly, Anya helped her dress, then draped a robe over her shoulders.

At the bedchamber door, Anya whispered, "I'll wait right here if you need anything."

One of the guards stepped forward. "Her Highness, Princess Ivy, is here."

With that, Ivy entered the room.

---

Tristan walked in silence, boots muffled by velvet carpeting. The male servant followed a few paces behind.

He inhaled through his nose. Married. To his nephew's bride. To a woman he hadn't even spoken to before today.

And yet—she was unforgettable.

Bold. Unfiltered. Bizarrely captivating.

She didn't fit any of the rumors he'd heard. They called her magicless. Meek. Vile. Jealous. They said she pushed her sister off a balcony.

But nothing about her matched the gossip. If anything, she seemed like someone who had just stopped pretending.

If that's the case… she was dangerous. Anyone who could wear a mask for that long without slipping up was dangerous.

As they reached the bridal chamber, two palace guards straightened and bowed. The servant pressed his palm to the latchstone—a spatial seal built into the doors that only palace staff could open—and the doors swung open with a low hum.

The room glowed softly, lit with magic stones embedded in crystal sconces. Fire stones gently warmed the air, not too hot, not too cold. A table was set to the side with wine and light dishes.

Probably for the bride, Tristan thought. She did complain about being hungry.

The bed was spread in white linens with red rose petals scattered across. The atmosphere was romantic.

He stepped inside and the door clicked shut.

He slipped off his gloves, folded his jacket, and placed them aside. Then sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees.

Ivy Embercrown Iceborne.

A name he never imagined sharing his own with.

She hadn't flinched once. Not at the altar. Not in the carriage. Not even when he told her she didn't match the rumors.

And that line—"Now let's go get my brains fu—"

He snorted quietly.

No sense of restraint. Or shame. Or maybe… she just didn't care what anyone thought anymore.

Most of his life had been surrounded by carefully measured words. Ivy, by contrast, was chaos. And he didn't know yet whether that made her warm… or dangerous.

He leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the glowing ceiling.

This marriage might not be as boring as he thought.

He had a wife now.

He glanced at the door, then tilted his head back.

"I'm either going to regret this…" he murmured to no one, "or I'm going to be endlessly entertained."

He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.

It was his wedding night.

And he had absolutely no idea what to expect.

Was she going to ask him to sleep on the couch?

Just then, a guard's voice rang out from beyond the door.

"Her Highness, Princess Ivy is here."

And she walked in.