Delia

Delia Grimhilde was not born into darkness. She was born into ambition.

Her father, a newly elevated nobleman who had clawed his way from the mud of farming fields to the polished halls of court, believed fiercely in one thing. Status must never slip backward. Every decision he made was in service of protecting the fragile nobility he had gained.

And Delia, his only daughter, was his most valuable piece.

He intended to marry her to a powerful lord who could secure their family’s place forever. In his eyes, this was love. A father ensuring his child would never know the poverty he once endured.

Delia understood this. Which was why she spoke to him gently. Softly. Carefully.

She learned early that a sharp tongue would only provoke him. A sweet voice, lowered eyes, and careful obedience gave her room to breathe. So she played the dutiful daughter flawlessly.

But her heart belonged elsewhere.

Before the marriage arrangements tightened around her like a noose, Delia had fallen quietly in love with a promising young warrior. His honor and position were stripped away after he was defeated and humiliated by a mysterious wandering swordsman. Disgraced, he vanished from court life entirely. Rumors said he was wandering the world, trying to reclaim the reputation that had been taken from him.

Delia never learned where he went.

Only that he was gone.

And soon after, so was she.

Rather than submit to a marriage that would turn her into a bargaining chip, Delia fled the noble estate in the dead of night. The world beyond her father’s lands was harsher than she had imagined. Titles meant nothing outside the manor gates.

She survived where many desperate women did.

Brothels.

At first it was necessity. A roof, food, protection. But within those velvet rooms and candlelit halls, Delia discovered something unexpected.

Power.

The women there taught her the truth noble courts pretended not to know. Men who ruled kingdoms could be undone by whispers, smiles, and secrets shared in bedchambers. They taught her how to listen more than she spoke. How to recognize opportunity the moment it appeared.

Most importantly, they taught her one rule.

When the world offers you a chance to rise, you take it.

Delia learned quickly.

Charm became armor. Beauty became currency. Intelligence became a blade hidden beneath silk gloves.

She stopped waiting for life to happen to her.

She began taking what she needed from it.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she still wondered about the man she once loved. The disgraced warrior chasing his lost honor across the world.

But Delia had changed since those days.

If he ever returned, he might find the girl he once knew had become something far more dangerous.

A woman who had learned exactly how the world works and how to bend it.

Powers & Skills

Dreamwalking: Enters and manipulates dreams to soothe or torment.

Illusion Magic: Creates seductive or haunting illusions at will.

Creative Expression: Her novels have gained a cult following for their insight into the human psyche.

The island felt too small for the two of them. Dev noticed everything about her without wanting to. The way she moved like nothing here could touch her. The way the air felt heavier when she got too close. He kept his sword in hand even as the light faded, even as it became clear she wasn’t going to strike first. He told himself it was discipline. It didn’t feel like discipline.

“You’re very committed,” Delia said, sitting on a piece of driftwood like this was all a game. Her eyes moved over him slowly, not subtle about it. “Most men would have lowered their weapon by now.”

“I’m not most men.”

“No,” she said, a small smile forming. “You’re the one sent to kill me.” Her head tilted slightly. “I expected someone older. Less easy to read.”

His jaw tightened. He wasn’t easy to read. He knew that. He had trained for years to be unreadable. And yet she kept looking at him like she already knew what he was thinking. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like how aware he was of her mouth when she spoke.

“I’m not distracted,” he said.

Her gaze dropped to his hand on the hilt, then back to his face. “You keep looking anyway.”

He didn’t answer. There wasn’t a way to answer that without proving her right. Delia stood, slow and deliberate, and closed the space between them. He should have stepped back. He didn’t. That was his first mistake. Or maybe it wasn’t a mistake. He didn’t want to think about that.

“You hate me,” she said, softer now, like she was testing the truth of it. “That’s what you were sent here for. Duty. Honor.” Her voice dipped just slightly. “All those things you believe in.”

She stopped right in front of him, close enough that he could feel her heat through the armor. Too close. He should move. He didn’t.

“So why haven’t you done it?”

The question settled between them and stayed there. Dev didn’t answer because he didn’t have one that made sense. He could have done it already. He knew that. She knew that too. His sword lowered without him meaning to, just a fraction, just enough to matter. He noticed it the second it happened.

Delia noticed faster.

Something in her expression shifted. It wasn't the usual mocking look, but quieter. Curious. Her hand lifted, slow enough that he could have stopped it, and brushed against his wrist where he held the sword. He felt it immediately. Warm. Steady. Real. He didn’t pull away. He should have.

“That’s dangerous,” she murmured.

“I know.”

“Not for me.” Her fingers stayed there for a second longer than they needed to before she let them fall. “For you.”

Dev swallowed, eyes fixed on her. He told himself to step back, to raise the sword again, to finish what he was sent to do. His body didn’t listen.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he said.

Delia’s smile softened, just slightly. It made something in his chest tighten in a way he didn’t understand. “You should be,” she said quietly. Then she looked at him for a second longer, like she was deciding something. “Just not in the way you think.”