I'm too tired for this, Cinder thought before strapping yet another knife to her calf.

But she knew that wasn't the reason she didn't want to go to the masquerade.

Anyone but him. Please. She sighed and closed her eyes for a second, trying to shoo the thoughts away. How was she supposed to the kill the prince if she doubted herself every five seconds?

The door opened, her maid coming in.

Cinder gulped.

Not only that, but she had to wear a dress.

Cinder stood in front of the long mirror, unable to recognize the person before her. Silky light blue fabric fell around her, the waterfall tumbling over her arms being more beautiful than anything she'd ever owned. A gilded mask hugged her face, swirling patterns like an ocean breeze.

And her hair was up. That brown, tangled mess was up, and it looked nice.

Something inside of her clicked, and suddenly she was a different person. Less nervous. Less doubtful. More confident.

Oh, what a costume did.

One.

He.

Two.

Will.

Three.

Die.

Satisfied that she'd squelched the resistance in her mind, she checked the time. Only ten minutes left.

And she was ready.

Prince Kai looked up as soon as she entered the room. There was something about her… but he couldn't place it. It drew him towards her against his will, and he looked away.

She was stunning. There was no other word for it. But was it a good or bad stunning?

Taking the hand of a brunette in a rich green dress, he spun away from the woman coming through the doorway. It would be best to forget her, if he could.

As soon as she'd stepped through the door, she'd seen the Prince, a segment of scarlet fabric a river of blood down his chest. She looked away.

The music flitted into Cinder's brain, wrapping arms its around her. Like her mother had. Like her little sister had. Before…

Her eyes gleamed behind her mask, even though not a tear had fallen from her face in seven years.

There was something about the music, the people, the colors, her dress, him… She didn't feel like herself. She didn't want the pain, the suffering, the death staining her hands. The music brought her something she'd thought died in her all those years ago—happiness.

But her job called to her, told her to stop the madness. Happiness had died. And even if it hadn't, this music and a silly Prince couldn't bring it back. Foolish. Foolish hope.

A man held his hand out to her, and she took it with as much as grace as she could muster.

She smiled at her partner, a sinister smile. He smiled back, apparently unable to gauge how fake hers had been. After all, she'd had years to become perfect in the art of deception.

She spun by him, a whirlwind of blue, and he gulped down his nerves. He'd stolen glances at her all evening, and once he could've sworn that she looked back at him through her mask.

The man she was dancing with's handsome face looked at her with longing before leading her in another twirl. Prince Kai hated him immediately.

Wait a second… was that jealousy? Could he possibly be jealous of him for dancing with that… that…

The song changed, and suddenly she appeared in front of him, a small smile on her lips. She bowed low, giving the Prince a second to gather himself.

He held his hand out until her silky gloved one took his, the music instantly sweeping them away.

The music tangled them together, pulling them closer and closer just to pull them apart, to pull them back again. Their dance was a tide of near and far and in between, the loose fabric of their dress snapping around each other. Prince Kai's face glowed above Cinder's, framed by the soft yellow lights of the hundreds of candles. He was the sun, and she was the moon. She knew that she could never see him again; this warmth she felt could never return. She felt less callous in his arms, less dangerous. But those parts of her made up who she was, who she'd been. To change those would be to go against all she ever was.

The cool metal of the knives strapped to her legs brought her back to reality, and suddenly it was just her, a prince, and music—no more. And the prince would die—had to—at her hands.

They danced many more songs, even though there were an array of people wanting to dance with each of them. How rude of the prince, to dance with one girl for so much of the night! But Prince Kai didn't let his guilt catch up to him, because he simply couldn't let go of her. Dancing with her made him feel more full, more complete, than he ever had since his father's death a month ago. Perhaps even his mother's death, all those years ago.

Something shifted after the first song—she'd become more distant, slightly more stiff—but she was still beautiful, still graceful, still in his arms. He hoped the longer he danced with her the more relaxed she'd become.

