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Duke Dorian Teerman.

That Ascended was part ghost. I rarely saw him.

I couldn’t outright ask Britta if Lord Mazeen was often too friendly with the Maiden. “And does he show the same…attention to others in the castle? The Duchess? Ladies or Lords in Wait…?”

“I don’t know, but he seems to have little awareness of personal space with whomever he comes into contact with,” she said, her smile strained as she gave a visible shake of her head. Pretty blue eyes met mine once more. “Will you be visiting the Red Pearl soon?”

My smile was a little more genuine. “Perhaps.”

“Good.” She stepped back, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye out for you. Good evening.”

“Good evening,” I murmured, watching her make her way back into the castle before returning my gaze to the gate, having no intention of returning to the Red Pearl anytime soon.

Or keeping an eye out for Britta.

Which made little sense. Britta was a good time, and sometimes, like tonight, her chattiness came in handy. But the idea of that kind of a good time left me…disinterested.

My gaze flicked to the garden wall, where the Maiden should’ve been tonight. Now, I knew why she was absent.

But I didn’t know why the Lord, who was likely responsible for what had happened with this Axton woman, smelled of the Maiden.

IT IS DONE

“It is done.”

I stopped at the top of the Rise, facing the moonlight-drenched-crimson leaves of the Blood Forest. I didn’t necessarily feel satisfaction or relief upon learning of another death, one that had happened upon my orders. I only felt determination.

“Which one?” I asked.

“Keal.”

Jansen’s tone and the way he chewed up the guard’s name and then spit it out caused the back of my neck to tighten. “What happened?”

The changeling exhaled harshly. “Did the plans change?”

My brows snapped together as I looked over my shoulder. “What do you mean?”

The Commander stood a few feet behind me, but he stared out over the city. “As far as I recall, the plans were to open a position among the Maiden’s personal guards. Not to attempt to take the Maiden. There was to be no contact with her.”

Son of a bitch.

I stretched my neck to the left and then the right. “That would be correct.”

There was a pause as he angled his body closer, aware of the others on the Rise. “He tried to take her.”

Anger heated my blood so fast that it took a moment for me to fully realize what he’d said. Jericho had tried to take her. “He failed?”

“She fought back.”

My head snapped to his as icy shock doused some of the anger. “Explain.”

“She cut him. Got him good in the side based on the amount of blood he left behind. The only reason she remains safely in the castle is because she fought back. If she hadn’t, the guards wouldn’t have arrived in time to stop him from taking her.” His gaze briefly met mine. “Or causing her more harm.”

I went completely still. Everything in me. “He harmed her?”

“He struck her.” Jansen looked away, and I stopped seeing him at that point. “Would’ve likely done it again if Kieran hadn’t signaled to him.”

Darkness descended as a flood of icy rage rose within me. Jericho, that motherfucker, literally had one job: Take out one of her guards and do so without being seen. He was not to interact with the Maiden. He had been warned not to touch her. Not to harm her.

“Cover for me.” I pivoted and started walking. “There is something I must attend to.”

Jansen was on my heels, keeping his voice low. “Hawke—”

I stopped long enough to meet his stare.

Whatever he saw caused him to draw up short. He gave me a curt nod. “I’ll cover for you.”

Saying nothing more, I left the Rise, coming down by one of the gatehouses. A few guards lingered near, but none looked at me as I grabbed one of the cloaks left hanging. Donning it, I didn’t care who or how many had worn it last. I lifted the hood and quickly blended into the darkness of those who lived in the shadows of the Rise.

Knowing exactly where Jericho would be, I wasted no time crossing the smoke-and-sewage-riddled streets of the Lower Ward, my rage increasing with each step as I neared the Three Jackals, a gambling den known for its blood sports and violent clientele.

I was about to become the most violent patron they’d ever seen.

A shadow peeled away from the walls, drifting quietly past an unconscious man on the sidewalk. Kieran approached me in the dim light of the lanterns that framed the windowless entry, dressed in the dull brown trousers and worn jacket of a commoner, a cap pulled low to hide his features. “I know you want to do something irresponsible and reckless, but you can’t kill him,” he said. There was no greeting. No need to ask questions. He knew why I was here.