Guests poured in like a deluge, pushing and shoving through the entrance in their haste. So focused on their destination, each and every one failed to notice the cloaked figure lurking in a shadowy alcove, regarding the ungainly procession with disdain. 

If they had bothered to look, they might have dismissed her at first glance as one of them, yet another wealthy patron gathered to watch the weekly fights.

With a second look, someone with a sharper eye might notice more minor details, such as the long wisps of blonde hair framing her angular face, hidden beneath the hood of her voluminous cloak, or the deceptively thin boots she wore, polished and gleaming in the moonlight. 

They weren't casual shoes suited to walking, nor the fancy ones patrons tended to wear to show off their status and wealth. The shoes she wore were proper fighting boots, designed and intended for just that: fighting.

A strikingly perceptive or more astute person may note the predatory grace with which she prowled, or the gleam of twin katana blades at her side, which, despite being consumed by the shadows of the midnight-black cloak she wore, occasionally glinted in the moonlight when she turned.

But even if someone had noticed, they would never dream she was more than capable of using them to their full potential. A woman wielding a sword? They would have scoffed at the mere suggestion of it.

Grinding her teeth, she ducked out of the shadows of the rocky alcove, following the dwindling trickle of men jostling past, still stumbling over one other despite having more than enough space to move. Pathetic. She'd show them exactly what a woman could do. Smiling at the thought, she checked to ensure her blades were secure, ran a loving hand down the engraved hilt of the sabre strapped to her back - the shape disguised by her robe - and ducked through the entrance.

• Gorgeous cover designed by bleusaphir51 •