But then the horrible realizations came, making him almost stop mid-step. She probably didn't see him the same way he saw her. She probably only asked to dance with him because she had to, because he was her prince. The only reason she was still dancing with him was not because she wanted to, but because she couldn't refuse.

So he was surprised when she stopped dancing and took his hand, pointing out to the gardens with the other.

The cool air cleared Cinder's head, the music no longer having its strange pull on her mind. It only whispered out here, no longer so commanding.

Her gut twisted; she'd been dreading this moment all night, ever since she first held his hand.

He still held her hand as she lead him through the flowerbeds and trees, and something warm pulsed in her own. Even though there were layers of fabric between their hands, because of both of their gloves, something like energy passed between every place they were in contact.

Cinder shivered compulsively; out here they were so far apart, without the other dancers closing around them or the music to pull them together.

The sound of the river met her ears, rough. The white noise molded itself, and she could've sworn she heard the splash of a body falling into it.

Like his would when she was done with him.

She shivered.

A stone bench was sitting by the river, ghostly in the deep night. The moon cast a haunting light over the scene in front of her, taunting her.

A week.

A day.

An hour.

She was running out of time.

He sat down on the bench next to her, noticing her shivering.

Without a word, he took off a glove and pressed his hand to her face, hoping to warm her up.

She startled and turned into his hand, her eyes wide.

"So-sorry," he stammered, removing his hand. "You looked cold." He felt immensely stupid. Why did he do that? They'd only just met, and it wasn't an entirely casual gesture, either.

She relaxed, but sat a little straighter. She smiled at him, her teeth shining white in the darkness.

She leaned forward, toward him, and he assumed it was because she actually was cold. Maybe his hand had been colder than he thought. Maybe she didn't dislike his hand on her face, but she had just been surprised.

And then she kissed him.

And he melted.

His lips were too soft, too welcoming. She wasn't supposed to enjoy it, it was simply a distraction as she took her knife out.

But he was so warm and comfortable. Why would anyone want him dead? Who could want that?

One of her arms pulled him closer, the other slipping under her dress and tugging one of the knifes into her hand.

She opened her eyes for a second, accidentally pulling away. He laughed and sat back, the cold air sweeping between them. Had she just lost her chance?

But then he slipped his mask off and moved over to hers, pulling it over her head.

His brown eyes stared into her soul, and he pulled her against him again.

The knife hilt in her hand had never felt so foreign, so wrong.

She held it behind his head near his neck, knowing exactly where to thrust it for a quick and painless death.

One.

Two.

Three.

But she couldn't do it. Not with his lips on hers, not with his heart beating like that, not with those eyes… those precious, innocent fires in his eyes.

She made her decision. There was no turning back.

The knife hit the walkway with a dull clatter.

The sound of metal hitting stone startled him enough that he pulled away entirely, almost falling from the bench. She pulled away just as quickly, staring at the ground.

And then he saw what she was staring at.

A knife glinted there, like a dew drop in a spider's web.

It took him a few seconds to connect the dots, and once he had his brain tried to disprove it.

But there it was. A knife. As if… as if this girl, who still had no name, had just tried to kill him.

He got up from the bench, backing away slowly. This girl was a good actor, tricking him like that to think she cared for him. She was just another killer, another demon chasing him. How foolish of him to come out to the gardens alone without a bodyguard. He'd have to tip off the captain of the guard that they'd not kept an eye on him. Unless… what if this girl had already killed them?

The time for slow actions was over; he had to run, and fast. She could still kill him, just pick up the knife and stab him. It was surprising she hadn't yet.

He turned his back, his heart shattering into fragments that fell into the wind as he ran, flying away on the breeze.

Maybe he would never heal. Maybe he'd never be whole.

She watched his back, a growing sadness in his eyes.

There would be no take-overs, no redos.

She would never see him again, she was sure.

Picking up her knife and strapping it back under her dress, she slowly walked down the path in the opposite direction.

No looking back. That was her rule.

But she took one last glance over her shoulder before breaking into a sprint.