Page 149 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

“It’s long enough for the guild to stop actively hunting.” She puts on her mask and moves back to the door. “Don’t you dare die before then, Lucien.”

“Since when do I take orders from you?”

She almost smiles behind the mask. “Stay alive. However you can. Whatever it takes.”

“You too.”

She nods once. Then she’s gone.

I dress quickly in my leathers. My fingers work the buckles quickly in the same order I’ve followed for years. If I die, at least I’ll die in familiar clothes.

My weapons are where I left them. I gather them and strap on every blade I own. I tuck the daggers to my hips and the throwing knives into my wrist sheaths. I make sure they are positioned properly for quick draws with either hand. The garrote wire is sewn into my belt, thin enough to be invisible. I inhale slowly and lift my main sword, sliding it into the harness across my back. The weight is familiar and reassuring between my shoulder blades.

It won’t be enough against guild hunters.

They’ll be better armed and better prepared. But I’ll fight to my last breath.

Elvarstyne Keep is buzzing with activity when I slip out. Servants rush through corridors carrying linens and breakfast trays. Guards stand at their posts, alert but relaxed. The Archon is over and their vigilance is no longer razor-sharp. There’s an energy in the air, a sense of celebration and relief. Conversations echo off stone walls, punctuated by laughter.

No one stops me.

A few servants glance my way but their gazes don’t linger long. Through a window, I glimpse Aelfheim’s Grand Palace where the Elven Council must be taking place.

Its towers pierce the sky, reaching so high they seem to touch the clouds. Banners fly from the highest points. The Queen’s emerald colors, snapping in the wind. It’s too far to see clearly but I imagine Garrett on his knees, swearing away his freedom. I picture him in that grand hall with its vaulted ceilings and stained-glass windows, head bowed in submission.

Did last night mean anything?

The way he’d looked at me in the candlelight made me feel wanted and important. I can’t forget the things he’d whispered against my neck. But had any of it been real?

It wasn't.

I hate myself for being stupid enough to fall for Garrett. He is a noble commander from Aelfheim. I wonder if I’m just another way to pass the time. A body to warm his bed one last time before he became the Queen’s loyal dog.

Yes, that’s it. Maybe he needed someone to drug, fuck and discard before surrendering everything. One last indulgence before a lifetime of servitude.

I guess I’ll never know.

We’ll never see each other again. I’ll never get to ask him if any of it was real, if he felt even a fraction of what I felt. The city streets are crowded with people celebrating.

Fiddles and drums spill from taverns even though it’s barely midmorning. People dance in the squares and there’s laughter everywhere I look. Everyone is happy and celebrating.

The Archon is over with the Queen triumphant.

Rhianelle Wiolant had won without bloodshed or burning half the city to achieve her goals. She’d turned her greatest rival into her most loyal servant. It’s a masterstroke of political maneuvering, the kind of victory that will be talked about for years. Her enemy turned Royal Guard is proof of her mercy.

That’s the story they’ll tell.

The queen could have chosen Damnation but chose compassion instead. How she accepted Garrett’s surrender and gave him a place of honor at her side. No one notices one more hooded figure slipping through the shadows.

I keep my head down, hood pulled low over my face. I time my movements to blend with the crowd. It’s a skill I’ve honed over years to fade into the background. I’m just another person in a sea of faces, unremarkable and easily forgotten.

I reach the city gates before the feeling hits. That prickle at the back of my neck that screams predator.

I hasten my pace towards the entrance. Guards stand on either side but they’re relaxed, waving people through with barely a glance.

Fuck, I’m being tracked.

Fear floods my system and my heart rate spikes. My hand moves toward my blade without conscious thought, fingers already curling around the hilt.